#and by the time I realized it my rules no longer reflected my decision to be strictly JP based

[bravewolfvesperia]

/ so I finally updated my rules and verses pages to reflect current activity and such since they were a bit outdated. if you haven't checked them in a long time, pleeeease at least skim them again! I think I mostly got everything, but I'd realized I hadn't properly updated them since shortly after I made this blog. 🙇‍♀️

[vipwinnie]

Sleeping after an argument

mattheo riddle x reader

Summary : you decided not to sleep with him after an argument

In the dimness of his room, you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy with frustration. The walls echo with the reverberations of an seemingly endless argument. He stands, a sharp gaze in his eyes, his poisoned words filling the air.

"Why are you always like this?" you ask, trying to contain your own anger. "Your attitude is toxic, Mattheo. It can't go on like this."

He sneers, an ironic smile distorting his face. "Oh, now it's my fault? You're always the victim, aren't you?"

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the flames of anger rising within you. "It's not about being a victim. It's about mutual respect. You can't keep acting this way."

Mattheo approaches, his presence oppressive. "Mutual respect? Funny coming from you. You just criticize me, judge me."

"Because you act disrespectfully! You constantly attack me, and I can't take it anymore."

He shrugs, disdainful. "If you can't take it, leave. No one is forcing you to stay."

The tension reaches its peak. You stand up, facing Mattheo with determination. "Maybe that's what I should do."

The words hang in the air, heavy with consequences. The room is filled with the silence that follows an argument, and you wonder if this confrontation marks the end of something, or perhaps the beginning of a new dynamic.

Frustrated by the atmosphere, Mattheo abruptly stands up and heads to the bathroom, using the excuse of needing to prepare in there to escape the confrontation. You remain in the room, Mattheo's dark look still echoing in the air. The decision not to spend the night in this toxic atmosphere takes hold in you, and you head to the bathroom as well.

Reflecting in the bathroom, you decide to leave the unresolved argument behind and choose not to sleep that night. The idea of returning to your shared room with Pansy becomes a tempting refuge. Exiting the bathroom, you silently slip through the hallway, deliberately avoiding Mattheo's room.

Meanwhile, Mattheo, after anxiously waiting in the bathroom for some time, starts to worry about your absence. Concerned, he knocks on the door, softly calling, "My love, are you okay?" Faced with your silence, he eventually opens the door, discovering that you're no longer there. Regret fills him as he realizes the impact of his behavior.

Determined to find you, Mattheo heads towards the girls' dormitory, disregarding any rules of decency. His only thought is to bring you back to him, suddenly realizing how crucial your presence is to him.

Upon opening the door to your room, he notices Pansy's absence, but you're there, asleep in your bed, hugging a pillow that was supposed to replace him for the night. Mattheo gently removes the pillow from your arms, slipping into its place. He embraces you tenderly, whispering an "I love you" in your ear, realizing the foolishness of the argument. He holds you tightly, hoping that you'll find it in yourself to forgive him despite the hurtful words he uttered.

[hmgt-writes]

Almost, Always

Phase 1 – The Line Between

Ao3 Link <Phase 2>

CW: This chapter contains themes of jealousy, emotional turmoil, possessiveness, and a heavy emotional confrontation. It includes moments of intense longing, physical tension, and frustration. Reader discretion is advised.

Ted Lasso has always been good at recognizing where the line is drawn. But when it comes to you, that line keeps getting blurrier.

It starts small, with an extra second spent in your office and how his eyes search for you first in a crowded room. Then, your laugh lingers in his chest for hours afterward. Soon, jealousy creeps in, sharp, quiet, and dangerous, curling under his ribs before he can push it away.

And then? Then, it becomes something more complicated. Something he shouldn't want. Something he can't resist.

It's a slow-burning, aching, and unbearably tense workplace romance in which every glance, touch, and moment feels charged with unspoken tension. Both of you think it, but neither acts on it. The unsaid confessions hang in the air, and the weight of restraint becomes suffocating.

Because there are rules. Because there's a line. And if Ted crosses it, he knows he won't be able to come back.

_________

Ted Lasso was far from an idiot; he had the keen sense to spot a poor decision brewing, even if it unfolded in slow motion. He caught himself staring, his eyes lingering longer than they should, as a sudden, sharp realization pierced his thoughts. This was, without a doubt, a very, very bad idea.

It began subtly, like the faint rustle of leaves before a storm. The first time he experienced that unsettling flutter in his stomach was during a moment so genuine it nearly knocked the wind out of him when you laughed. Not just any laugh, but a glorious, infectious burst that sent your head tilting back, your eyes sparkling with an untamed joy that seemed to dance in the air. The kind of laugh enveloped him in warmth, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, holding him captive in its jubilant grip. Even hours later, the echo of that laughter would be lodged in his chest, nestled between his ribs like a tantalizing secret he knew he shouldn't hold onto.

Then came the other distractions, those almost imperceptible excuses that kept him at his desk long after he should have left. He'd find himself unconsciously scanning the room,

"Hey there, Social Butterfly," Ted called out, his voice effortlessly cool, its smooth timbre slicing through the gentle hum of the AFC Richmond Training Facility. He sauntered toward the weathered wooden bench where you were seated, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, the smell of freshly cut grass mingling with the faint scent of sweat and effort from the nearby practice field.

You lifted your gaze from your phone's glowing screen, a playful smile unfurling across your lips. The sunlight cast a golden shimmer in your eyes, reflecting a hint of mischief and a promise of adventure. You were the kind of trouble that brought joy and laughter to those around you.

“Coach Lasso,” you replied, deftly locking your phone with a quick flick. The screen darkened as you did. The soft click of the lock button was almost inaudible beneath the distant chatter of players and the rhythmic thud of soccer balls being kicked. “What brings you to my little nook of the universe?”

Ted flashed a wide grin, inclining his head ever so slightly, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eye, the kind that made you think he was always on the verge of telling a joke. "Office? Well shoot, I just figured this was one of those highfalutin' benches!"

A light snort of laughter escaped you, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves from a nearby tree stirred by a gentle breeze. “Working outside is an advantage I savor whenever I’m not cooped up in that claustrophobic press room, with its buzzing fluorescent lights and walls that seem to close in with every ticking second.”

"Well, color me jealous and call me an overripe banana," Ted chuckled, lowering himself onto the bench beside you with a casual grace that suggested he was perfectly at ease in your presence. The wood creaked slightly under his weight, yet the bench seemed to welcome him as if it were long accustomed to sharing moments of camaraderie and lighthearted banter.

Perhaps his expression hinted at envy, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was how you glided across the cobblestone streets of Richmond, each step flowing seamlessly into the next as if the city itself had been designed with you in mind. Or perhaps it was your quick-witted jabs, those playful yet sincere gestures that made him feel valued, like he was someone worthy of your attention. It could have been a blend of all these moments, floating between you like the gentle breeze that rustled the vibrant green leaves overhead, whispering secrets only the trees knew.

He fished his phone from his pocket, the cool screen catching the light as he turned it toward you. "Alright, Your Royal Highness of the World Wide Web, I need your expert opinion," he said, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "On what?" you asked, folding your arms as you leaned closer.

Ted swiped through his gallery, landing on the photo, a poorly executed selfie with Coach Beard. Even he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. "I was tryin’ to snap one of them fancy ‘candid’ photos like the kids do," he explained, "but I think I just made Coach Beard look like he’s questionin’ the very nature of existence. Poor fella looks like he figured out the universe is held together by duct tape and a prayer."

You took the phone, examining the image closely. Your lips twitched in amusement, eyes sparking with humor barely contained.

"Oh yeah," you said, stifling a laugh. "This is bad."

Ted nudged your knee with his own, a warm, friendly gesture. "Hey now, no need to sugarcoat it. Hit me with the hard truth, doc. How bad we talkin’?"

You glanced at him, your eyes twinkling mischievously, fully aware of your effect on him. "Midlife revelation at a gas station at 2 a.m. bad," you replied, grinning.

Ted let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, dang. Alright then, how do we slap a Band-Aid on this bad boy and make it right?"

"You know that this is my job, right?" you teased, adjusting the brightness on his phone with a deft touch.

"Yep," Ted said, reclining back against the wooden bench, the sun casting a warm glow on his face. "And that’s why I came to the best."

It wasn't supposed to mean anything; it was just words and a compliment. But then you looked up at him, and something unreadable flickered across your face, a fleeting emotion that left him momentarily breathless. Suddenly, he felt it. That thing. The thing he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Your fingers tightened around his phone, the cold metal and smooth glass grounding you in the moment as if anchoring you to the present.

"Alright," you murmured softly, angling the screen just so. "Smile."

He obliged, a warm grin spreading across his face, but his eyes were locked on yours, not the camera. Your breath hitched, just a little, a subtle intake that made your heart skip, just enough for him to notice, and that was it. That was the moment.

In that fleeting instant, he felt it with a certainty that settled deep within him, and this was more than just a friendly encounter, more than casual, more than nothing. Yet he couldn’t allow it to become something. Not yet.

"You’re supposed to look at the screen, Lasso," you chided, your voice betraying a slight tremor.

Ted chuckled, a low, rich sound, and forced himself to lean back, taking a steadying breath. "Well, shoot," he quipped with a playful lilt. "Couldn’t help myself. Had a much better view right here."

Your lips parted as if words were poised to spill out, words that might've changed everything between you, but then, mercifully, an urgent voice cut through the air from across the pitch.

"Lasso! We got a problem!"

Ted exhaled deeply, pushing himself up from the bench before he acted on the impulse tugging at him. "I swear, that man’s ability to interrupt a moment is damn near surgical. If he ever quits football, he oughta consider a career in hostage negotiations," he muttered with a shake of his head.

"Go, Coach," you said, your tone deliberately light, almost too carefully measured. "I’ll be here. Waiting."

And for a second, just a second, Ted hesitated, his steps faltering. Hold me to that, darlin’, he almost said, the words nearly slipping out.

Instead, he nodded, and with a resolve that cost him more than it should, he turned and walked away, resisting the urge to glance back. He knew he might choose differently if he caught you watching him leave. As he moved toward the call for help, he told himself to shake it off and refocus, to get his head straight again.

But then there was the trust. It slowly wove into the fabric of your relationship, settling between you both like an unspoken agreement that couldn’t be ignored. It was evident in how you leaned casually against his doorway one lazy afternoon, your fingers wrapped around your phone, your face a mask of indecipherable emotions.

"Okay, be honest. How bad is it?" you asked him, your voice tinged with apprehension and curiosity.

Ted looked up from his spiral-bound notebook, a pencil poised mid-sentence. His eyebrows knitted together, forming a small crease of concern."Well, that depends," he mused, voice laced with easy humor. "Am I about to find out the world’s endin’, or did you just stumble on an unflattering picture of me on the internet? ‘Cause if it’s the latter, I’d bet good money it’s that one where I look like I just sneezed mid-smile."

You sighed, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of unspoken worries, and stepped further into the room. "The club sent me an article for approval," you explained, a hint of frustration lacing your words. "It’s about our social media growth, but they make it sound like I turned Richmond into a marketing empire overnight."

Ted reached for your phone, his fingers brushing yours just for a second before his eyes dropped to the screen. He skimmed the article, his frown deepening with each word, and the exaggerated praise practically dripped off the page.

"Ah," he murmured, tilting his head. He glanced up, eyes full of quiet understanding. "You’re worried folks are gonna think you’re takin’ too much credit, huh?"

You shifted your weight, crossing your arms defensively, as if shielding yourself from the implications. "I mean… It’s not just me. It’s the team. It’s the whole culture of the club," you said, your voice earnest and sincere. "Feels wrong to act like I did it alone."

Ted deliberately set the phone down on the table, exhaling like he was letting go of something heavier than a breath. His gaze lingered on you for a beat before he spoke, his voice softer and steadier now.

"Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right to care about that," he said, the weight of understanding behind his words. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he added, "But also… ain’t nothin’ wrong with ownin’ what you did do. ‘Specially when what you did was pretty dang great."

Your lips were pressed together, your brows furrowed, and a question lingered in your eyes. "You really think so?" The words shouldn't have hit him like a gust of wind, but they did. There was a raw vulnerability there, a crack in your usual composure. Ted felt a lump in his throat, a mix of admiration and trepidation. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I do."

It could have been nothing, just one of those fleeting moments, or maybe it was the weight of the day’s work. But when your shoulders eased down, and you let out a long, steady breath, it was as if he’d just helped lift an invisible burden from you. Ted knew one thing for sure: this was getting precarious. Later that night, as he lay awake in the dim light of his bedroom, eyes tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling, your voice echoed in his mind. That small, tentative question: "You really think so?"

And for the first time in what felt like ages, Ted Lasso questioned whether he could keep playing the oblivious fool. He reassured himself it was insignificant. Just a harmless notion, like those whimsical thoughts that drift through a person’s mind before slipping into sleep. Like the persistent itch of a phantom limb, both present and absent at once.

Yet, deep down, nestled where the truth sat like an uneasy visitor in his chest, he acknowledged the shift. It wasn’t manifesting in straightforward, dramatic ways, and he wasn’t bumping into walls, spilling his coffee on essential documents, or tripping over his words like a lovesick teenager. Ted Lasso’s unique way of falling for you is far more subtle, insidious, and impossible to ignore.

It was in the details, those tiny things that spoke volumes. Like how he started inventing reasons to linger near you until he caught himself doing laps around the club just to accidentally-on-purpose cross paths with you. Or how his morning seemed slightly off-kilter if he didn’t hear your voice before practice, even if it was you grumbling about the Wi-Fi acting up or the latest tweak in the algorithm. And then there was the way his gaze always seemed to find you in a crowded room, as if drawn by an invisible thread, no matter how much he forced himself to concentrate elsewhere.

He did what any rational person would do when confronted with a problem they wanted to avoid: he steered clear of it. He made no unnecessary visits to your office, the door with its familiar nameplate that seemed to beckon him, didn’t linger at your desk after team meetings despite the inviting scent of your jasmine tea, and avoided any chance encounters at the coffee machine where he might pretend to need sugar just to hear you tease him about how much he used, a playful glint in your eye.

It mainly worked, the plan of avoidance playing out like a carefully choreographed dance, but it all fell apart when it mattered most. Avoidance thrived only when he fully embraced it, like a cloak of invisibility that could slip off at the slightest misstep. The trouble with Ted Lasso was his talent for disregarding his guidelines, often leading him astray, like a compass that couldn’t quite find true north.

"Coach Lasso, you’re hovering," you called out, your voice slicing through the silence like a knife through butter, clear and precise.

Ted blinked, momentarily disoriented, as if your words had yanked him from a deep reverie, a daydream in which your presence comforted and unsettled him. He realized with a start that he was lingering in your doorway, fingers tapping nervously against the doorframe, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave.

