#and we don’t have time to unpack all of that

[thedissonantverses]

This is related to this post which is so on point it hurts. I wasn’t going to write this but yet another one of my mutuals had someone be super racist again directly to their asks so here we go.

I go super hard on the Veilguard positivity a lot not out of an urge to stan for BioWare but because parts of the fandom have gotten so unbelievably toxic I’m not even sure why they’re still playing the games. Legit if you’re actively in mourning about this franchise because of a, at worst, competent game you need to find something else to do. I have been told I don’t know how many times I just don’t like “critique” of Veilguard which is fecking hilarious and I should show you my dm’s. You’re not actually showing “love” for the DA franchise when you’re overly negative and reductionist.

We absolutely should be able to critique Veilguard and I do attempt to do this from time to time. But to be honest we can’t even discuss the actions of the antagonist in an honest way. It is actually laughable how far away from the source people have gone when analyzing this game and its characters. It might be my favorite game in the series but that in no way makes it perfect or flawless and I’m aware. Not gonna share the critiques here cause y’all can’t handle the base plot of the game without bullying other fans.

I keep seeing people complain about the lack of fan engagement and fanworks while directly being the reason artists and writers don’t want to be anywhere near the space. Again if you’re not commenting or reblogging or otherwise supporting other creators in the fandom you are the problem I’m talking about. If you’re being super vitriolic then yeah, no one wants to make stuff for you for free. They’re too afraid or exhausted and we are all culpable, myself included.

The media literacy problem, the bigotry, and the lack of engagement are all related issues and until the most vitriolic amongst us reckon with that nothing will get better. And yeah, if you’re going super hard against a game that stands this hard by its queer, disabled, and POC characters that’s a huge red flag. Unpack it. Offline. Away from the marginalized members of your fandom.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbor (matthew sturniolo)

pt 12

The next morning, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind was a mess, replaying every word Matt had said the night before, every expression on his face as he finally told me the truth.

He’d been honest—brutally honest—and now I was left to unpack it all. He told me that Abbie had been his girlfriend up until a month ago. He said he was happy with her, or at least he thought he was. He believed he loved her. But then I came back into his life, and it hit him like a tidal wave.

“All the emotions, the hurt, the love, and the memories I had buried came rushing back, Y/N,” he had confessed, his voice trembling. “I tried to ignore it. I tried to pretend I didn’t feel it, but I couldn’t. And when we planned that trip… I was still with her, but I knew it wasn’t fair. I couldn’t lead her on, not when my heart was still yours. It’s always been yours.”

I hadn’t known what to say at the time, and even now, I wasn’t sure how I felt. It hurt, knowing he had lied to me just to get me back, But at the same time, I understood. I understood how complicated and messy love could be, how the lines blurred when emotions ran deep.

With a sigh, I rolled onto my side, my fingers tracing patterns on the blanket. I didn’t know where this left us.

Curiosity got the better of me. I reached for my phone, opening Matt's Instagram and scrolling through his following until I found her. Abbie.

Her profile picture showed a tall, blonde girl with warm brown eyes, standing in front of a beach sunset. She was stunning, the polar opposite of me—my dark hair, big blue eyes, and softer frame. My thumb hovered over her profile for a moment before tapping on it. Her page was filled with polished photos, perfectly curated snapshots of her life, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of inadequacy.

I tapped the message bar, half-expecting to see nothing, but instead, I was met with an avalanche of unread DMs. My stomach dropped. With all the messages I get in a day, I’d never noticed these, but now I couldn’t look away.

The first few messages were from a month ago: “I know who you are. Don’t pretend you don’t know about me.” “You’ve been with Matt this whole time, haven’t you? He’s been lying to both of us.”

Then they started getting angrier: “You’re a joke. You think you’re better than me? He’s going to get bored of you just like he did with everyone else.” “Have fun with him while it lasts, because when he realizes you’re not worth it, I’ll be the one laughing.”