"Well, now, that’s a mighty serious accusation," he drawled, rocking back on his heels, a boyish grin creeping onto his face. But the uncertainty in his eyes? That lingered. "I was just passin’ by. Y’know, like a tumbleweed. Or a real nosy ghost."

You arched a brow, a skeptical smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "For the fourth time today?"

Ted opened his mouth, a playful retort on the tip of his tongue, yet hesitated, conflicted by the pull of your gaze and the fear that it might reveal too much. You only shook your head, lips twitching in amusement. That was dangerous. It was a push-and-pull he couldn't resist, especially when you looked at him like that, eyes sparkling with a mixture of exasperation and warmth that left him elated and uneasy.

"If you need something, just say so, Coach," you added, your attention shifting to your laptop. Your fingers danced over the keys with practiced ease.

That was the crux of it, wasn't it? He didn't need anything. Yet here he was, standing awkwardly with his hands buried deep in his pockets, unable to tear his eyes away from how the afternoon light caressed your skin, bathing you in a soft radiance. He didn't need to observe how absorbed you were, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, lost in whatever task held you captive, the slight crease of concentration etched on your brow. He didn't need to feel this pull, damn it. But there it was, undeniable and unsettling.

His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, like they couldn’t quite decide what to do with themselves. The telltale sign of a man caught in the in-between, step forward or step back.

For a moment, he hovered there, stuck in the hesitation. Then, finally, he moved, just enough.

"You workin’ on the latest batch from trainin’?" he asked, aiming for easy, aiming for light. But his voice wavered, just barely, like it wasn’t sure whether to stay steady or give him away.

You hummed softly, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as images flashed on the screen. "Yup. Just picking the best ones for the team account," you explained, your focus unwavering.

Ted leaned over slightly, just enough to catch a better glimpse of the photos, his hand pressing gently on the edge of the desk for support. The zesty aroma of your citrus-scented shampoo wafted towards him, a fresh fragrance that lured him to inhale deeply and savor the moment.

The slideshow continued: Jamie laughed with his eyes crinkled, Sam was caught mid-action on the field, Isaac was with his usual intense focus, and Ted appeared. It was a candid shot from earlier that day, capturing him mid-conversation, a genuine smile lighting up his face. His hands rested casually in his pockets, his posture relaxed, and he exuded an air of ease that seemed to strip away the layers of his Coach Lasso persona, revealing just Ted.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, just for a second, before you scrolled past the photo. And that’s when it happened. A barely perceptible shift, like a thread pulled too tight. The air changed, the moment stretching slightly longer than it should have. It felt like something had been exposed, even if neither of you had meant to reveal it.

Ted felt it, too; the unexpected and unwelcome weight settled in his chest. His breath hitched slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides. He almost let it pass, nearly ignored it, but the words tumbled out anyway.

"That was a good one," he blurted, the admission rawer than he meant.

You let out a small snort, shaking your head. "You’re just saying that ‘cause it’s you."

"Nah," Ted murmured, his voice quieter now. He tilted his head just slightly, eyes locked onto you with an intensity that was both startling and soft.

"You got a knack for capturing people’s true selves."

Your fingers hovered momentarily, suspended above the keys. It was a fleeting pause, yet Ted caught it. He noticed the way your shoulders momentarily tensed before you shook it off. He observed the hard swallow you took before offering him a smile that seemed too restrained.

"Well," you replied lightly, "it’s my job."

Ted hummed softly, his gaze lingering on you longer than he intended. It was supposed to be nothing, just a passing moment. So why did it feel like it meant something more? He mentally shook himself, trying to refocus, to clear his mind. And for a little while, he succeeded.

Until he caught you laughing with Jamie Tartt, Ted felt a knot twist deep inside him, a gnawing uncertainty he couldn't shake. You stood by the media desk, phone poised, likely arranging some promotional post. Jamie, ever the epitome of laid-back charm, leaned lazily against the desk, exuding an air of ease that seemed to come naturally to him. His grin, that infamous Jamie Tartt grin, had likely won over half of London.

Ted tried to convince himself that it shouldn't matter, that he could just brush it off. But when Jamie spoke and you laughed, that genuine, infectious laugh struck him deeply. It wasn't one of those polite chuckles or faint smiles; it was the kind of laughter that had turned his world upside down the first time. The sort of sound made his jaw tighten before he even processed why. Ted continued walking, his steps wavering with indecision, torn between the need to keep moving and the urge to turn back, wrestling with whether maintaining his composure was the right choice.

He knew he shouldn’t be fixated on what Jamie had said to evoke that laughter. He shouldn’t dwell on whether his jokes ever elicited such joy from you. And he definitely shouldn’t be turning around to look.

Yet, of course, that’s precisely what he did. He turned his head just enough to catch Jamie leaning in closer, still talking, that confident grin plastered on his face. Ted exhaled sharply, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. He was caught between the turmoil of wanting to let it go and the undeniable urge to intervene. No, this couldn’t be happening.

This was why he needed to stick to the plan that shielded him from entanglements he couldn’t afford. Yet every thought of it felt like a betrayal of something more profound. The plan steered his focus toward coaching, away from distractions like the feelings you stirred in him. He felt a longing for things he knew he shouldn’t want yet couldn't reasonably deny.

He assured himself he was fine. He was great. But why did it feel like he was losing a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing? Was Ted really fine?

It was all supposed to be okay. The tightness in his chest should have been merely the consequence of a long day. The jittery energy coursing through him? Likely the result of too much coffee. And the ache in his jaw from clenching? Well, that was just, Damn it. He scrubbed his hand over his face again, torn between staying and walking away from whatever moment had passed between you and Jamie. From Jamie’s too-close proximity, his easy laughter, and the insidious whisper in Ted’s mind, suggesting thoughts he had no right to entertain, yet couldn't completely ignore.

Ted knew he had to stick to the plan, no stealing glances, no eavesdropping, no letting his heart wander, even as every step he took felt like a tug-of-war between what he should do and what he secretly wished for. With each deliberate, measured stride, he tried to distance himself from that clenched turmoil, like stepping away from a shadow that clung too tightly. Near the tunnel’s entrance, he spotted Beard, crouched beside a stack of worn training sheets, scribbling down notes like lifelines. Ted forced himself to merge back into the routine, blending into the ordinary world again, even as his mind wavered on the edge of uncertainty.

Beard barely lifted his eyes from his notepad, his voice rough and unfazed: “You good?”

Ted's response escaped his mouth almost involuntarily, too polished, "Yep," the word tumbling out as if it were a line he'd recited a thousand times. Yet, beneath the surface, his mind swirled with uncertainty, desperately trying to conceal the turmoil.

Beard hummed, a low sound that barely masked his doubt. “Uh-huh.”

Ted leaned against the cool brick wall, his arms crossed tightly in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the relentless tide of skepticism washing over him. He was torn, unable to decide if the doubts were justified or just a figment of his overactive imagination. Despite his efforts, his eyes flickered back toward the room, betraying his resolve. His heart pounded erratically, each beat a reminder of his inner turmoil. All he craved was a distraction, yet even that seemed elusive in the whirlwind of his conflicted thoughts.

Then, amidst the swirling tension, a clear voice sliced through the background chatter.

“Ted!”

It was Rebecca. Her call was an unexpected reprieve, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of his emotions, reorienting his focus toward something new.

“Boss!” Ted’s grin, too broad and too bright, appeared as he spun around. Her presence was impossible to ignore: she strode confidently toward him, the rapid, staccato clicks of her sharp heels echoing against the polished floor. “How’s it goin’?”

Rebecca raised a single, arched eyebrow, her tone teasing. “Oh, how funny. I was just about to ask you that.”

Ted blinked, his surprise palpable. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” she said, smoothing down her blazer as if adjusting her attire and her assessment of him. Her gaze dissected him with almost surgical precision. “You’ve been looking positively adrift all afternoon. Care to share your secret with the class?”

Ted hesitated, waving a hand uncertainly as if trying to brush off her suggestion. "Pshh. Me? Distracted? Nooo, I, " He trailed off, feeling the weight of her gaze and wondering if there was some truth to her words.

Before he could continue, Rebecca raised a careful finger, halting his words. “Ted, before you launch into that absurd charm offensive of yours, don’t try. I’m completely immune.”

Her words clamped shut any lingering impulse to defend himself, and he fell silent.

Her eyes narrowed, and in a low, questioning tone, she pressed, “What’s going on?”

"Nothin’," Ted blurted out, his voice betraying an uneasy haste. The word tumbled out too quickly, too conveniently, as if the lie itself was caught between truth and falsehood, hovering on the edge of his conscience.

Rebecca let out a slow, measured sigh. Then, letting her tone drop to one of conspiratorial familiarity, she remarked, “Does this have anything to do with our social media manager looking especially stunning today?”

Ted's breath caught in his throat, his mind a tangled mess of uncertainty.

"I… what… how could…?" he stammered, each word trembling as he struggled with his emotions and thoughts. He was torn between the need to understand and the fear of what that understanding might reveal.

Rebecca tilted her head, taking a languid sip from her glass, her eyes watching him like a predator amused by its prey.

Clearing his throat and desperately trying to find his footing, Ted floundered to regain composure. "I don’t… She always looks… uh, you know, professional and, uh… put together… like a LEGO set straight out of the box; no pieces missin’, no frustrating instructions." Yet, as he stumbled through his explanation, his fingers nervously fidgeted with his collar, unsure if he was genuinely capturing what he wanted to say or just making things more tangled.

Rebecca dismissed his explanations with a casual wave of her hand. “Yes, yes,” she said lightly, her tone layered with underlying amusement. “But today is different, isn’t it?”

Ted opened his mouth to voice his objections, but uncertainty tangled his thoughts, and the words dissipated before he could speak.

A smirk crept onto Rebecca’s face. “You should see yourself right now,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with knowing mischief.

With a deep, heavy sigh that seemed to rob the color from his face, Ted ran his hand through his hair, caught between resignation and disbelief. "Boss, if this is some elaborate scheme you’ve concocted just to get under my skin, then I’m torn between admiration and exasperation. I’d tip my hat if I were wearing one, ‘cause that’s some awe-inspiring work."

Leaning slightly, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper still slicing through the air like a blade, Rebecca replied, "Oh, I’m not trying to mess with you, Ted. I’m simply pointing out what’s painfully obvious."

Ted pressed his lips into a thin line, his face a battlefield of emotions. He struggled to keep his defenses in place, unsure whether to confront or concede.

Rebecca’s eyes glinted triumphantly, her victory in this subtle battle unmistakable. “And I assume Keeley’s already given you a lecture?”

Ted let out a groan that seemed to resonate with the collective exasperation of the day. “Oh, she’s lovin’ this, Boss, just absolutely thriving.”

Rebecca chuckled softly, a warm sound that carried a note of admonishment. “As she should be.”

Muttering under his breath as if to himself, Ted shook his head. “I gotta find new friends.”

Rebecca’s laughter tinkled, and she patted his arm lightly. “Oh, Ted.” Then, her tone softened further, weighted with concern as she added quietly, “Just be careful with that heart of yours, hmm?”

Ted’s throat tightened, caught between the sincerity of her words and the unresolved tension that roiled inside him like a storm. He felt torn, unable to decide whether to hold onto the hope she offered or to succumb to his doubts.

Rebecca's final, knowing look seemed both a promise of understanding and a silent warning, leaving him more uncertain than ever. As she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing through the corridor, Ted felt abandoned yet relieved, suspended on the brink of something inevitable yet incomprehensible.

Then you walked in, and Ted’s fragile resolve crumbled. He was conflicted, every reason he had clung to for avoiding your gaze dissolving in an instant. The room seemed to conspire against him; its low hum of conversation suddenly disappeared, and curious glances were cast his way, drawn by an unseen force. Who could blame them for being captivated by the tension he felt so deeply?

Jesus, by some miracle of fashion, had made your outfit technically appropriate for the workplace. But the skirt was the first critical misstep. It was jet black, its fabric sleek and body-hugging, dangerously tailored to cling to your hips before narrowing along your thighs. Its length hovered in that maddening area long enough to seem respectable yet short enough to stir a dangerous cocktail of desire. And then there was the subtle slit along the side, a mere whisper of exposed skin with every graceful movement, a tantalizing tease.

The equally arresting blouse was crafted from a soft, deep emerald fabric that draped elegantly over your form. Delicate and inviting, fine buttons traced a gentle line down the front. The top few buttons had undone themselves ever so slightly, just enough to allude to the graceful curve of your throat, hinting at something more enticing below without ever crossing the boundaries into overt scandal.

And the shoes, oh, the shoes, managed to elevate the transgression even further. The modest black heels forced Ted’s mind into reckless territory. Every step in them accentuated the smooth line of your legs, subtly adding height and intensity to your already magnetic presence.

Then Rebecca hadn’t even entirely left the scene. Just as she began to turn, the atmosphere shifted again, a charged, almost palpable pull of attention that made the surrounding chatter dissolve into a hushed tension. Heads pivoted towards you as conversations stalled mid-sentence.

Rebecca, ever the astute observer, came to an abrupt halt mid-step, ensnared by the magnetic allure of the unfolding drama before her. Her eyes landed on you, and a sly smirk danced across her lips—a silent, knowing acknowledgment of the unmistakable truth: Ted was utterly unraveling, as if in that moment, he had been rendered invisible, a mere specter in the room.

When Ted finally found his voice, it emerged in a low, gravelly murmur, as if locked away and battling its way to the surface. The words tumbled, clumsy and unexpected, like clashing cymbals in an otherwise tranquil symphony. 

"That skirt is… wildly impractical for an office setting."

He blinked, momentarily stunned by his audacity. Well, hell. That wasn’t what he intended to say. But the words hung between them, thick with an unacknowledged tension that sent a shiver down his spine, heavy and unsettling, lingering long after the sound faded.

Ted's jaw clenched in ferocity, making the muscles in his cheeks ripple ominously. Every fiber of his being was taut as he wrestled internally to maintain his gaze or divert his eyes elsewhere. You weren’t deliberately provoking him, or perhaps you were; the ambiguity hung between you like a charged cloud. Meanwhile, your heart pounded rhythmically in your chest, a tempest of emotion contrasting sharply with the calm façade you wore. The rest of the room continued its routine, blissfully unaware of the simmering tension crackling beneath the surface..

Rebecca nearly choked on her saliva, the unexpected shock hitting her lungs in a burst. "Oh, darling," she whispered gleefully, her voice a hushed melody filled with amusement.

Ted's whole damn soul felt like it was being yanked out of him, as if an invisible hand was pulling at his very essence. His eyes snapped to hers, wide and frantic, the panic bubbling up too late to disguise beneath a calm facade. Rebecca arched a perfectly shaped brow, her eyes dancing with a mischievous glint, clearly relishing in the unease she had stirred within him.

“Did you?” she grinned, an impish glint in her eyes. “Did you just comment on her skirt?” She leaned in slightly, her presence almost tangible as she watched Ted squirm under her gaze.

Ted cleared his throat awkwardly, his mind spinning in a turbulent dance of uncertainty. "I, uh, I mean, in a purely observational way, strictly from a workplace practicality standpoint," he stammered, words slipping through his grasp like sand. "Y’know, like how a footballer’s gotta have the right cleats, or how a cowboy needs a good pair o’ boots, except, uh, in this case, it’s… a skirt." His hands floundered in the air, his explanation crumbling under the weight of his doubts. "Which, uh… ain’t got much to do with football or cowboys, now that I think about it."

"Observational," Rebecca repeated, her brow rising in a silent challenge that only heightened Ted's inner conflict.

"Yup," Ted replied, though the word felt heavy on his tongue. His eyes darted away from Rebecca as if seeking escape from the scrutiny that made him question everything he’d just said.

Rebecca made a sound deep in her throat, a rich, indulgent hum that seemed to savor the moment, as if storing it away for future amusement.

Ted was torn. The walls of the room seemed to press in on him, suffocating him in his indecision. Then, another voice entered the chaos as if the universe were testing him further.

"She looks good, doesn’t she?"

Ted flinched, his shoulders jerking up in surprise. He couldn't believe it. With his ever-calm demeanor and casual stance, Coach Beard stood beside him, sipping his drink, eyes still trained on Ted. And that? That was it. The last straw, the final thread of his composure snapping.

"Alright, I’m leavin’, before I say somethin’ else that gets me into even deeper waters," Ted announced, his voice rough, tugging at the frayed edges of his jacket. "And trust me, I ain’t exactly Michael Phelps when it comes to swimmin’ outta these messes." His words were laced with a strange mix of humor and resignation, a desperate attempt to mask his inner turmoil.

But even as he resolved to leave, a part of him hesitated, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on him. Without waiting for a response, Ted spun on his heel, his steps heavy with the urge to flee, yet reluctant. Rebecca snorted audibly, a mischievous glint in her eye as she crossed her arms. "Oh no, you’re not." Her tone was playful yet challenging, adding to Ted's inner conflict.

Beard, leaning against the dim corner of the room and swirling his drink, took a deliberate, slow sip. "Not a chance," he added, a hint of a smirk curling his lips, making Ted question his resolve.

Ted’s face twisted into an exasperated groan as he ran a hand across his stubbled cheek. "Y’all are the worst people I know, an’ that’s includin’ the fella who once tried to sell me a timeshare at a funeral." His voice carried a mix of disbelief and sarcasm, each word weighted with regret and a flicker of doubt, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay or go.

Rebecca’s smile grew wider, lighting up her face with a spark of vindication. Beard shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly. "Nah, we’re just the ones who tell you the truth." His voice was calm, as if dispensing hard facts was as ordinary as breathing.

Then, leaning in as if about to drive a final, painful blow, Beard added, "If it makes you feel any better, she hasn’t stopped looking at you either." His words hung like a gauntlet thrown at Ted’s feet.

Ted’s body tensed up, a mixture of surprise and hesitation flickering in his wide eyes as he halted mid-step. The lively buzz of the room both anchored him and made him feel like he was floating, caught between wanting to stay and the urge to flee.

Rebecca’s head jerked up, and her eyebrows arched in immediate curiosity. "Oh?" she prompted, leaning forward slightly.

Beard slowly nodded, his expression smug beneath the low light. Each word was measured and deliberate. "She clocked him the second she walked in." His voice was low and almost teasing, relishing the moment's drama.

Rebecca’s eyes lit up as if a hidden secret had just been revealed. "And?" Her voice danced with anticipation.

Taking another leisurely sip from his glass, Beard stretched the moment, his eyes never leaving Ted’s face. "She smirked." The single word landed like a final, crushing verdict.

Ted's stomach twisted violently as if the ground beneath him had unexpectedly shifted, leaving him unsteady. His eyes flickered around the room, catching Rebecca's triumphant little gasp, which pierced the charged silence. Yet, it wasn't just the words that burdened him; an oppressive, invisible gaze seemed to weigh him down. The hairs on his neck prickled as his peripheral vision confirmed that Beard was now scrutinizing him closely, expressionless and mute yet absorbing every nuance.

Ted's hand, damp with unease, dragged down his face as he exhaled a heavy, conflicted sigh. "Don’t say it. Please. I'm beggin’ ya. Have mercy on a man who's already sufferin’," he implored, his voice a mix of desperation and a reluctant acceptance of his predicament.

Beard raised a single, quizzical eyebrow. "Say what?" he asked, his light tone edged with mischief.

Ted looked heavy with conflicted resignation, as though trapped between resignation and defiance. "You’re gonna say it anyway, huh? Alright. Just… gimme a sec to brace myself," he murmured, his voice cracking with anxiety and an unspoken dread.

After a pause that stretched out like an eternity, Beard’s usual laid-back charm slipped back in with a barb that cut sharper than expected. "Hell of a skirt," he remarked casually, as though commenting on the day’s runoff instead of the turbulent undercurrents between them.

Ted groaned, the sound laden with internal conflict. "Come on, man," he muttered, his eyes betraying a swirl of disbelief, regret, and something like desperate hope.

"I mean, I get it," Beard replied with a more defensive than dismissive shrug, his tone already shifting to a tentative finality, as if he longed to put everything aside.

Ted’s gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "There’s nothin’ to get." Each word seemed to wrestle with resignation and anger, a dialogue of a man resigned to his fate yet utterly unwilling to let go.

Beard hummed softly, a murmur that seemed both an acknowledgment of painful truth and an admission of his inability to help. "Mmm." It was the sound of someone who held the keys to painful insights but chose silence over empathy, a silence that echoed between them.

The sound sent a jolt through Ted’s thoughts, an uneasy reminder of how much Beard knew and yet how little he could offer. Scrambling for distraction, Ted nearly forced a change in topic. "You see the lineup for Saturday?" he asked abruptly, as if steering the conversation away from the storm brewing within him.

Beard’s head dipped in a barely perceptible nod. "Yep," he replied, his tone indifferent on the surface but strangely linking their troubled exchange.

"We lookin’ solid?" Ted pressed, his voice laced with a tentative hope that warred with his inner disquiet.

"Yep," Beard answered, his voice flat yet carrying the weight of an unspoken bond amid all their tangled emotions.

Ted exhaled slowly, almost in relief, as if releasing a breath held against his tumous feelings. "Great. Good talk," he drawled, forcing a smile that barely concealed the turmoil behind it. "Yep. Just really productive. Absolutely no lingering thoughts or emotions here. Nope. None at all." The words felt hollow even as he tried desperately to convince himself.

Beard’s grin widened, but it bore a mix of amusement and sorrow. "She’s gonna be the death of you." His words struck Ted like a final, damning judgment, a sentence too heavy to bear.

Ted’s eyes fluttered shut. He was caught between the instinct to defy that cruel forecast and the resigned acceptance of its inevitability, his inner world a chaotic battleground of doubt and despair.

Without further words, Beard patted Ted lightly on the shoulder, a gesture that masked the burden of years of shared struggle and unspoken pain. "Just sayin’," he murmured, as if the comment were both a comfort and a condemnation.

Then, without looking back, Beard turned and strode off into the dim corridor, leaving behind a trail of finality mixed with the bitter taste of shared, conflicted truth. And Ted? Ted remained rooted in place, the grim reality of his doomed fate settling over him in tangled layers of conflict he could neither entirely escape nor ultimately embrace.

Ted was not okay.

He had been weaving a web of lies for himself about many things lately, but this moment? This was the undeniable point where he had to concede defeat. Every time he commanded himself to stop glancing over, to quit noticing the little things, to suppress those feelings, you did something that completely shattered him.

And tonight, at this ostentatious sponsor event filled with clinking glasses and artificial laughter, you would be the end of him.

It began with the tiniest sparks and always started that way. Ted Lasso had navigated high-pressure situations before: championship finals with the weight of expectation bearing down on him, media frenzies with cameras flashing like strobes, and half-time speeches with the entire team watching him as if he possessed the secret formula for a miracle.

He had managed all of it with his trademark smile, firm, unwavering, exuding calm and control. But this? This was a whole different ball game.

Because you walked in, the atmosphere in the room shifted, and suddenly, Ted felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. His eyes were drawn to the dress you wore. That dress. Midnight black, hugging your curves like a second skin, accentuated contours that set Ted's thoughts spiraling into territories they shouldn't venture into. The neckline was a delicate scoop, dipping just enough to tantalize, causing his eyes to wander before he could reel them back in. The hemline stopped daringly at mid-thigh, showcasing long, smooth legs that seemed to glimmer under the soft lighting, an alluring distraction.

Ted swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. Nothing was obscene about the dress, and its design had no hint of scandal. Yet it was potent enough to unravel him completely. And what made it worse? You appeared utterly unaware of the effect you had. That is, until you turned.

He was caught mid-stare, and his stomach somersaulted. For a moment, panic gripped him. He half-expected you to call him out, laugh, and remark about his gaping mouth or sudden silence.

Instead, you responded with a slow, knowing smirk that was captivating and devastating.

Before Ted could regain his composure, your eyes drifted down to his hands, which were still fiddling clumsily with his tie, the ends slipping through his fingers.

Ted barely managed to steady himself as you stepped closer, your voice a silky blend of amusement and danger, "Struggling there, Coach?"

Your voice was like honey, smooth and lightly teasing, sending a shiver down his spine.

He inhaled deeply, trying to anchor himself and ignore the warmth radiating from you like a gentle sunbeam. "You know, I’ve spent years mastering the art of the Windsor knot, but today?" He sighed, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the nerves. "My hands just ain't workin' right."

Your smirk widened, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes. "Uh-huh." There was a moment of pause as if you were weighing a decision, and then, with decisive grace, you closed the gap between you. You were too close now, close enough that Ted's heart seemed to race erratically against his ribs. Close enough that the fragrance you wore, a blend of something bright and soft, enveloped him, making his mind whirl with the intoxicating scent that seemed to promise a little too much trouble.

His breath caught in his chest, eyes slightly widening, as a battle raged within him. As your fingers brushed against his meticulously knotted tie, he seemed to lose all sense of himself, teetering on the edge between the desire to stay composed and the urge to surrender to the moment. You worked the fabric loose with a smooth and deliberate motion, as if you had untied ties a hundred times before, and the whisper of silk against your fingertips sent a shiver coursing through him. It was so subtle it could have been mistaken for the chill from the open door behind you, but Ted couldn't ignore it.

He felt its presence in how his spine tensed and relaxed, in the involuntary twitch of his fingers that seemed to reach for and pull away from his sides simultaneously, and in the pounding of his pulse that reassured him while unnerving him as it echoed in his throat. It was just a tie, a simple, ordinary tie. Yet somehow, in that moment, it was meaningless and all-consuming to him, leaving him caught in a web of emotions he couldn't entirely untangle.

Your touch was gentle, your knuckles lightly grazing the column of his throat, brushing against the fabric of his crisp shirt, and grazing the warm skin beneath his collar. Ted clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists at his sides. He was caught between the reckless urge to close the space between you and the desperate need to maintain control.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, your voice dipping to a low, intimate tone that sent conflicting signals through his mind.

Ted exhaled sharply, the air rushing out of him, betraying the turmoil within. "Just concentratin’."

"On what?"

Not your mouth. Not your hands. Not the way you’re standing so close he could count every one of your eyelashes, yet yearning to do that.

"On, uh… not movin’ too much."

You laughed softly, a warm and understanding sound that intensified the war inside him. Ted felt it resonate deep in his chest, stirring feelings he craved and feared. Your fingers tightened the knot, gliding along the fabric one final time, slow and lingering. Then you pulled it tight, too tight. Ted swore he felt it constrict something deeper than his throat, as if it were binding his heart and mind in a tug-of-war.

"There," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath a gentle caress shy of touching his skin. Your hands remained in place for a moment longer, long enough for Ted to think if he moved forward even an inch, but equally terrified of what that might unleash.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you patted his chest right over his heart as if you understood the tumult you were causing within it. Then, you stepped back with a casual grace that left him on edge.

"All set, Coach."

As if the universe had plotted against him, the evening spiraled out of control. Ted sat hunched over his drink at the dimly lit bar, the ice clinking softly as he absentmindedly swirled it. He was deep in conversation with Beard, the chatter of patrons a dull hum in the background, when a word pierced through the noise, sharp and clear: your name. Laughter followed, bright and unmistakable, and everything else faded away. Ted's head turned slowly, his movements deliberate as he tried to mask the turmoil inside. And there you were.

Across the room, you stood at the far end of the sleek, polished bar, your smile radiant under the soft glow of overhead lights. That damned dress, a deep crimson that hugged every curve, seemed to shimmer as if it had been crafted just for you. But what caused Ted’s jaw to set like stone, his fingers to clamp around the glass until his knuckles whitened, was the man beside you.

A sponsor rep, Ted guessed, young, with slick hair and a silver tongue, exuding a breezy confidence that grated on Ted’s nerves. The man’s name remained a mystery, and Ted had no desire to learn it. His attention fixated on the way the man leaned slightly closer, his body language reeking of assurance, his hand hovering just a breath away from the small of your back, hesitating but poised to close the gap.

Your laughter rang out again, a melody that twisted Ted’s insides into knots. You weren’t at fault; you hadn’t crossed any lines. Yet that didn’t stop a searing, irrational heat from unfurling beneath Ted’s ribs, a slow burn that threatened to erupt. Beard, ever perceptive, noticed the shift and murmured, just for Ted, "Don’t do anything stupid."

Ted inhaled deeply through his nose, forcing the corners of his mouth into a tight, strained smile. "Now, why would I do that?"

Beard offered no reply, just a knowing sip of his beer and a sidelong glance. Ted dismissed the unspoken warning, his gaze inexorably drawn back to you. The way you tilted your head, listening intently, the way your fingers idly traced the rim of your glass as if they had a mind of their own. The man leaned in closer, his voice a hushed murmur now, uttering words Ted couldn’t catch, igniting his simmering frustration.

He didn’t need to dissect it; the feeling exploded within him like a live wire. The tension coiled in his shoulders, a taut spring ready to snap, while the glass in his hand threatened to shatter under his white-knuckled grip. He recognized that same predatory stance all too well, the way the other man leaned in, eyes locked in a hunt. Hell, he’d been that guy before, trampling boundaries without remorse. Now, a raging storm churned inside him, a visceral mix of blistering anger and seething frustration. His jaw throbbed from being clenched too fiercely, and he battled against the burning urge to smash something, anything, to release the violent turmoil within. He knew he should avert his gaze, walk away, feign indifference, even though that raw, dark edge gnawed relentlessly at him.