And then the tone shifted again, dripping with resentment and heartbreak: “I hate you. I hate him. You’ve ruined everything.” “He said he loved me. How could you both do this to me?”

My hands trembled as I scrolled through the messages. I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, I understood her pain. She was hurting, lashing out, and searching for someone to blame. But on the other hand, her words cut deep, making me question everything.

Closing my eyes, I set the phone down, taking a shaky breath. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the phone screen, the messages blurring into an indecipherable mess. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stop the sob that escaped my lips.

I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, my heart ached for Abbie. She had been hurt, blindsided by Matt’s decision to leave her, and the pain she poured into those messages was all too familiar. I’d been there once, in the position of feeling discarded and unworthy, and I knew how devastating it was.

But on the other hand, a pang of jealousy coursed through me, sharp and unexpected. She was gorgeous—tall, radiant, and confident in ways I couldn’t even fake. She looked perfect, like someone who had it all together, while I felt like a mess in comparison. And yet, Matt had left her.

For me.

But why?

The question echoed in my mind, breaking me down further. Why would he leave someone like her—someone who seemed so put-together, so amazing—for someone like me? Someone with a past as messy and broken as ours. I didn’t understand how he could look at me, with all my flaws and insecurities, and choose me over someone who seemed so effortless.

I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest as tears streamed down my face. A wave of self-doubt crashed over me, drowning out the small voice in my head that told me I was enough.

Matt had always seen something in me that I struggled to see in myself. But now, as I lay there with Abbie’s words ringing in my ears, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake. And worse, if I was the one ruining everything all over again.

I grabbed my phone, my hands trembling as I typed out a message to Matt. The chaos in my mind was too much to handle on my own. For the first time, I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to Charlie about it. The embarrassment and shame I felt over my emotions were suffocating, wrapping around me like a weight I couldn’t shake. Reaching out to Matt felt like my only option, even if I wasn’t sure I had the strength to face his response.

Y/N: Hey...

Matt: Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?

Y/N: I don’t know I’ve just been thinking.

Matt: About?

Y/N: Abbie.

Matt: What about her?

Y/N: I saw her messages. I didn’t mean to, but they’re there, and I read them. She’s beautiful, Matt. Like, stunning. She seems like she had everything together. I don’t get how you could leave someone like that for me.

Matt: Y/N, no.

Y/N: I mean it. She’s tall, gorgeous, probably stable. Meanwhile, I’m this emotional wreck with a history of fighting you every step of the way. I don’t understand why you’d pick me. Why would you leave her for me?

Matt: Because she wasn’t you.

Y/N: Matt.

Matt: No, listen to me. You want to know why I left her? Why I chose you? It’s because I’ve been in love with you for years, Y/N. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved. No one else compares, not even close. I tried to move on with Abbie because I thought I had to. I had finally accepted that I'd never hear or see you again, that I’d never have a chance to fix what I broke with you. So I tried to forget, but I couldn’t. Not even for a second.

Matt: Do you know what it felt like to see you again? To have you back in my life, even as a neighbor? It was like this massive part of me that had been missing finally clicked back into place. Abbie’s great, yeah, but she’s not you. She could never be you.

Matt: And trust me, I know I don’t deserve another chance with you after everything we’ve been through. But when we went on that trip and I saw the way you looked at me, the way you laughed with me, the way you trusted me again, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I couldn’t stay with her knowing my heart was never really hers.

I stared at the messages, my chest tightening with every word Matt had sent. The weight of his confession crushed me—knowing I had somehow unraveled someone else’s world just by being in his. My hands were shaking as I read the last text, and before I could stop myself, I hurled my phone at the wall. The loud crack echoed through the room, and I collapsed onto the bed, sobs ripping out of me uncontrollably.