But then the man pushed closer, his invasive presence igniting the breaking point. Ted moved deliberately, each step fueled by an unseen, relentless force. He stalked through the crowded room with grim purpose, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the unfolding scene. Not charging in recklessly, he instead positioned himself strategically within the conversation, close enough to upend the dynamic. “Hey there, y’all,” he said, his voice steady yet crackling with defiant energy.

You turned towards him, surprise flickering across your face, your brows arching in recognition. “Ted.”

Your voice's familiar, comforting timbre had a dual impact; it soothed the simmering blaze in his chest even as it fed its fury. The guy beside you straightened, his eyes sharpening into a calculating glare. “Lasso, right?” he drawled, each word a deliberate provocation.

“Well, that’s what the good people call me,” Ted replied, his voice smooth but undercut by a hint of uncertainty. His smile was wide, but his eyes remained shadowed with inner unrest as he stole a glance at you, striving to dodge the relentless stare of his challenger. “Just checkin’ in. Y’all havin’ a good time?” he asked, though there was a tremor in his tone suggesting that he wasn’t entirely sure he even wanted the answer.

You blinked, a fleeting, inscrutable emotion crossing your features like a shadow. “Yeah. Everything’s great,” you replied, your measured tone leaving room for a lingering doubt.

Ted nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets with a veneer of forced nonchalance, every word laced with an undercurrent of tension. “That’s good. Wouldn’t want any of our fine guests feelin’ neglected,” he said, each syllable carrying a barely contained edge.

You caught the nuance, tilting your head slightly, eyes narrowing as if piecing together a puzzle. The guy beside you shifted uncomfortably, sensing the change in the charged atmosphere, but Ted’s focus remained locked solely on you.

Then, as if to intensify the spark, the guy chuckled, a sound soaked in arrogant confidence and infuriating smugness. “I was telling her she should let me take her out sometime. Show her a good night in the city,” he said, his words hanging in the air like a deliberate provocation.

Ted’s fingers closed into tight fists, knuckles whitening as if straining to contain a brewing storm. His face wore a deceptive mask of calm, yet something snapped like an overstretched wire inside. The ensuing silence was heavy, oppressive. Then, Ted let out a deceptively soft laugh, its underlying edge threatening. Ted placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, not rough or reckless, but firm enough to make a point. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t need to.

"Now," he said, his voice walking a tightrope between easy charm and something dangerously close to sharp-edged fury, "I think she already gets plenty of those, don’t you?"

The words seemed light, almost too light. Yet beneath them, a low and unmistakable warning resonated.

His eyes caught yours, and you both seemed to freeze in that moment, grappling with a sharp edge of emotions that neither fully understood. The smile slipped off your face, leaving only raw tension. And Ted? Ted had already turned, walking away with deliberate strides that belied the turmoil within. If he lingered a moment longer, he might do something reckless, like order the guy to step back or, perhaps more dangerously, pull you into his arms immediately.

Ted's pace was quick, almost like running, yet he kept it casual. It felt like he was fleeing from confrontation, the searing heat of the moment, and the unsettling burn in his palm from gripping the guy’s shoulder. Your piercing, breathless look haunted him as he turned away, leaving a tumult of emotions in its wake.

He needed to clear his head, to breathe deeply and find calm, to bury his hands in his pockets and convince himself he hadn't overstepped. Was he okay? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all.

And then, a warm, blunt voice broke through his thoughts, "Babe, you are so not fine."

Ted didn’t need to glance sideways to know who it was. Keeley had materialized at his side, as she often did, her heels clacking on the pavement with a mischievous rhythm, her eyes alight with amusement and secondhand embarrassment. Ted sighed, the sound long and resigned. "Keeley, "

"Oh. My. God!" Keeley almost choked on a burst of laughter, playfully smacking Ted's arm with the back of her hand. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ted! What. The. Hell! Was that?! I mean, what was that?!"

Ted ran a hand down his face, struggling to mask the flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. "I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about," he muttered, but his Southern drawl was more pronounced, betraying his inner uncertainty. He wanted to deny everything, yet part of him wondered if he should just come clean.

Keeley snorted, her head shaking in disbelief. "Babe," she said, her voice laced with incredulity. "You looked like you were about to square up at a sponsor event. What the hell was that?"

"That’s an exaggeration, " Ted started, but Keeley cut him off.

"That was the most ‘this is my woman, back off’ energy I have ever seen, like, ever, Ted." Her eyes were wide, her lips curled in bewilderment and amusement.

"Keeley, " Ted tried to interject.

"And you just turned and walked off like some tragic rom-com lead who needs to stand in the rain and dramatically process his feelings, babe. I cannot with you right now." She threw her hands up in mock exasperation.

Ted groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Keeley, for the love of all things holy, "

Keeley stopped abruptly, turning to face him squarely. The humor in her eyes softened, replaced by something more tender.

"Ted," she said, her voice dropping to a gentle tone that twisted his stomach. It wasn't teasing anymore. Now, she was looking at him with an insight that made him feel exposed. "This isn't just you being protective, is it?" A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face. "This is something else."

Ted froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Keeley’s brows lifted in a silent challenge. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Ted stood stuck in place, his mouth clamped shut, struggling to find words that danced just out of reach. He felt caught between the urge to spill the truth, a truth that loomed large like a tidal wave, threatening to crash down with all its overwhelming and dangerous force, and the desperate wish to keep it buried. The reality seemed too daunting to confront. In the whirl of his chaotic thoughts, he acted on impulse: he turned away, snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s silver tray, hoping the sparkling liquid might help him escape the weight of his reality.

Around him, the party buzzed on, a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses, but Ted felt adrift, disconnected. He had fulfilled his role, made his appearance, exchanged polite words, and stood under the relentless glare of the cameras. Yet, a part of him longed to stay and face the truth, to see if the confrontation might bring some relief. But the need for escape won out. He slipped onto the terrace, letting the cool night air wash over him, a balm for the fiery tension that smoldered within him like a stubborn ember refusing to die out.

Behind him, your voice sliced through the night, "There you are."

Ted's shoulders tensed as he struggled with fear and resolve. As he slowly turned, you stood at the terrace's edge, arms crossed, your gaze piercing through him like daggers. His heart skipped and faltered, caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

"Hey, darlin’," he managed to say, his voice a mix of forced calm and underlying panic, desperately trying to mask the storm raging within.

You didn’t smile- no quirk of a grin, no light jest. You advanced a step closer, and suddenly, Ted felt trapped, like a deer caught in headlights. "You walked away," you stated, your voice firm and unyielding.

Ted sighed heavily, his hand raking through his hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "Ah, well, you know. Thought I’d let you enjoy your evenin’, "

"Cut the bullshit, Ted." Your words came out sharp, slicing through his weak defense.

Jesus, Ted froze, his heart pounding with fear and defiance. Your voice cut through the tension, a shocking jolt that left him uncertain. You weren't toying around. You had witnessed everything that unfolded inside and were determined not to let him escape this confrontation.

"What was that?" you demanded, each word daring him to respond.

Ted hesitated, caught between the urge to defend himself and the desire to defuse the situation. He forced a chuckle, but it came out strained and insincere in the dimly lit room. "Just checkin’ in on a teammate… "

"Ted."

Just his name. A single word hit him like a lightning bolt. His throat felt constricted, like a desert wind had left it dry and cracked. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers caught in an uncertain dance of curling and uncurling. Their distance felt almost nonexistent, as if a mere whisper could bridge it.

"You wanna tell me why you looked like you were gonna rip that guy’s head off?"

Ted exhaled, the sigh burdened with things he couldn't quite articulate. "I didn’t, "

"You did."

His heart pounded, a relentless rhythm that clashed with his swirling thoughts.

"You wanna tell me why you did that?"

He desperately needed to concoct an excuse that would swiftly cut through the heavy tension surrounding them. Yet, as you stood there, your eyes fixed on his with a piercing, almost challenging look, the prospect seemed impossible. A truth dangled precariously on the tip of his tongue, and he was terrified that if it escaped, it would unravel everything, leaving no chance to retract it.

"Ted."

His jaw tightened, muscles tensing as if bracing for an impending storm.

"Say it," you murmured, stepping closer, your voice dipping into a soft and perilous whisper.

His breath quivered, each inhale shallow and jagged. The distance between you seemed to disappear, yet the silence around him was comforting and suffocating. Ted felt torn between fleeing and staying for the first time, his breath hitching sharply in his chest.

You were standing so close to him that you could almost feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The air between you felt thin and fragile, like a delicate thread threatening to snap, yet it held an undeniable allure. Ted felt the urge to move, to take a step back, to crack a joke and dispel the tension, but another part of him longed to remain where he was, frozen in this confusing moment.

Your eyes were locked onto his, unwavering, challenging him to stop pretending, to finally acknowledge the unspoken words that had lingered between you for far too long.

"Say it, Ted." Usually full of playful banter, your voice was now soft, stripped of all pretense. You weren’t teasing or pushing. Just… waiting.

Anticipating him to shatter the silence between you finally. His jaw was set rigidly, and his fingers twitched ever so slightly at his sides, hands frozen when they should have reached out to you or dismissed the tension with a wave.

"I don’t, " Ted started, his voice a harsh rasp, but then he stopped abruptly, leaving the sentence unfinished. He was torn; fooling himself was one thing, but to lie to you? That was a boundary he struggled even to contemplate crossing.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head ever so slightly, your lips pressing together in frustration and resignation. "You really can’t say it, can you?" You asked, your words a quiet challenge.

Ted’s throat tightened, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as he tried to muster the courage. He longed to speak, to let those words slip out. Yet, the weight of what they meant held him back. If he let them loose into the world and allowed himself even a fleeting moment of surrender, everything would change, and there would be no way to rewind.

You sighed, shifting your weight slightly, your gaze dropping for a heartbeat before meeting his eyes again with a resolute "Okay."

Ted's brow furrowed, a crease forming between his eyes. "Okay?"

You gave a slight nod, your lips barely moving as you whispered, "Okay. If you can’t say it…"

And then, your body shifted, a subtle movement that erased the final sliver of distance between you. It was almost overwhelming for Ted, leaving him breathless. His chest barely touched yours, and yet his heart pounded furiously like a wild drum within his ribcage. His hands, those unfaithful hands, wavered with uncertainty as they hovered just above your waist, fingertips trembling as they grazed the soft fabric of your dress.

Your breath caught in your throat, a delicate hitch he could feel. He sensed it on his skin, a tightening, a sharp pull that was as dangerous as it was magnetic. Your fingers trailed up the front of his jacket, each touch deliberate, testing, as if mapping uncharted territory. Ted released a trembling breath, a mix of determination and uncertainty swirling within him. His hands hesitated, caught between holding back and drawing you closer, feeling the soft contours beneath his fingertips. It was enough to make his steadfastness waver, caught in his conflicting emotions.

Your fingers paused, and your breath quivered. For the first time, Ted moved, not away, not retreating, but forward. Just a fraction, just enough to shatter the illusion of pretense. He felt you tense, heard the sharp intake of breath, sensed the way you didn’t step away.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, carrying the weight of a confession rather than a command.

Your fingers curled into his lapels, the fabric bunching under your grip, your pulse matching his wild rhythm. You remained silent, didn’t push him away, didn’t utter the words that would halt this moment. And that? That undid him completely.

His head lowered, bringing his forehead so close to yours that your breaths intertwined in a tender, almost electric, haze. The delicate hint of champagne on your lips tempted him, mixed with the lingering fragrance of your perfume and the comforting aura you exuded. He yearned for more; oh, how he yearned. Yet, an insistent doubt gnawed at him as destiny seemed to weave a different path entirely.

"Coach?" The voice sliced through the night air with the precision of a knife.

Ted's muscles tensed instantly, like a coiled spring. He inhaled sharply, his heart pounding against his ribcage as if he'd been caught red-handed in a secret act. Your hands jerked away as though stung, the heat between you dissipating into the cool evening breeze. Ted turned slowly, every movement deliberate and heavy with reluctance, to face Beard standing at the terrace entrance. Beard's face was a mask of neutrality, but his eyes seemed to absorb everything, leaving nothing unseen.

Ted swallowed hard, stepping back, his fingers fidgeting with the residual sensation of something he hadn't dared to embrace fully.

"Yeah?" His voice emerged rough and strained, foreign even to his ears.

Beard's gaze darted from you to Ted, assessing, calculating. Finally, he exhaled, running a weary hand over his face as though wiping away the moment. "Never mind."

With that, Beard vanished back indoors. Ted turned to face you, his pulse racing and chaotic. You watched him, your breath catching, eyes clouded with a whirlwind of emotions, lips slightly parted, cheeks burning with conflicting feelings. His fingers twitched, flexed, then curled into fists. He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, but his knuckles stayed white. He felt a desperate urge to speak, to somehow reach across the widening gap that had opened between you. He needed to repair the unseen rift, to act as though he wasn't teetering on the edge of falling apart.

But instead, you took a slow, deliberate step backward, just one, yet it felt monumental, like the conclusion of something teetering on the edge and was now finally letting go.

"We should go back inside," you whispered, the words barely audible.

Ted nodded, the gesture heavy with a multitude of unexpressed thoughts. "Yeah."

Neither of you moved initially, as if time itself had paused. Your eyes stayed locked, each heartbeat brimming with the words neither dared to voice. You faltered before turning away, torn by indecision, while Ted watched you retreat, conflicted between the desire to call you back and the dread of what might unravel if he dared to break the silence.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Every Time You Lie - Ch 4 || Lloyd Hansen

Character: dark!Lloyd Hansen x female!reader, dark!Husband Lloyd Hansen x Wife!reader.

Synopsis: Any woman is jealous of you, especially with the status of being the wife of Lloyd Hansen—the CEO of the biggest pharmacy company in the country. From the outside, everyone sees you as a perfect family, a successful husband, two kids, and living in a big house. 

But the truth is different. You are trapped in this marriage because of the mistake you made. You are willing to give everything you have to get your freedom. Free from him. Free from your vicious mother-in-law. Free from your snobby son.

Both of them shouldn’t be together.

Warning: Betrayal, suicidal thought, harsh language, tragedy. Minors do not read. 18+

Author Note: I do not consent to copying or translating my work.

Words Count: 3,551 

Any reblog, comment, and feedback are appreciated. I want to know what you guys think.

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Determined to find the missing pieces of your life, you were resolute about leaving the hospital. Despite the doctors' recommendations for more rest, you insisted on speeding up your discharge. Every moment spent confined in the hospital felt like precious time wasted.