The reaction Im having—the tears, the screaming, the sheer weight of guilt—felt too big for just this moment. This wasn’t just about Abbie or her messages. This was about Matt. About the unresolved pain he’d left behind when we fell apart the first time. All the love, the heartbreak, and the unanswered questions I had buried were clawing their way back now. Maybe it was about every piece of hurt I had never let myself feel, every wound I had never allowed to heal. The emotions surged through me, spilling out in the form of screams and tears, and I didn’t care who heard.

The door to my room flew open, and Charlie rushed in. Her face was stricken with concern as she immediately pulled me into her arms, holding me tight. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what was wrong. She just sat there with me, letting me cry into her shoulder as she rubbed my back softly.

Minutes passed, maybe longer—time felt like it stopped. Finally, Charlie whispered, “Chris told me everything. You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. I get it.”

I sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at her. My voice was hoarse as I said, “Grab my phone. Read Abbie’s messages.”

Charlie hesitated for a moment but nodded, moving to where my phone lay on the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, I heard a crunch. Her face fell as she straightened up, holding the shattered device.

“Y/n…” she started, but I just shook my head, fresh tears spilling down my face. It felt like everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Charlie sat back down beside me, pulling me into another hug, and this time, I didn’t resist.

A couple of hours passed in silence, the weight of everything still heavy in the air. Charlie hadn’t left my side, even when her phone buzzed with messages from Chris. She had simply told him she wouldn’t be answering for a while and to take care of things without her for the day. I was grateful she hadn’t pushed me to talk, letting me sit in my mess without judgment.

Finally, Charlie broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. “Do you want to get out of the house? Maybe get a new phone or something?”

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah... that might be good.”

Dragging myself off the couch, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way to my room. My hair was a mess, my face puffy from crying, and the oversized clothes I wore didn’t help. Disappointment clawed at my chest as I compared myself to Abbie—her perfect hair, her confident smile, the way she looked so effortlessly put together. 

I sighed, pushing the thoughts away as best I could, and grabbed a pair of jean shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. Slipping on my worn Converse, I picked up the shattered remains of my phone from the nightstand and made my way downstairs.

Charlie was already waiting by the door with her keys, offering me a small, reassuring smile. I managed to return it faintly as we stepped out into the sunlight and climbed into her car. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small step toward normalcy.

As Charlie drove, the quiet hum of the car was broken only by the faint sound of the radio. My mind wandered, lost in the haze of everything that had happened. My heart felt heavy, my thoughts a mess of confusion, guilt, and something I couldn’t quite name.

Suddenly, the soft, dreamy notes of "You Get Me So High" by The Neighbourhood drifted through the speakers. My chest tightened, and I immediately felt like I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just a song—it was our song. The one we played on repeat in his car, on lazy afternoons, during nights we swore we’d never forget.

And then, like a tidal wave, the memory of the letter he left me that day came crashing down. The letter I read a hundred times, the one I had hidden away but could never truly forget. "You’re my best friend. I love you forever."

My eyes burned, and I blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill. But the words replayed in my head over and over, his voice almost as if he were sitting beside me.

“Y/n, you okay?” Charlie asked softly, glancing over as we stopped at a red light.

I turned to her and nodded, forcing a smile that I knew didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure I was.

The song continued, weaving its way into my thoughts, and all I could do was stare out the window, clutching my broken phone like it was the only thing holding me together.

Charlie and I made our way to Best Buy first. I wasn’t expecting much, but the thought of getting a new phone—especially since I hadn’t had one since college—felt like a small thing that might help take my mind off everything else. I felt a bit silly for even getting excited, but it was nice to think about something so simple.

We walked through the aisles, and Charlie was showing me the new and different iphone models, suggesting a few options. I didn’t really care about all the technical specs, just that it would work, and it would be a change from the old phone I’d been hanging onto for far too long. Eventually, I picked out a black phone pro max that felt sleek and sturdy. It was nothing extravagant, but it was definitely an upgrade. It felt good to know I was finally getting a new one.

Charlie smiled when she saw me eyeing it. "I like the pro max way more. You’ll love it."