Lloyd, your supposed husband, supported your decision. Yet, his concern seemed to stem more from his internal battles rather than genuine care for your well-being. His gaze held a mix of anxiety and something you couldn't quite place, making you feel increasingly unsettled.

Your skepticism towards Lloyd deepened as you struggled to recognize the man presented as your husband. Your instincts pushed you to seek understanding from the one person you felt could trust—your daughter, Emily.

Alone in your room, Emily seized a fleeting moment when the vigilant bodyguard left, feigning concern by pretending to place a bandage on your chest. As soon as both of you were alone, a sense of urgency lit up in Emily's eyes.

"Mother, I don't have much time, but you need to know the truth about our household," Emily whispered urgently. "Father holds the ultimate authority in our household. His decisions shape everything. Mother always adheres to what he says. If he rejects something, it's final. And if he approves, it's unquestionable. Just hold on, Mother. I'll figure out a way to help you escape from here."

You felt a mix of emotions—confusion, suspicion, and a profound need for the truth. Your reliance on Emily as the only familiar and trustworthy figure in this puzzle of your life intensified.

In that fleeting exchange, you realized the grip Lloyd held over the household, and the sense of constraint around your existence magnified. It felt like being caged in a life you didn’t recognize, enforced by rules you hadn't consented to. The resolve to break free and uncover the reality surged within you.

Suddenly, the heavy air in the room shifted as Lloyd entered. His mere presence seemed to suffocate the space, casting a shadow that loomed over everything. Emily's demeanor, despite being related by blood, reflected a facade of grief in the face of his entrance.

Lloyd's countenance softened, adopting a concerned expression as he addressed you. "How are you feeling, my dear?" His voice held a blend of tenderness and concealed apprehension, creating an unsettling aura that made you instinctively retreat.

Your mind churned with questions, doubts, and an instinctive distrust toward this man you were told was your husband. The sense of entrapment in his presence only heightened the urgency to unravel the truth behind the facade of this life you were expected to accept.

You forced a strained smile "I'm alright, thank you, Lloyd."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, then he turned to Emily. "It's late. You should rest. We'll have a lot to take care of tomorrow."

You watched as Emily nodded obediently, her eyes briefly meeting her mother's, a silent reassurance amidst the hidden distress. With a swift, worried glance at you, Emily left the room.

Alone with Lloyd, the unease in the room felt palpable. You attempted to compose yourself, yet the air crackled with tension, making it increasingly challenging to suppress your growing sense of skepticism and fear.

Your mind raced with questions, doubts, and the feeling that you were entangled in a web of secrets and lies. As you observed Lloyd's careful demeanor, you vowed to find the truth, to unearth the reality buried beneath this carefully constructed mirage.

Lloyd, enveloping you in a gentle embrace, held you as if trying to bridge the gap of lost time. His touch conveyed a genuine longing, a yearning for your presence that was difficult to fake. "I've missed you so much, Y/N," he murmured, his voice tinged with a blend of relief and genuine affection. "I'm overjoyed to see you standing again, to witness your recovery. You've made remarkable progress."

Caught in the duality of her own confusion and the necessity to comply, reciprocated the embrace, your mind wrestling with the incongruity of emotions. You masked your skepticism behind a facsimile of reciprocated affection, knowing you had to tread cautiously within this enigmatic household.

Lloyd, as he held you, felt a surge of relief coursing through him. He was elated to see you regaining strength, standing on your feet again. It was a moment he had anxiously awaited, a glimmer of hope in the maze of uncertainties. His joy at your recovery was genuine, yet it was intertwined with the dread of potentially losing the delicate balance he had tried to maintain.

"I've been so worried about you," he admitted, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and guarded anxiety. "Seeing you on your feet again—it's a great relief, Y/N. I want nothing more than for you to recover fully, to reclaim the life we've shared."

"Thank you, Lloyd," you softly uttered, her words carrying a hint of solace, enough to offer a glimmer of comfort to the man who seemed to miss you dearly.

Your response carefully measured a balance between your quest for truth and the facade you needed to maintain for the time being, even though your heart yearned for answers hidden within the veils of your forgotten memories.

The car ride back to the Hansen residence was a silent journey. You seated beside Lloyd, gazed out the window at the passing buildings and streets, your eyes filled with a mix of awe and bewilderment. The city looked so different—modern and advanced, a stark contrast to any image you had in her mind. Everything seemed unfamiliar, yet subtly intriguing.

As they arrived at their home, your eyes widened at the grandeur of the mansion. The scale and opulence of the building were truly impressive. However, the facade felt imposing, creating a sense of discomfort within you, an inexplicable feeling that it was all too much.

Stepping into the vast halls of the Hansen mansion, you felt overwhelmed by the extravagance. The grandeur seemed excessive, almost suffocating, as if the walls echoed with the weight of secrets and the burden of a life you didn’t remember living.

Lloyd guided you through the corridors, every step magnifying your unease. The walls were adorned with art, the furniture spoke of luxury, and the air was scented with an air of richness that contrasted starkly with your sense of displacement.

The residence that was supposed to be your home felt foreign, like a stage set for a life you have yet to comprehend. The enormity of the mansion felt less like a sanctuary and more like a labyrinth of hidden truths and unanswered questions.

Stepping into the grand master bedroom, you felt a shiver of trepidation down her spine. The room exuded luxury, adorned with lavish furnishings and an ambiance that spoke of comfort and wealth. Yet, you couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that this was a space belonging to a stranger, not you.

Lloyd observed your hesitation, his own expression filled with a mix of concern and an underlying apprehension. Sensing your unease, he approached you with a gentle demeanor, trying to mask the weight of his own hidden worries.

"Dear, I know this is all overwhelming. But the doctor recommended that we stay together like we used to. He believes it might help trigger your memory to return," Lloyd explained, his voice tinged with an urgency that mirrored his desperate hope for your recovery.

You're still unused to every time he calls you 'dear.' Your heart fluttered uncertainly, caught between your natural wariness and the doctor's suggestion. The thought of blending into a life you couldn't recall felt suffocating, but you realized the urgency of your situation.

Torn between your instincts and the doctor's recommendation, you nodded, a hesitant agreement borne more out of necessity than genuine comfort. In this unfamiliar space that was supposedly your sanctuary, you found yourself straining to navigate the delicate balance between compliance and your quest for truth.

Lloyd led you into the clothing room, which he claimed to be your favorite. The room was adorned with an assortment of elegant dresses, shoes, and accessories that radiated opulence and sophistication. He watched you with hopeful eyes, waiting for a sign of recognition or approval.

"This is your favorite place, dear," he said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

You scanned the room, your heart fluttering with a sense of disconnect. The elegant gowns, the neatly arranged shoes, and the luxurious accessories felt like remnants of a life you couldn't quite recall. The items bore an air of sophistication that seemed at odds with her own sense of style and taste.

For a moment, a fleeting sense of discomfort washed over you. These weren't the clothes you would have chosen for herself. Your style and your preferences were nowhere to be found among the opulent collection. But understanding the situation's fragility, you fought back the instinct to express your discomfort. You masked your true feelings behind a composed facade, not wanting to upset Lloyd, who seemed genuinely trying to help you reconnect with her lost memories.

"Thank you, Lloyd," you replied with a measured smile, careful not to reveal your inner turmoil. As you stood amidst the lavish collection, you realized that, for the time being, you had to navigate this world, gently treading the line between complying and searching for the truths hidden within your forgotten memories.

As you perused Lloyd's wardrobe, your attention was drawn to a unique perfume bottle sitting among the array of exquisitely crafted colognes. The bottle's design stood out, and Lloyd's discerning gaze caught her inquisitive stare.

With a faint smile, Lloyd leaned in, his eyes reflecting a hint of pride. "I customize all my perfumes. Each one is unique, crafted to match specific moments or memories."

You nodded, acknowledging his explanation, and continued to scan the bottles. Among them, one bottle captured her attention. Its scent carried an inexplicable familiarity, triggering a jolt in her memory. Curious and inexplicably drawn, you picked up the bottle and uncapped it, the scent wafting gently to your nose.

However, as the fragrance reached your senses, a sudden and piercing headache tore through your mind, almost causing you to collapse. Before you could fall, Lloyd swiftly caught you, his arms providing a secure and steadying embrace.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Lloyd's voice carried genuine concern, his arms ensuring your stability.

Struggling to regain your balance, you fought the throbbing headache and the unsettling dizziness that the fragrance had brought. Despite the agony, a faint memory flickered at the edges of your consciousness, a memory so close yet shrouded in the haze of amnesia.

Barely composing herself, you managed a weak nod. "I-I'm fine, just a sudden headache," you murmured. The scent lingered in the room, its familiarity stirring a faint glimmer of memory just beyond your reach, leaving you in a whirlwind of confusion and questions that seemed to have no answers.

Seating you on the bed, Lloyd observed you closely, his concern palpable. The perfume bottle, a relic from his past, lay on the dresser, its scent triggering an unexpected turmoil in you. At that moment, his own thoughts turned somber, clouded by the weight of his own past mistakes.

Lloyd's gaze lingered on the bottle, the same perfume connected to his most significant mistake involving Zoey. A wave of regret and apprehension washed over him, realizing the potential impact this fragrance could have on your fragile state.

His resolve solidified, knowing he needed to eliminate any reminders of his past transgressions, especially one that had the power to distress you. The decision to remove the perfume became more than just safeguarding you; it was about erasing a connection to his own grave errors, ones that threatened the delicate balance of the life he was desperately trying to rebuild.

With a determined yet pained expression, Lloyd silently vowed to get rid of the perfume. His biggest mistake, a wound from the past, seemed to have resurfaced, and he couldn't risk the distress it might cause you. Resolutely, he made plans to dispose of it discreetly as a means of protecting you and shielding you from the repercussions of his own regretful history.

As Lloyd ensured you was resting, he quietly slipped out of the room. In the hallways, his steps slowed as a cold shiver ran down his spine, heralding the arrival of his mother, Krystal. Her aura was as intimidating as ever, emanating an air of authority and unyielding dominance.

"Lloyd," Krystal's voice sliced through the silence, her tone stern and unwavering.

Lloyd turned to face her, steeling himself for what he anticipated would be a confrontation. "Mother," he acknowledged, his voice laden with a mix of caution and respect.

Krystal's eyes pierced through him, cold and calculating. "A daughter-in-law with amnesia is akin to having a dementia patient in our family. It brings disgrace to the Hansen name," she declared, her words cutting deep with a disdainful tone.

Krystal's disdainful words pierced Lloyd's facade, igniting a fire within him. The insult towards you, spoken so callously, shattered the thin veil of diplomacy he had attempted to maintain.

Lloyd's fervent tone shifted as he confronted his mother, the intensity in his voice resonating with a blend of regret, urgency, and an undercurrent of anger.

"Mother, don't you dare speak ill of my wife!" Lloyd's voice quivered with a mix of disappointment and a newfound determination.

Krystal, surprised by the change in her son's demeanor, observed the turmoil within him. The bond between them had been strained after the car accident caused by Lionel, a turning point that shifted the family dynamics.

"Lionel's recklessness nearly took my wife from me!!! I won't allow her to slip away again, especially not because of you or anyone in this family," Lloyd expressed firmly, the weight of responsibility for your safety etched into his every word.

"Looking down on Y/N? If you continue your disrespect towards my wife, I'll erase you from this world without hesitation," his words cut through the air like a blade, carrying a severity that shocked even himself. The rawness of his anger unveiled a side of him his mother rarely witnessed.

The tension in the room thickened, marking a moment that showcased the transformation in the family dynamic after Lionel's mistake, emphasizing Lloyd's resolute stance to protect you, no matter the source of the threat.

Lloyd's sudden outburst left Krystal utterly speechless. Her usual poised demeanor shattered as she stood frozen, aghast at her son's uncharacteristic and forceful words.

Her mouth agape, Krystal struggled to find her voice. "Lloyd..." she stammered her tone a mix of astonishment and disbelief. The sheer audacity of her son's manner had left her momentarily stunned, unable to comprehend how he could speak to her in such a manner.

As the tense confrontation unfolded between Lloyd and Krystal, unbeknownst to them, Lionel had just returned from school. Hearing their conversation from the hallway, his heart sank, realizing the weight of his actions and their impact on his mother, Y/N.

*******

Frozen in the corridor, Lionel stood in disbelief, absorbing the severity of his mistake and the weight of his father's words. His recklessness had nearly cost his mother's life, and he was now witness to the turmoil it had caused within the family.

As Lionel retreated to his room, the weight of his emotions bore heavily upon him. His heart ached with the burden of his mother's absence—the void left by her amnesia that denied her the memories they once shared.

Tears streamed down Lionel's face as he sat in solitude. His gentle and loving mother, now lost to the turmoil of amnesia, was a painful reality he struggled to accept. Memories of her warmth, the moments they shared, and the comfort of her embrace flooded his mind, deepening the ache in his heart.

But how could he ask that? Before you got amnesia, he wasn't a good son; he never listened to you, and he always abused your kindness to get what he wanted since he knew you could never get mad at him.

In the silence of his room, Lionel's quiet sobs echoed the profound longing to hold her once more, to seek solace in her comforting embrace.

"I miss you, mom... Hikss... I'm so sorry. Please remember me."

He wished for the return of the gentle and affectionate moments they had shared, now lost in the fragments of her forgotten memories. The weight of his own actions that led to this situation bore down upon him, and he wept for the absence of the mother he dearly missed.

Krystal's incident on the first floor resulted in a situation where her leg strength was at risk due to an unforeseen mishap involving her son. During the commotion, her secretary, Zoey, rushed to her aid. When Lloyd encountered Zoey assisting Krystal, a moment of tense silence enveloped the room.

As he observed the scene, Lloyd was deeply affected by the presence of Zoey, his secretary and a figure from a past he wished to leave behind. At that moment, a silent yet weighty realization struck him – the emergence of Zoey, a reminder of past mistakes and the complications that followed, leading to strain in his relationship with you.

As Lloyd encountered Zoey tending to Krystal, he was slightly surprised to see her in front of him. Since you had fallen into a coma, Zoey had seemingly vanished from their lives. Her reappearance at a critical moment, just as you returned home with amnesia, raised questions in Lloyd's mind.

The unexpected reappearance of Zoey, your sudden amnesia, and Zoey's presence at a crucial juncture triggered a series of perplexing thoughts in Lloyd's mind. Who was this woman, and what was her sudden reappearance after your return? The timing seemed more than coincidental, and it sparked a nagging sense of suspicion and doubt within him.

As Lloyd entered his bedroom, he observed you peacefully sleeping on their bed, no longer reliant on the supporting machines—a sight that seemed almost miraculous to him. Gratitude swelled within him, knowing you were alive and resting in the comfort of their home.

Carefully changing into more comfortable clothes, Lloyd approached the bed. Gently, he slid under the covers, mindful not to disturb you. With a heart full of gratitude for her presence, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close, cherishing the moment. Placing his chin on your shoulder, he held her gently, feeling relieved that you were safe and by his side once more.

In the stillness of the moment, as he held you close, Lloyd silently prayed for you to regain your lost memories. He yearned for you to remember the life they had built together, the moments they had shared, and the connection they once had. He hoped for the return of the woman he cherished, hoping that you might once again become the loving and devoted wife you had always been.

After Zoey assisted Krystal back to their residence, she discreetly excused herself and made her way outside. Pulling out her phone, she dialed a number and waited as it rang.

"She's home," Zoey stated before ending the call. A mysterious smirk played upon her lips, hinting at a concealed plan or hidden motive. Her expression bore an enigmatic assurance, suggesting that more was at play beneath the surface.

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Any reblog, comment, and feedback are appreciated. I want to know what you guys think.

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , -

Main Masterlist || support me: Ko-fi 🥹💓

[morphinejunkie]

hii how are you? i hope you’re doing well :) i really love your fanfic crush, i’m writing a mello fanfic myself, but i’m having such a hard time capturing his essence, sometimes i get carried away writing him but then i realize it’s not really accurate, i either make him too angry, too much this, too much that, idk, do you have any tips for me? (only if you want, i just really love how you portray him, i think it’s really accurate so i thought what’s better than to ask you?) <3 ✨🌸

thank you very much!

mello was a character i struggled to write at first too. he’s a delicate tightrope walk between intelligence, aggression, coolness and (in my opinion) brevity. personally i find that the hardest thing is striking a balance that encompasses all four.

so i’ll break it down, this is what worked best for me.

1. use canon

the way i wrote mello, i referenced the original manga (and voice/diction in the dub anime) a lot. i would first listen to his lines and try to internalize his voice. and then i would study his body language in his panels and try to shift that body language and attitude into whatever scenario i’m writing.

mello is a pretty layered character, which i think a lot of people struggle with. he plays up the characteristics that people often associate with him (i.e. in the call with the president, he acts taunting and brash) when on his own turf he’s actually very calculating and careful (i.e. any scene in the mafia - he’s often staring into space, sprawled into a relaxed but aggressive position, and thinking).

i think a big thing to remember too is that mello made many decisions in canon that need to be backed up to create a holistic view of who he is. reverse-engineering mello’s character from his actions was a huge part of how i developed my mello as well - “why did mello do this? what motivations were urging him to do the thing he did? why are his emotions this way while he’s doing it?”

general rule of thumb is: if your mello would not do the things that canon mello did, the way that canon mello did, he’s probably ooc.

2. take him as a whole - not parts of him

i focused a lot of my energy on trying to capture mello as a whole. a lot of it is meeting mello where he is, not where you want him to be. assuming he is fully formed, an actual person, and you are getting to know him, not creating him from scratch. when i was no longer concerned about making mello do things that i wanted him to do, and instead interacting WITH mello as a fully formed character, i found it natural to hear his voice. near the end of crush i felt like i was just documenting them with a camera while matt & mello did what they did. they moved almost completely on their own and i was just there to capture it.

for me, especially in the beginning, i would often “practice” by throwing both matt & mello into a scenario with no expectation or plot, and seeing how they play off each other, without trying to move them from point a to point b. i found that let me understand their characters better — better than say a character study or a self-reflection would. in fact the bar scene was that exercise for me, and ended up setting the tone for the rest of the fic.

3. figure out all the different ways you can read mello, and figure out which works best for you

the one thing is, even if you study mello and take him as who he is, there’s not a lot to work from off the original series. a lot of him is further developed in fandom, and so there are various camps of interpretations of mello that are all equally valid & sound. i found that mapping out exactly how mello can be interpreted and figuring out where my mello lay on that scale helped me a lot in determining what i found was personally ic/ooc.

funnily enough this matrix was really helpful even though it was just a stupid joke post from back in the day. i really liked the way “mihael keehl” talked, i found it so cool and grounding. “priss” still exists though the details or manner of speaking has changed over the years, in fact twinky/glamourous mello remains one of the most common interpretations of his character which i personally rejected (i don’t think it reflects his body language in canon at all). “batshit” mello is time and place for me, but ultimately, not how i like to write him (as it only explains some of his actions in canon but not all).

of course writing mello in the end is wholly depends on your personal preference - you could do all of this and still end up with a different vision of mello as i did. as long as he is fully fleshed out to you, the details don’t matter.

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Part 8)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 702

Imagine Series

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

I hovered around the yard as I looked for any sign of the tiefling arriving at our doorstep, and I noticed a couple of figures standing at the edge of the pathway. Taking cover in the nearby shrubbery, I focused on the two figures: one figure was a beautiful looking woman with blonde hair and striking golden eyes with pointy ears, and the second figure was an older elven male with golden brown hair and piercing green eyes. My eyes narrowed on their own accord as I recognized the elf as the chef we had just recently hired before the tiefling’s arrival, Ahriman . The other figure bore a striking resemblance to the tiefling that disrupted our lives.

“Are you sure that the plan will work?” Ahriman asked the beautiful looking woman, who smiled sinisterly in response.

“My darling pet, you have planted the seeds to enable my entrance into the mansion. Did you give him the potion as I instructed?” The chef nodded eagerly in response. 

“Of course, Hiedra. He drank it with his evening cup of wine, and he was none the wiser.” I felt the blood in my dead veins boil at the interaction as the woman transformed in a flash of blue light to the familiar tiefling that ruined my life.

Hiedra? That name sounds familiar. I thought to myself as I watched the interaction. Where have I heard that name before?

“Excellent. Then everything shall work, and in a few years time, his guard will be let down enough for me to get exactly what we need from him. Once we have that, we can figure out how to utilize him to take over the world as our servant.” Ahriman laughed as the woman finished her sentence.

“Good. Then the fucking bastard won’t be able to terrorize anyone any longer. What will you do for his consort?” The tiefling laughed.

“Oh, she will leave of her own accord once she realizes that he won’t have any time for her after my arrival.” He gave a nod to her before they went their separate ways; she went to the door and the chef returned the way towards the servants’ quarters. Once they disappeared from sight, I found myself back in the rock cave—seated on the floor in the middle of the circle. I took a moment to reflect on the events I had just witnessed, and I could feel myself getting pissed at what transpired the night that tiefling showed up, but I knew I couldn’t do anything without any proof. 

Now to figure out where I know the name Hiedra from, what the liquid is they’re giving Astarion, and what the hell she’s doing with his blood. Gathering my stuff, I hurried to get back to the castle.

Before I entered the castle, I recast the invisibility spell on myself and snuck into the castle. No one noticed me as I stealthily walked through the hallways. I stopped by my bedchambers to grab two flasks and a small vial before I made my way to Astarion’s bedchambers. I paused outside the double doors and pressed my ear against the solid wood. Closing my eyes, I focused my highly sensitive drow ears on any noise coming from behind the door and quickly moved to step away from the door before the doors flung open. The tiefling herself strolled out from the room.

“I’ll see you later.” She nasally spoke to someone in the room before she started walking down the hall. I stepped out from behind the door as Astarion exited the room and shut the door behind him. My heart told me to reveal myself and tell him of what I saw, but my head knew that I needed to figure out all the shit with the tiefling first. You never go into war based on a measly assumption. My mother’s cold and cruel voice spoke in my head. Assumptions are what threaten the delicate balance of power, but proof of wrongdoings will enable you to wage any war. Heeding my biological mother’s advice, I followed the tiefling as she rounded the corner and made haste towards the servants’ wing of the castle. I prayed to any and all gods listening that I could find out what that shapeshifter was hiding.

[grembox]

Thinking about Dirk Strider once again and how stupid and smart he is at the same time. Dirk’s type of intelligence is really scary because he’s smart enough to be self reflective in a way that many of his friends take a bit of a longer time to get to, and he’s naturally hyper aware of all of his flaws (even before creating Hal, but especially afterward) Dirk’s whole thing is scolding himself by telling himself that he’s better than that. He’s better than feelings and self harm so there’s no way he can be experiencing that. In his mind, the only reason why people are so expressive and open about their own emotions is because they don’t know any better, but /he/ does.

He’s the type of smart where he /knows/that he’s intelligent but has no emotional awareness whatsoever because he’s so focused on analyzing his thoughts from an objective* standpoint that he convinces himself that his own emotions should never have any place in any equation.

I think that’s the big difference between Bro Strider and Dirk Strider; Dirk strider believes his own feelings should not not considered as it clouds his decision making, but Bro Strider feels that emotions belonging to himself AND others have no place in rationalizing his actions. This is exactly how Bro rationalizes his abusive behavior towards Dave and conversely how Dirk rationalizes his self harm. Bro’s inability to consider others’ feelings clouds his moral compass as well as any judgement he gets from others he immediately casts aside as being uninformed. **

I feel like Dirk, after a while of interacting with his friends in person, realizes that the mindset he holds regarding self denial of emotions or emotional expression is unhealthy, but before that I feel like he’d hold some animosity towards himself for not being able to instinctually express emotions that he’s been “suppressing” for YEARS which leads him to the realization. ‘Well I’m bad, my friends are good, I should be more like them. I’m bad for not being as emotionally open as they are,’ and instead of this actually leading him to work on his emotional constipation (or realizing that these emotions and traits are morally neutral) he starts analyzing why he analyzes his emotions, and passively punishes himself. Rinse and repeat.

Footnotes below: \/\/\/\/\/\/\/

*(Which is never truly objective from within his own mind because you cannot be objective about your own thoughts but Dirk for some reason thinks he’s the exception to the rule)

**I.E, In response to people judging him for sword fighting a teenager on the roof, Bro strider thinks ‘I need to be harder on him for him to succeed, to prepare him. They don’t know what our household needs, they should mind their business’ type beat. (Which falls so heavily in-line with black households and how abuse is normalized- Another reason why the Strilondes are Black as Fuck.)

[gingee-tarot]

Hello ! Hope you are doing well . I saw the slots were open so i got intrested in requesting a reading!

My initial - B

Gemini sun taurus moon and scorpio rising

memoriable childhood memory - when i was a kid my family and me moved into a new place when i was around 9 - 11 years old i think. The place was so calming especially at night and whenever came we used to switch off the lights and lay on the bed at night ( there was my parents bed near the window ) there was a sense of calmness it was so extraordinary feeling that till now it lingers and smtimes i want to go back . Another thing is that i got sexually exploited before moving into that place by few men ( when i was a kid ). One was a bizzare experience but it happened only once and another one wasn’t that much bizzare but it happened more often .

Hello 🍂 thanks for sharing your childhood memories and I’m sorry that happened to you 🙇‍♀️ I hope you are fine now

Sooo I’m connected to one of your past lives around 1920 and 1945.

Your Past Live in a Lost Civilization

In one of your past lives, you were born into lost civilization. a place that no longer exists or has been forgotten by history. This civilization was thriving once, with strong beliefs and systems but it faced many natural disasters and conflicts that led to its downfall. You were the grandchild of someone important in your community, and your family carried certain expectations for you to follow in their footsteps.

Fanatical Faith and Deception

You grew up in a community with a fanatical faith. This wasn’t a calm or gentle belief system, it was one that demanded complete loyalty and obedience. You believed deeply in the religion and followed its strict rules without question. At the time, you were convinced that your faith gave your life purpose, and you dedicated yourself fully to it.

But this faith also made you vulnerable. Someone within your inner circle, possibly a religious leader or a family member betrayed you. The Labyrinth card shows how you became lost in the of lies and manipulation. You were tricked into thinking that following this path would lead to salvation, but it ultimately led to betrayal. The love and trust you placed in others were turned against you.

Guilt and a Life Altering Choice

As you grew older, the guilt from your earlier actions started to burden you. You began to realize that your blind faith had caused harm not only to yourself but to others around you. The guilty conscience you carried was a result of choices made under the influence of this deceptive faith. You regretted the decisions you had made, feeling like you had let down those who depended on you.

At a crucial point in your life, you were faced with a choice. This wasn’t just an ordinary decision it was a life altering one. Your civilization was struck by a massive earth disaster likely an earthquake and the society around you began to crumble. During this time, many were captured and enslaved including you. You were forced to choose between your freedom and the survival of your loved ones. This was not an easy choice and whatever decision you made, it left you feeling responsible for the consequences.

Imprisonment and a Slow Decline

After the disaster you were taken as a prisoner of war or enslaved for labor. The Birds card reflects the chaos that surrounded you in these dark times. You were far from home, trapped in harsh conditions and the constant noise of fear and uncertainty filled your mind. In this captivity, you faced many hardships including starvation and dehydration which ultimately led to your death. It was a slow, painful decline, where you struggled for survival but couldn’t escape the fate of your captors.

A Gifted Grandchild with Prophecy

Although your life was filled with hardship you were not without gifts. As a grandchild of someone important in your civilization, you inherited certain prophetic gifts. You had a natural intuition and an ability to sense things before they happened. These gifts were not fully developed in that life, as your faith and external circumstances often overshadowed your abilities. You were meant to be a guide for your people but the chaos and betrayal you experienced made it difficult to embrace your gifts fully.

The Lesson of Self Trust

The lesson from your life that time was to learn how to trust yourself. This life taught you that true wisdom comes from within. You had the gift of prophecy but you couldn’t use it to its full potential because you didn’t trust your inner voice. Instead you allowed external forces to dictate your actions which led to betrayal and regret.

How This Past Life Affects You Now

In this life, the lesson from that past is still present, you are meant to trust your inner voice and fully develop your gifts. You may find yourself drawn to situations where you have to make tough choices and these moments are opportunities for you to listen to your instincts. The Labyrinth shows that life may feel confusing at times with many paths and voices pulling you in different directions, but you have the wisdom within to find your way out.

Your prophetic gifts are still part of who you are today. You have a natural intuition and an ability to sense things before they happen. The challenge is to trust this gift and not let external pressures or influences cloud your judgment. The Birds remind you that there will always be noise and distractions in life, but your true path lies in quieting that chaos and listening to your own intuition.

I hope you like your reading and please leave a feedback 💓 thanks

[sylvanedadeer]

If I remember correctly, you have mentioned that you are a big fan of literary tropes. Can you tell us what are some of your favorite tropes, least favorite tropes and what tropes you'd like to see more?

This one might be fairly long:

Anyone who knows me fairly well knows I'm literate largely because of comics. It's what my dad had around, so naturally, I'm a bit superhero/fantasy/fiction brained, but my dad is also a latin teacher, so I've been reading Homer, Livy, Herodotus, and Plato for probably longer than I should be. So, genre-wise, I tend to stick to writing/consuming fiction, usually fairly grounded in reality, with superhero stuff tending towards the top of the list.