We went up to the register, and after a few minutes, I had my brand-new phone in hand. As we left the store, I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. It wasn’t anything huge, but it was a little win in a day that had been filled with so many mixed emotions.

As we continued with the rest of the shopping—picking up a few random things at the mall and grabbing snacks. When we got in the car to head to dinner, I hadn’t even opened the phone yet. I kept it in its box, feeling like maybe it was best to leave it for later.

We decided on an Italian restaurant nearby, Charlie and I’s comfort food. Charlie tried her best to keep the mood light, talking about everything from old college days to random drama on the internet, and I found myself laughing along.

"So, when are you going to open that new phone?" she asked as we got into the car, pointing to the box in my lap. "Come on, I know you're dying to check it out."

I hesitated, looking at the phone. “I don’t know,” I said, finally. “It’s kind of dumb, part of me’s kind of excited about it. It’s just a phone, but I don't feel like having it right now, you know?”

Charlie laughed. “I get it. It’s the little things, right? You’ve had the same one forever.”

I nodded, putting the phone back in its box. “Yeah, you would think with our jobs being on my phone I would've gotten a new one.”

Charlie drove us back home, I felt a little lighter. I hadn’t solved everything, but at least for tonight, I had something to focus on other than the mess in my head.

When we finally got home, the night air cool and crisp, Charlie and I sat down on the couch, and she grabbed my new phone from its box, her fingers quick as she started setting it up for me.

"Ready to join the world again?" she teased, handing me the phone once it was all set up.

I nodded, taking it from her with a soft smile. I hesitated for a moment before turning the screen on. As the phone came to life, I felt a little jolt of excitement, and I started to type in my passwords, getting everything back to where it needed to be.

Then, the notifications came through. Text after text popped up, and I quickly saw a few names I recognized—Chris, Matt, and Nick. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Matt's name, but I kept scrolling, trying not to overthink it.

The first text was from Chris: "Hey, just checking in. How are you doing? Call me if you need to talk."

I smiled softly at that. Chris always knew how to check in without being overwhelming.

Then there was Matt: "I know you probably need time, but just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. Please text me when you’re ready."

I bit my lip, conflicted. Matt had been so kind, but there was still so much I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to dive back into that just yet.

And then there was Nick: "Yo, can we get pizza?"

I giggled at Nick’s utter unawareness. 

But then, the final message caught my attention. It was from a random number. I opened it, and my stomach dropped. The message was exactly like the others I’d read, but this one was... different. It felt like a sting.

“Why are you doing this? Do you really think you’re the one he wants now? You’ve always been a mess, and he’s not the guy for you. I warned him, but you wouldn’t listen. You’re nothing but a distraction.”

It was from Abbie. I was furious now, wondering how the hell she even got my number. My hands were shaking as I read the message.

I felt Charlie's eyes on me, and before I could say anything, she snatched the phone from my hands. “How the fuck did she get your number?” she hissed, fury clear on her face. “This is done now.”

I didn’t say anything at first, too caught up in the anger and confusion. Charlie was already typing something into her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

“Normally I’d say take the high road," I muttered, swiping the message away. "But I need Matt. I don’t care anymore."

Charlie didn’t even glance up from her phone, her voice a mix of determination and protectiveness. “You and Matt need each other, and this bitch needs to fuck off. I get that she’s hurt, but she cannot talk to you like this.”

I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes and letting out a shaky breath. Charlie’s words washed over me, I felt truly supported. Things weren’t going to be perfect right away, but with her by my side, I knew I didn’t need anyone else to be okay.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar-deactivated202 @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend @emely9274

[oldsoul007]

undercover

javier peña x reader

summary: y/n and javier go undercover

javier peña masterlist

It was late when Javier Peña and I slipped into the small, dimly lit hotel in Bogotá, our cover story already in place. We had become strangers—just another pair of tourists looking for a quiet retreat from the noise of the city. Our clothing was ordinary, unremarkable, but everything else had to be convincing. In the world we were about to enter, any slip-up could be fatal.