Some of my favourite literary tropes are "The Self-Chosen One", "The Power of Friendship," and "The Sacrificial Lion".

"Self-Chosen Ones" are kinda self-explanatory, but have some chunky nuance to them. The archetypical "self-chosen one" is Sir Gawain, who chooses to take a challenge that would've otherwise fallen to his king, which ends up roping him... into a bisexual throuple? His isn't as chunky as like, Luz Noceda, who chose to take responsibility for her mistakes and for the people she empowered, or Moana, who rejects her destiny on the basis of destiny and chooses herself to prove TO herself that she can.

Marco, from Adastra, is an interesting instance of this, because the specifics of his "being chosen" were structured in such a way that he super WASN'T necessary. With Luz and Moana, there was... a remarkable lack of people hanging around to solve the plot, so by the Rules Of Stories, they kinda had to take things upon themselves, because otherwise... there's no story. Of course, Marco also had to go forward because PLOT, but 1. Not without grappling with the decision 2. At the detriment to his own health (his near-decapitation) and 3. They clearly outline why he made the choice he did, and also kinda... leave it tenuous on purpose. Very good way of using the trope for a tragedy.

"The Power of Friendship" is less of a trope and more just a reflection of the truth, that humans work well on their own, but will always work better, be happier, and thrive best with other people around them, helping and supporting them. The more direct invocations of this, like in MLP or Yugioh are kinda one of those guilty pleasures, even though I'd argue against the guilty part.

But less overt instances of it, like in Castlevania, when Alucard goes Fucking Nuts because Trevor and Sypha leave. The Avatar Gang and their whole "do you ever wonder if friendships can transcend lifetimes?". There are several instances of "you hurt my friend, time to die" in Invincible that honestly do a lot to keep me going despite the horrific nature of some of the fight scenes.

The most notable one that really got me was the "Loner realizes he has friends and allies" arc in TOTK, because I've clocked. About as many hours on BOTW as I have breathing, and it really does FEEL LONELY AND EMPTY, and that never FELT that way until TOTK came along and my nephew (Tulin) gave me the whole "We're stronger together" bit. I cried.

"Sacrificial Lions" are a little less obvious as to what they are, but the general gist is "a character who exists in the narrative as a heroic bastion of hope, who will be killed or die to further the narrative". Rose Quartz, Pyrrha Nikos, and most versions of Leomon I know about fit this category, as well as, like. Jesus lol.

I've... always liked heroic sacrifices it seems like the best way to really end a heroic character's life, and while I've reexamined that SPECIFIC point, I'm still a lover of the idea. Altruism is a very worthy thing, but I also like how these characters can haunt the narrative, almost always, to the point of making the cast Really Change. Rose is, of course, the inciting incident to an entire show, as her death lines up all of the pins that Steven has to kick over now.

Idk, I'm a fan. I also love it when narrative foils kiss.

[demonjunction]

Satan

Animal/object: Chimera/fire Gender: Cisman (he/him) Orientation: Pansexual panromantic

Age: Centuries old but looks 30 Died: N/A Height: 7'8"

Voice reference: J/ack S/kellington Theme: Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants

Tag: #satan🐐 Ship Tag: TBD

Description

Sinner

Satan resembles an anthro chimera, with a goat's head, a lion's mane, a lion's body, a snake's tail, and goat hooves for feet. He prefers to slick back his mane, which is made out of fire. Its colors are yellow, bright orange, dark orange, and red. The intensity of it depends entirely on his mood. To match, his hooves are a charcoal black. His body is white with accents of gray and black, showing off its more smoky nature whenever he moves. His eyes are made out of red flames, and within them, one will either see horrific visions or strangely pleasant ones. Some have been said to see blood and suffering, while others have seen the blood moon or the boiling sea of Hell.

He wears a black crown and has a regal cape attached to the back of his suit. His outfit is pure red and his cape is on fire where the fur would usually be.

Human

He does not have a human form, though he could shapeshift to look more human if he so desired.

His Color Palette

Personality

He can come off as quite menacing, having a smooth disposition that, rather than being accompanied by uncaring coldness, comes with intense curiosity. He speaks to others with passion, yet the reasons for this passion are difficult to decipher. At any given time he tends to feel as if he has both wonderful and terrible intentions towards whoever he is speaking to. It is my personal belief he simply doesn’t make up his mind until he knows a person very well. His warmness can be intimidating, as he is very attentive and treats almost everyone he meets with the same respect and kindness one would an old friend. 

He listens intently to the stories of sinners, studies their actions, and takes a more hands off approach when it comes to ruling them, knowing better than to strike a rebellion within them.

Power

Within Satan's eyes, one will see either their worst fear or their greatest desire reflected in the flames.

Past

Satan used to be an angel in Heaven, one who was sent to look after the humans back in Eden. He understood evil was going to make it into the world one way or another, it was simply waiting for a chance to strike! Eventually, the garden would not be big enough to hold all of humanity, and they'd have to explore the rest of the world without Heaven's supervision. If Heaven never let them make their own decisions, how were they supposed to be prepared for such a task, or for the coming of evil? Thus, Satan freed the first humans, and was sent to Hell for it.

In truth, he's admitted to me that he did not mind this initially. He believed those who used their freewill to be evil deserved to be punished for it. Yet, the longer he stayed in Hell, the more he realized how inefficient the Heaven and Hell system truly was. Those in Hell who were regretful were simply encouraged to double down on their sins, and the worst of the worst took advantage of everyone else. I find it rather entertaining, but it made the king depressed for some time, and later, morbidly fascinated.

So, Satan created the Demon Junction Apartments in the hopes of better understanding the nature of sinners. Through observing them in a more relaxed environment, one free of excessive vices, I might add, he believed he would see the truth. Plus, it gave the less terrible sinners somewhere safe to stay.

Relationships

He is always kind to the apartment residents, though none of us have managed to have a deep personal connection with him. I'm the closest, it would seem. But I won't pretend to fully understand what goes on in that head of his, even if he holds me in high regard. His closest friend, Dahlia, is not in the apartments, though she visits from time to time. He may have a one-sided crush on her, but it is unclear.

[lechir3]

Dear Great Love,

It’s been a hard year. I thought last year had already given me enough, but this year was overwhelming and painful, and I bet next year might feel the same.

This year taught me that we can’t expect too much from someone, and that love comes in many forms—it can be deceiving. People can change at any time, and bonds can break at any time. And though it’s painful, there’s nothing we can do about it but to let things be.

We also cannot force ourselves on someone, especially when we don’t hold the same value to them as they do to us. This used to trouble me so much, to the point where I drained myself completely.

But there’s no point in punishing ourselves for things we can no longer control. I stopped asking, I stopped trying—I just stopped—because I realized we can’t keep doing everything for someone who won’t do the same for us. I stopped because I was slowly losing my grip on myself.

I guess they’re right��our greatest love can also be our greatest pain.

I stopped trying to search for my reflection in you because it only hurt me more. There was no point. It was a big decision because I’m not someone who gives up easily. But unless something is breaking my walls piece by piece, I cannot risk it all. Loving should feel secure, calm, and clear—not messy, confusing, and painful.

I thought last year was enough, yet this year left me so tired. But you know what? It’s still beautiful, because I’ve grown. I’ve learned.

I’m in my own process of healing, and sometimes I break my own rules again. And that’s okay. Things will get better, and eventually, I’ll get there. It may be difficult for now, but one day, it’ll be okay.

I’m looking forward to the day when things no longer hurt. Acceptance is the key—accepting that some people are meant to be let go, while others are meant to stay. We must make good choices.

What more can I say? I wish my great love the best in life. We all deserve a good life. There’s no regret, just genuine love—a story I’ll never tell.

-Richel

[yellowcrispycake]

Fragments of Becoming

"Serenade of the Waves"

Bathed in sunlight, salt-filled breeze and her feet burrowed in the sand, Jhosel took a brief step out of her reality of antiseptic smells and bright artificial lights. Her demeanor showed the scenery's soothing effect on her as she basked in the sound of the waves and took the chance to unload experiences she claimed she rarely had chance to share.

Jhosel graduated in 2023 with a Bachelor's Degree in Medical Laboratory Science. In early 2024, she officially became a Registered Medical Technologist and entered a workforce aligned with her field. Currently, she is preparing for her next step: applying to medical school internationally. Despite how far she has come and what she plans to achieve, she still feels the weight of being "so little" in the world of adulthood. While it overwhelms her whenever her age is mentioned, she can’t escape her reality—and wouldn’t want to. Despite nostalgia for the innocence of childhood, she embraces her current reality with a breath of fresh air, finding freedom and rhythm in her journey.

"Runner Number 0211"

What Jhosel once thought she couldn’t prioritize or see the significance of was the very thing she chose to challenge herself with the moment she finished college. College life demanded much from her intellectually, physically, and time-wise, so running was never a focus. But on September 23, Jhosel completed a marathon after months of hard work. Running challenged her ability to control her breathing and build endurance, but it also required discipline in her diet and early-morning routines. Though she didn’t believe she could achieve such self-discipline, her success tells a different story. Yet, crossing that finish line also marked the end of this phase; running wasn’t a hobby she wanted to continue. Nonetheless, the experience was dear and life-changing in ways beyond the activity itself.

"Treasures of Thought"

Finishing college gave her time to indulge in other hobbies. She was particularly glad to find time to think and write, adding to her collection of notebooks filled with poems and reflections. She also reopened anonymous accounts to share her thoughts, offering comfort and personal insights to others. She continued to build her collection of solved puzzles and reassembled Rubik's cubes. Yet, despite this, a feeling of emptiness lingers. Her craving for continuous learning isn’t as fulfilled as it was while actively working. She even opened herself to the idea of enrolling in a local college to take a course completely unrelated to her field. This manifestation of her continuous desire to actively engage in learning would have been fulfilled had she not been advised to focus on her applications.

"Just keep doing your best and eventually the right people will appreciate and congratulate you."

My Family

“Back then, I was annoyed by my parents' strict rules, but now I realize they taught me self-control. Like when my friends invite me to certain gatherings, I can make sound decisions by considering if the situation might be dangerous or not.”

The Church

“I love the church and the values taught there. Growing up active in the church helped me develop a charitable side. I’m sure the church influenced my ambitions in my field because I really want to help people, especially in medical missions. I want to be able to participate and do more. The church also helped me understand my parents; I might not have understood their strictness otherwise. But the church gave me principles and values.”

My Experiences with People

Jhosel admitted that she recently had experiences that were emotionally challenging. They intensified her desire for external validation—she wanted to show that she was doing well without certain people in her life. Painful experiences can make us bitter without us realizing it. Finding clarity, she now compares it to “breaking free from a chokehold, realizing that the arms holding me were actually my own.” She no longer seeks external validation, saying, "Life is so much better without seeking validation from them."

Most people in her past may have stayed in the past (even versions of those people), but it's the multitude of her interaction with them that had made her to be who she is now. And recently she laments over the thought of having so little opportunity to engage with them with time and space against her. Despite this, she relishes with the memories she shared with them and finds these years in her life an opportunity to focus on her self and less on her social obligations.

"I'm 24, but I feel like I'm still a kid"

An MLS graduate, an RMT, and now a Med Tech professional aiming for med school, Jhosel’s journey is filled with life-changing decisions. She has seen long-term dreams fall apart, some delayed, and others still uncertain. But she's here now, taking one step at a time. Erik Erikson’s theory emphasizes adolescence as the peak phase for identity exploration, yet Jhosel's story reminds us that self-discovery is a lifelong process. We often crave clarity in our future, but there’s freedom in being lost.

[projectarkquel]

For my Tumbler Tuesday

Some things I learned from all the mistakes and bad decisions I made in my life.

1. You can’t change what you tolerate. If you let people disrespect you then they don’t have any reason to respect you at all and it applies to ALL.

2. Love yourself always. Unahin lagi ang sarili even if you tend to give 100% to everyone, always make sure to leave something for yourself so if ever the time comes that no one is willing to stay on your side you still have yourself.

3. Even superheroes has their own weaknesses. Hindi laging strong tayo. Its okay to be weak at times. Its not every time you can bear the pain, rejection and disappointment. If you can no longer carry the cross rest for a while, cry if you must-life must go on.

4. Let go of toxic people. Unfriend, block ang delete. It will bring you peace of mind.

5. Move forward and never look back. One of hardest lesson actually that even today I am having a hard time to do. Often times, its one step forward and two steps backward. Whenever I fail, I start all over again.

6. Do things that make you happy. No one can buy you happiness. Take the risk so you wont regret the things that you didn’t do. Ang hirap nung laging may “kasi ikaw eh!”, “sana talaga”, “dapat kasi” etc. Masakit to sa heart kapag laging may ganitong eksena.

7. Cherish every moment. Treat each moment as if this is your last. Do not be afraid to let your emotions be felt. Be honest with your feelings.

8. Avoid “okay lang ako” moment. Nope! Hindi ka okay and its okay to tell that. Be open about it and discuss it. Mental health is important. Don’t let sadness rule your emotions. Don’t let someone invalidate your feelings. We have our own capacity to carry our own cross, no one should ever question that.

9. Its not about the length of relationship. If someone doesn’t see you as someone they will spend their life with, they will drop you anytime- without explanation, without any guilt on their part. Yung mga gagong paasa naman utang na loob have some decency to let the other person know. Don’t keep them wondering what went wrong. They deserve to know, they deserve to sleep peacefully at night without questioning God’s intention. The pain is unbearable (maniwala kayo putang ina sa sakit ‘to).

10. Silent Time/Reflection Time. Hindi laging masaya guys! May mga pag kakataon na you will question your worth (based on personal experience ‘to), you will doubt your capacity as a person, praning moments, over thinking and having doubts. I would always tell these words “whenever I am in doubt, I just need to trust you a lil bit more”. Always remember that things may not go as what we have planned but God will never give us what we can’t bear. Iyak mo lang tapos inom ka ng vodka. Pray and ask guidance. I have survived so many heartaches sana wala na ngayon.

11. Kahit na gaano ka unfair ang mundo sayo, don’t make that as an excuse to be a bad person. Continue to live a good life, let’s believe that God will reward all our pain and sacrifices.

12. Do not assume, do not conclude. I am still on the process of mastering this. I know I will get through with this with flying colors.

13. Viu and Netflix were created for person like me. Laking tulong nito during my dark times. Binge watch if you must. One way or another it will teach you that no matter how hard life can be, there still a reason to enjoy movie and tv shows. Okay na yung ma fall in love ka sa mga characters wag lang sa maling tao.

14. Forgive yourself always. Because you are not perfect. You make bad decision, you choose the wrong people and that’s okay. Sabi nga nila charge to experience na lang. Forgive and move forward because time will come that everything will fall into place.