Javier glanced at me as we approached the check-in counter, his stomach tight with unease. I looked as calm as ever, my eyes scanning the room, every movement deliberate and controlled. I was good at this—too good. Javier hated it, but he couldn’t deny how perfectly I blended into the role of a foreigner on a business trip.

“Two nights,” he said to the hotel clerk in Spanish, his voice low and casual. “Under the name ‘Rodríguez.’” He flashed a small, practiced smile.

I stood behind him, leaning in slightly to whisper, “You know, you might want to work on your small talk skills, Peña.” My voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge of tension beneath it, an awareness of just how dangerous this mission was.

He shot me a glance as the clerk handed over the key, catching the faintest flicker of anxiety in my expression before I masked it again. She’s hiding it better than I am, he thought.

“We’re just here for business,” Javier continued smoothly, taking the room key. “I’m sure you understand.”

I nodded, adding my own warmth to the act. The clerk barely looked up as he handed us the key and gave us the directions to the elevator.

We made our way upstairs, moving with calculated precision, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. The elevator doors slid shut, and the moment the metal closed between us and the world below, Javier turned to me, his voice barely a whisper.

“We can’t afford any mistakes, y/n. If they find out we’re not who we say we are…” He trailed off, but the meaning hung heavily between us.

“I know,” I replied, my voice firm but low. “That’s why you’re here. To watch my back.”

Javier’s chest tightened at the words. She’s counting on me.

Once inside the hotel room, we wasted no time in setting up. The small space felt suffocating despite its plainness. A simple bed, a worn-out chair, a cracked mirror hanging above a sink. It was the kind of place where people came to disappear—exactly what we needed for our cover.

I sat at the edge of the bed, unpacking my bag with methodical movements. Javier stood by the window, keeping watch, but his eyes kept drifting to me. She was so composed, so in control. The confidence she exuded only made him feel more vulnerable. I can’t protect her from everything. The realization gnawed at him.

“This is where it gets tricky,” I said, breaking the silence. My back was to him as I rifled through my things, pulling out a few tools—tiny cameras, a recorder, things that could help us collect information.

Javier turned to face me. “You’re not seriously going through with this, are you? We could do this another way, y/n. could work with Steve and—”

“Javier,” I interrupted, my voice calm but unyielding, “this is the only way. We get in, we get close to them, and we take them down. You know that.” I turned to him then, my gaze intense. “You think I want to do this? You think I want to walk into that lion’s den alone? I’m scared, okay? But we have no choice. This is the mission.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. “I didn’t sign up for this to watch you get yourself killed. I don’t care what they say—I’m not letting you go in without me.”

My eyes softened, but there was a fire there too—an unspoken challenge. “You think I’m going to let you sit back and do nothing while I do all the work?” I smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. “No, Peña. We’re doing this together.”

My words hit harder than he expected. He knew I was right. I wasn’t just a colleague; I was someone he cared for deeply. And no matter how dangerous this mission was, how much he wanted to pull me out of it, he knew I was too far gone, too committed to the cause.

“We stick to the plan,” he said, his voice steady but his heart racing. “No deviations. And if it gets too hot, we bail, understood?”

I gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Hours later, we found ourselves slipping through the shadows of the hotel lobby, avoiding the few scattered guests and staff. We were blending in, just another couple heading out for a drink at a nearby bar—at least, that’s what we looked like. The reality was much more dangerous.

As we stepped outside, the cool air hit us, and the dark streets of Bogotá stretched ahead. We kept our pace steady, a practiced, natural rhythm that made us appear just like anyone else.

The silence between us was thick now, the weight of our shared understanding pressing down on us. As we walked, Javier stole a glance at me. The streetlights flickered across my face, highlighting the sharpness of my features and the determined set of my jaw.

“You know, we should have gone for the beach,” he said, his voice dry, trying to lighten the mood. “Less… murder and more margaritas.”

My lips twitched at the corner, but my gaze remained forward. “You’re such a romantic. Maybe next time.”

Javier snorted softly. “Right, because you’re the expert on romance.”

I didn’t reply, but the briefest of smiles crossed my face. It was enough. For a split second, everything felt normal, the weight of the world lifting. But the moment passed, and they were back in our roles—partners on a dangerous mission, with nothing but the night ahead of us.

My voice was barely a whisper as I signaled for him to follow. “We get the intel, get out. No heroics.”

“I never do heroics,” he whispered back, a wry smile tugging at his lips, but the tension in his chest wouldn’t subside.

We were in this together. For better or worse.

The dim lighting of the bar cast long shadows over the wooden floors, the clinking of glasses and low hum of conversation blending into the background. Me and Javier settled in a quiet corner, our eyes trained on the man across the room. The air was thick with tension; their target—an up-and-coming drug dealer with connections to the Cali Cartel—was just a few feet away, oblivious to the surveillance being conducted on him.

Javier sipped his beer, his gaze never wavering from the man as he spoke in a hushed tone. “Keep it cool. He’s been making moves with the Cali, but we don’t have enough to move on him yet. Not until we see who he’s meeting.”

I nodded, my fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her glass. I was used to this, the waiting game, the constant assessment of every word and gesture. But the closer the man got to our corner, the more I could feel the rising pressure. My heart rate quickened, and I adjusted in my seat, making sure not to give anything away.

For a moment, I thought it was just my nerves. But then, the man’s eyes flicked toward us. It was subtle, but enough to make me freeze. He was staring right at us now, his eyes narrowing as if he recognized something—or someone.

Javier didn’t flinch, but he did stiffen, his posture subtly shifting to block me from view. He kept his gaze trained on the man, but it was clear something was off.

“Stay calm,” he muttered, barely audible.

My pulse quickened, and I could’ve feel the tension rising. The man was making his way toward us, his steps deliberate. My mind raced, weighing the options. We had to make a move, and fast, before we were caught.

Then, the man stopped. He was only a few feet away, and it was too close. His eyes flickered toward them again, suspicion flickering in his gaze. He wasn’t convinced yet, but I could see the gears turning in his head. This was it.

Before I could react, Javier moved in a blur. He pushed me against the wall, his body pressing against mine, blocking her from view. I had no time to process what was happening before his lips found mine, a forceful kiss that stunned me into silence.

The kiss wasn’t romantic—far from it. It was a calculated move, a way to shut me up before we were exposed. The force of it was enough to stop me from saying anything, to make sure the man wouldn’t overhear a word or catch on to the game we were playing.

My breath caught in my throat, my mind racing as I tried to comprehend what just happened. Javier held the kiss for only a moment longer than necessary, his hand firmly at my side, as if anchoring her to the wall. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t look at me. His eyes were back on the man, who seemed to be lost in thought, not quite sure what to make of the scene in front of him.

“Stay cool,” Javier whispered, his breath still hot against my ear.

My heart was still pounding, my body pressed against the wall, but I nodded. The man took one last glance at us, his eyes lingering a moment too long before he turned and walked away.

I exhaled sharply, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re lucky that worked.”

Javier’s lips curled into a faint, almost smug smile. “I’m always lucky.”

[sylver-drawer]

I want to remind everyone that Jennette and Ijekiel’s relationship in the novel never improves. Ijekiel may have ‘moved on’, but it wasn’t really of his own accord—it’s because Athy literally encouraged him to go with Jennette (which I’ve already mentioned whose encouragement stems from her rose-tinted glasses of dehumanizing both Ijekiel and Jennette). Jennette, whose feelings and psyche we’ve delved into multiple times throughout the novel, hates Ijekiel’s falsity the most. She may be afraid of his anger and frustration, but that’s because it would be so foreign to her—but at the same time, it would be relief because at the very least it means it’s Ijekiel finally laying his feelings bare to her. But Ijekiel made it clear to her during his rejection that he has no intention to ever be genuine to her—that he will keep up his mask, monitor his emotions closely while still spitting out cruel words as if he were angry, though he dare not present so. That’s what scares her most, and what she despises terribly.