15. Live the life is you always wanted. During my dark times, when everything seems so wrong with myself, I realized how important my decisions are. So, after being betrayed for a couple of times, got disappointed with a lot of people, hurt by a lot of friends- I decided to cut out those people in life. Just recently, I took the courage to delete all the remaining photos and messages which bring me back to those hurtful moments. Signed up for a new social media account and added those people who just really matters. Those i miss you’s and i love you’s s does not matter anymore , those “tara labas tayo”, “tawag ako”, “punta ko dyan”, “wait mo ko” will be a just a part of the person who no longer exist. It was a good fight. With all that has been said and done, I am taking the risk to give myself the freedom to live the life I always wanted, to focus on myself and to someone I know who will bring peace and sanity to my life. ILYSB.

16. Things happen for a reason. A lot of us experience failures in life. Madalas, I always ask God bakit ako? Ang dami namang masamang tao dyan pero bakit ako. Why do I have to go through a lot of hard times na feeling ko I don’t want to live na sana isang araw matapos na kasi sobrang painful na. And then, maiisip ko na lang if those things didn’t happen, ano na kaya ako, ano na kaya tayo. Ganito pa rin ba ko ka strong, ganito pa rin ba ang personlaity. So, I have accepted that it was all in God’s plan. Those heartaches kept me from being humble and strong despite struggling emotionally, mentally and physically. I choose to live on the present. Kung may mga pag kakataon man na maiisip ko na sana ganito, sana ganyan- yun yung regrets na sana noon pa lang nag risk na ko.

17. Be careful with the people you trust because chances are they will hurt you more than anyone else.

That being said, I would still keep on praying for the things I wanted to happen and one day I will be able to say “this is what I prayed for”

xx

Project Arkquel

[olgbenga-agboola]

The Power of Perseverance: How Olugbenga Agboola’s Challenges Shaped the Future of Payments with Flutterwave

It’s hard for a company not to take on the personality of its founders. They’re the ones who set the culture, express the vision, and make those first crucial hires. Luckily for Flutterwave, Olugbenga “GB” Agboola has the kind of work ethic and demeanor that’s built for success.

The way a founder’s personality seeps into their company is plain to see across almost every industry. Jeff Bezos’ ultra-competitive spirit pervades the machinations of Amazon. Apple still follows Steve Jobs’ form-follows-function ethos and emphasis on simplicity. And who can deny that Tesla is the very manifestation of Elon Musk’s idiosyncratic style and outsider positioning?

So how does a conscientious overachiever like Olugbenga Agboola affect a payment services company that has gone from simple startup to Africa’s first unicorn? It may be harder to notice the personality of a tech company focused on finance, but it’s there. It just takes a little bit of digging to uncover how the company seems to reflect everything about how he is and how he conducts business.

Olugbenga Agboola: ‘People Are the Secret Sauce’

For starters, look at how the company has grown.

“I have to admit that I am very people-centric,” Olugbenga Agboola said. “I listen to people a lot. I think of what people will feel. I think of their own career growth, what will work for them. I do this because I realized very early that people are the secret sauce of the company. It’s not our technology. It’s our people.”

A company that focuses on people doesn’t grow according to data trends. It grows according to user needs and employee availability. By that metric, it’s easy to see how Olugbenga Agboola’s outgoing personality and thoughtful disposition are baked into the strategy that’s led Flutterwave to its most recent $3 billion valuation. 

“It’s the people that come to work every day that put in their shift, those are the people that matter,” he stated. “So I put them ahead of my investors, ahead of my board.”

That’s one way that Flutterwave has been able to keep growing amid the COVID-19 pandemic and the post-pandemic economic challenges. Flutterwave’s emphasis on employee morale has kept it chugging along at its typical breakneck speed. 

As it turns out, when employees feel valued, well compensated, and important, they work harder and stay longer. That ensures that Flutterwave doesn’t suffer from brain drain and that legacy information remains with the company, even as it grows into new markets and launches new products. 

The other way that Flutterwave manifests the personality of Olugbenga Agboola is through its product strategy. 

“I rely on the Colin Powell rule, which is that you have to be data-aware, not data-dependent,” he said. “When you know too much about something, it’s too late. For example, I imagine that to make a decision, I need just 60% of the information required. By the time I get to 95% or 90% and I’m sure, then it’s too late for a decision to be made. It’s already in the past, and the right time to act is long gone. I believe in that a lot. It’s something that I use in my work, and it’s worked for me all my life. That’s one [piece of] advice that I would give and also to ensure that I do that.”

Flutterwave began by helping large companies navigate payments across national borders. International corporations are great clients because they have lots of money. But instead of continuing to focus solely on the biggest fish, Flutterwave pivoted toward helping small businesses and, eventually, individuals. 

Those were moves that seem prescient in retrospect but had a risky feeling at the time. The company made the moves anyway, relying on Olugbenga Agboola’s intuition and understanding of the facts. 

“The other thing I do is to trust my gut,” he shared. “That’s something that has always driven me in the right direction and really helped me stay true to what I want to accomplish. It helps me do the right thing and act quickly.”

[elmozzosays]

The One Second Decision

I meant to write this a couple days ago. I did announce it over twitter but life and plans for the better happened along the way. Found a day when I could sit down and put down a couple of paragraphs to detail my 1 second decision. But what is it? it’s not what you think. I am fully aware about my preferences. Stay here and I'll further explain: 

November 2022: on fully working season. Every place at the food industry is blooming with constant pressure and long hours to work. At that moment I was well, eating whatever I could find, going with friends after work for drinks and sightly resting. It took a toll. Some people started to notice something in me that I was not fully aware: I was gaining weight. People’s opinions about me are not relevant, but when more people noticed, it was something to analyze. 

By the end of the World Cup, I was invited to shoot a baby shower. Some coworkers were invited. I was extremely exhausted and basically went home and passed out in bed. I had missed calls by 2 girls who were there, wondering where I was. A chance missed. Something could've sparked there but it is what it is. 

At the beginning of 2023 a surprise boost at my workplace occurred (from January to March is dead season) but this one was different. I was glad but my mood, physique was getting at a low point. All these months of every day drinking were affecting me that I secretly dealt with a minor depression, not even my friend who I hang out the most knew. One of my coworkers gave birth and she insisted to visit her and I had to decline several times. I later revealed to her the real reason and she understood. it wasn't bullshit, it was some serious stuff. 

Reaching 40 made me realize a lot of things. I need to make serious changes, especially body wise. One day after taking a shower I look at the mirror fully naked and realize something: A change must be made. I look disgusting! beer belly, no muscle, weak. On Thursday, March 16 a decision was made and it only took 1 second to make it happen: I embarked into a commitment fully to myself: Improved everything about me, leave behind all sorts of addictions (drinking) and start on a new regimen. I always had dumbbells laying around the house. Bought them a long time ago and used them from time to time but nothing serious. This time, I set the rules. Started with 3 day workout of 40 mins with weights, quit drinking (mostly) meaning I don't drink every day like I used to. Also, change my eating routine. Left aside what my body don't need. Now I see food as fuel. 

Ditching those bad habits was as simple as 1,2,3. I must admit, I gotta thank my Military school background for the early mindset I was given back In the early 90′s. That still happens to this day. Discipline is my ultimate drive. 

I have made the 3 month mark since I decided to change. It was hard at first, but like my sister told me, It’s better now than later. People stared to notice the change and it’s not accident: the effort I'm putting now, will reflect tomorrow. It’s a long ride, but every step counts. My minor depression went away, I no longer feel sad or anxious about stupid shit, determination for what I want to do shows up every day: I perform better at work, eat right, rest better and an overall change is reflected. 3 months ago, none of that was present. None. 

I am also more confident. Clothes that didn’t fit, do now, my waist shrunk and now update in jeans must be made. I feel slim. no more embarrassing beer gut and for the first time, wearing a t-shirt feels natural. 

For you reading this and want to make a change for yourself: it’s never too late. We all start at something that’ll later develop into a normal part of your life. Do it for you, not for others. This change I made also risk leaving some people behind, including my 9 year friendship (on that on some other post). It was a hard decision, but it wasn't contributing anymore. 

Thanks to a decision not hard to make, I am on the other side of the fence. Focusing on what matters, on what's important: Myself. 

[kelp-my-beloved]

It had been a month since The World And The Fabric Of Reality was saved, with no casualties mind you, and False the Hermit was still thinking about her doppelganger, laying in her bed in the Hermit Empire unable to sleep.

That might have more to do with having Grian snoring in the bed next to hers than any introspection, but it’s not like she could just get up and leave, right?

Some… measurements had been taken since the whole Everybody Almost Died thing. After all, everybody knew that the first rule when dealing with Your Self That Isn’t Really Yourself was get yourself as many worlds away as possible, but since the Rift still refused to work that wasn’t an option. And if you added the fact that they were both apparently very, very prone to murder since they were together, well.

Both sides of the server had decided to give them nannies.

Yeah.

It was more like having a parole officer following you 24/7 than a babysitter, but the hermits and a few emperors had complained about the term.

Neither False did, surprisingly, but understandably their opinion had little weight in that meeting.

Grian was still snoring. False felt the rest of her sanity crumble to dust.

She threw her blankets away with a groan. Unsurprisingly, her bedroom partner did not even stir.

False was going to take her chance, consequences damned. Her hairs were falling from the stress of not having a second alone since they had all almost died, and while she had appreciated the company at the beginning, and loved her friends very much, she can’t do it any longer.

Not when she had a perfect, secret place with a very comfortable bed far, far away from everybody.

Well, almost everybody.

It didn’t matter. She was just leaving for the night, and would be back and around before the sun rose. Before anyone noticed! Nobody had to know.

If it wasn’t so convenient for her, False would feel both worried and offended that none of the Hermits woke up. Not even when she lighted the rocket and took off to Cogsmead.

Her tower was in the same state she had left it so long ago, complete with the Conspiracy Board and all. It had once filled her with pride, how attentive she had been to every single detail, but now she could barely stand to look at it. She had gone a little overboard with it, pun not intended, hadn’t she?

She threw her jacket over it. When she woke up, she would make sure to throw it out, before sneaking back into her room.

Finally, finally, she fell into her white bed, and let the silence lull her to sleep.

A ball of paper was thrown at her face.

‘Open the door, bitch’

False let herself groan once again, until she realized she had made very sure none of the hermits followed her, and there was only one person who couldn’t physically knock the door or fence or window, and was too shy to just shout at her. That revelation made her sit up with the speed of lighting.

“I don’t know if you can get inside without frying up” she warned False. “I… didn’t really put the electric field, and I don’t know how it works”

The Emperor of Cogsmead didn’t seem too worried about that, and her outfit made The Hermit rethink her decision of opening that door. She looked like she was headed to war, a sword in one hand and a charged crossword on the other, and with a full netherine armor that reflected the light with the subtle shine of enchantments. False was reminded of a starving, desperate wolf she had once cornered in a forest, and decided that the air was too tense for her liking. “Hey, False, long time no see,” she tried, with her best attempt at a smile.

Her doppelganger did not seem to fall for it, and instead rose her sword to her chin, mindful not to cross the line between inside and outside her tower. “What are you doing here?”

Right. A perfectly understandable reaction, considering. Everything.

“I’m not here to cause any problems,” she told her, raising her arms. “I just couldn’t sleep over the Hermit’s base, and this was the only place that came to my mind”

The Other False squinted at her, but lowered her sword. She didn’t save it in her inventory, though. “Aren’t you supposed to have someone watching over you?” she asked.

Ah. “I mean, yeah, but Grian was snoring like crazy… Don’t you?” she asked back.

What were you doing at the devil’s sacrament? A voice whispered in her mind, with no explanation. False shook it off.

That startled her, apparently not expecting the question to be thrown back at her. “I didn’t want to wake Pix up,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks and ears heating up.

False The Rifty was about to say something, when the name caught up to her. “Wait, wasn’t Pix-?”

“The guy I murdered? Yeah…” she finished for her, scratching her neck with the hand still holding the loaded crossbow. “Wait, isn’t Grian-?”

“The guy who loves to prank people and thus nobody is able to sleep while near him? Yeah” And that was definitely the reason why she hadn’t been able to close an eye, sure.

Much to her astonishment, False put her crossbow in her inventory. “Well, I can empathize with that” she said, in a tone of voice that let her know that she wasn’t a stranger to paranoia.

Which. Once again, understandable.

“I…” What were you supposed to say to your doppelganger whom you had called evil and spied on for weeks, but that on your defense was killing people and making them forget about it? “How have you been?”

The Cogsmead False took a step back, and then another. Hermit False could see the hand with a sword tremble in what was likely her containing herself from raising it. “We don’t have to do this,” she told her, voice full of suspicion.

False heart broke a little bit. Just a small crack. Because she was kind of responsible for how skittish False was being, wasn’t she? She had been stalking her for a while, gaslighting her into thinking she had built a whole tower without her knowing. Not to mention all the ‘she’s evil’ thing.

She rose her hands to the air. “I’m not planning anything,” she tried to reassure her. “It’s just, it’s been a while, and we started with the left foot. Maybe we can try to be friends?”

“I…” False blinked, lips pressed while thinking. “You really are me, aren’t you?” she murmured, with an uneasy expression in her face.

False’s first instinct was to reply with a sarcastic comment about her observation skills, but she then realized this was their first real interaction since… since Things Went Wrong. And it was the only time they had, given that everybody had made sure after it that they stayed as separated as possible.

Which was probably for a good reason. Everything she knew about doppelgangers told her that they were meant to go crazy, or kill each other, or something along those lines. Stakes weren’t good.

The point was, while the Hermit had known the Emperor for what felt like a lifetime now, the Emperor only knew her for like, a few weeks, and this was the second time she saw her. False understood the curiosity.

“I really am,” she replied. Then, taking a tentative step outside and leaning against the railing in the bridge. “Kind of crazy, isn’t it?” she smiled at her. “We could even swap places and I bet people wouldn’t notice”

While she did this, False watched her with a confused expression, until she finally relaxed and leaned against the railing too, if a few steps away. “Absolutely not. I’m not good with new people”. Or people in general, they both knew she didn’t add.

False wasn’t surprised. “That’s fine. I don’t think your people like me that much, either”

They stayed in silence for a while, until the sound of a door opening and a historian screaming interrupted them. False started to walk towards him, but stopping after a moment, remembering the foreigner in her bridge.

“So, I really need to go,” she told her doppelganger. Then, after a moment, and with a lot of hesitation: “You can stay the night, if you want. And, uh, come back. It’s your tower. But, also, if you want to come by- in secret, of course, uh. I wouldn’t mind seeing you, now and then. I could use your advise in building”. She finished with an anxious smile.

The emperor left before False had a chance to reply.

“Sure,” she told nobody.