So the novel ends with Jennette exiled to outside of Obelia, waking up after attempting to off herself with her magic, alone with the man who just conveyed to her that he will never be genuine or truthful with her. In Ijekiel’s side, the woman he loved just told him to go with Jennette—who he has SO much unpacked baggage with already, being that he never saw or acknowledged Jennette as a woman (not romantically, I’m saying he constantly views her as a child despite her being an adult and having multiple enigmas, personal conflict, and growth through the years), still and will always view her as someone who will chase after him and ignore his feelings or opinions (which stems from an image he himself wanted to uphold, Jennette always wanted him to give his true opinions and gave him PLENTY of times to reject her and her requests), and overall just has so much pent up feelings and resentment for Jennette for little things throughout his childhood that’s too much to resolve without a proper heart-to-heart with Jennette—which he already resolved to never doing.

Which ends the novel with both of them at basically their most uncomfortable, stuck with the person they very much never want to be around. It’s hell. It’s gonna be hell. They’re practically strangers—people who’ve been around each other for nearly two decades, but don’t know the first thing about the other. And now it’s extremely awkward because of their fight, and the line Ijekiel drew that because of Jennette’s extremely fragile mental state, will force Ijekiel to have to be the first one to reach out. And he won’t. Because he’s not used to reaching out, especially to Jennette of all people (as Jennette’s always been the one to try and reach out, and he’s always been the one to put up a mask and comply even if he truly wishes not to).

And we know this is true, because Athy and Lucas literally talk about it at the end of the LP sidestories. After Athy comes back from her LP adventure, she decides to take a trip and visit Jennette and Ijekiel—and Lucas states something along the lines of how they don’t even meet eachother’s eyes (Athy takes it as both of them not dating, which I’m completely confused about, and chalk it up to Plutus forcing a pairing somewhat, as when we last saw them they couldn’t even be called friends). When Athy and Jennette exchange letters, there is no mention of Jennette and Ijekiel’s relationship. Athy even remarks that, before Jennette started exchanging letters, her letters with Ijekiel were mostly of Jennette’s condition because (she) was worried about her (not that Ijekiel talks about Jennette on his own, Athy has to inquire about Jennette—which was also what Ijekiel was jealous of right before his rejection of Jennette, that Athy only seemed to love and ask about Jennette in his presence). Nothing has improved since the official end of the novel, and it’s the last we see of them, and I honestly don’t really have much faith that it’ll improve anytime soon. At least, not without Athy’s intervention, but that would require more of Athy’s own growth.

[demisexualemmaswan]

taliesin…taliesin stop making me sad about vesper’s lack of a relationship with percy challenge

like god. imagine you spend your whole life with the promise and hope for the future on your shoulders and you learn how to lead and take care of whitestone and u get to be like twenty years old before your youngest sister is born and then she becomes your father’s favorite and in taliesin’s own words sometimes your father will undermine you for your youngest sister

and you are supposed to be the adult so you can’t be upset about it

vesper elaina probs wonders so often what she did wrong and why she isn’t good enough for percy

[driftingvoid-155]

FNAF Hurricane is like a mix of nightvale and derry to me. Weird shit going on 24/7 but no one ever really mentions it/ plays it like it’s normal

[thepunkranger]

Well that’s a real nice way of saying “my mad scientist dad turned himself into a monster and hunted me down so he could implant an embryo in me when I was 12”

[ecto-hazard]

Hans gets a second opinion

[silverhalla]

lucanis breaches the ‘sooo do you want kids’ convo with crow rook and they’re like ‘what do you mean, we already have jacobus’

[skwtches]

redraw of the love confes- i mean friendly exchange from that one episode of The Book of Pooh + more

[multigenderswag]

Not including the person's url, but here is an atrocious take I came across.

Did this person take thirty seconds to think about what they wrote? They just flat out said they don't include trans, nonbinary, multigender, or intersex men in their definition of "man." They don't even count non-straight men as men. If you mean straight cis men, say that. Clarify monogender or dyadic, even. Don't decide the only way to define "man" is to exclude trans, nonbinary, multigender, intersex, and queer men. Also, I'm not sure those men are really as welcome there as you claim, considering you just misgendered us.

[adelaidedrubman]

WHAT KIND OF LOVE ARE YOU?

i was tagged by @katsigian for this uquiz and everyone got so absolutely decimated i simply had to post pass along! (tried my best to italicize applicable/bold super applicable sparingly but everyone just got their ass beat so hard)

LOVE AS A FORCE OF NATURE

your love is like whiplash –– it comes in with the rain, it blows the doors wide open. when you fall in love, it is sudden and hard and immense. it is powerful. it is earth-shaking and world-ending. nature is a force, and that force can be destructive if you're not careful. see how the world is doused in gasoline and set on fire –– your love consumes, your love takes, your love burns. you're hot and cold all at once, a hurricane and a wildfire bound together in skin, and when you're in love, it can feel like it's eating you alive from the inside out. when you love, it is with everything you have because it is everything you have. be careful, darling, because not everyone survives the storm.

LOVE AS A CHOICE

you choose to love. love does not come to you easily, but every day you wake up and choose it. it would be so easy, wouldn't it, to grow cold and callous and grim. but you rise to greet the world, making the conscious effort to find something, anything to love. when you fall for someone, you do not kid yourself of their flaws. instead, you resolve to see them for who they are, mistakes and all and you love them all the same. your love is work, and it does not come easy. your love sweats and toils. it is calloused and sunburned; it bears scars and comes with stories. your love is worn, but it is no less valuable for it. being loved by you is like being loved by a gardener, a mother, a teacher. your love may not always be the simplest, but it is worth the effort.

LOVE AS A FLAW

cowering, your love hides in the dark. in shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. afraid, afraid, afraid of everything. when you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. you didn’t ask for this. you didn’t want this. it’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. get it out, just get it out now. you don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first. being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. it is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

LOVE AS THE DAWN

pastel, saccharine and hopeful, your love rises slow to greet the day. it tiptoes on doe feet and blossoms bit by bit, petal by petal. love is new to you, isn’t it? a fresh discovery in a world you do not quite understand. your love loves with bated breaths. your love swoons and sighs and lingers under awnings. your love romanticizes. your love aches as tenderly as a bruise. you’re swollen with desire and idealizations. the perfect kiss, the perfect touch, the perfect partner in life. your love is wide-eyed and innocent, naive and pristine and oh, so very easily breakable. being loved by you is to be loved by a child, by a lamb, wooly-eyed and helpless. oh. i really hope it lasts.

oof. on that note if you’d like to play along tags out to @imogenkol @derelictheretic @belorage @florbelles @lordundying @henbased @rhettsabbott @a-treides @nowandthane @josephslittledeputy @memaidraws @poetikat @ruvviks @wrathfulrook @galaxycunt @fourlittleseedlings @nonfunctioning-queer @voidika @captastra @confidentandgood @deputyash @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @strafethesesinners @shallow-gravy @direwombat @jackiesarch @firstaidspray @socially-awkward-skeleton @afarcryfrommymain @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @ladyoriza @clicheantagonist @cassietrn @stacispratt @mccarthycormac @afarcry5fromstraight @orionlancasterr @omen-speaker @risingsh0t @thefathersbride @simplegenius042 @voidbuggg @thedeadthree + uquiz opt in here:3

[glitterghast]

People in Hollywood don’t have body hair, so drawing Robin with hairy legs is disrespectful to the actress. End of story.

i wish i had the confidence to be this stupid

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for this sentence.

[laz-kay]

When the entire found family is made up of said traumatised character🫡