#but I think in truth NOBODY is made for them- people just have to grow and improve to be able to maintain them

[writingwithciara]

the stand in -luke hughes-

summary: y/n needed a date, and quick. with nobody else available, she turned to the only guy she knew was available. her best friends little brother. so what if they never got along? what could possibly go wrong?

word count: 5k

pairing: luke hughes x reader, jack hughes x bestfriend!platonic reader

notes: recently inspired by a book i just finished reading.

you're coming to the wedding, right? i don't think i could handle things without you also can't wait to meet your fiance love you so much <3

y/n stared at her phone as the texts from her cousin kept coming in. she was getting married to the guy she had been in a relationship with since basically kindergarten. marc, short for marcella, & jacob were barely ever apart growing up & it only escalated from there when they gave in to their feelings and started dating in 6th grade.

the longer y/n stared at the screen, the more she regretted ever mentioning she had a fiance. but she knew her family would get suspicious and try to set her up with someone if she showed up single again.

when she informed them she really was getting married, she was not banking on her fiance leaving her.

she whipped out her phone and sent a desperate text to her best friend.

jack i need your help. call me asap

within seconds, her phone was ringing with the signature song jack had assigned himself. when she picked up the phone, she didn't hesitate to start explaining. it was coming out so fast, he had to stop her.

"slow down, y/n. take a breath and then tell me what's got you so worried."

and she listened. she took a deep breath and sighed. "my cousin is getting married in a few weeks and i made the mistake of telling her about my fiance."

"but you don't have one because jerry is a jackass."

"mildly put, but yeah." she ran a hand through her hair. "i want to tell her that we're not together anymore but that would mean some excruciating mental pain at the wedding."

"right. when your entire family tries to set you up with a single guy there."

"see? you understand me, jack." she smiled. "so, i was wondering if-"

"you know i would love to. but unfortunately, i will be busy planning something super spectacular."

"i hate you." but she didn't. not even a little.

"no you don't." y/n could hear the smirk through the phone.

"jack, what am i supposed to do?"

"you could tell marc the truth and hopefully she won't tell the rest of your family."

"be realistic."

"you're right. i knew it as soon as the words left my mouth." jack looked around his apartment. "oh, i got it. hear me out, okay?"

"what's your idea?" she knew she was going to regret asking, due to the tone in his voice.

"luke's free."

"are you kidding? i said be realistic, jack. that is the worst possible idea ever."

"no. the worst possible idea would be telling them the truth, remember?"

"but i don't want to go with luke. he's the exact opposite of jerry."

"hey, i heard that!" she could hear luke's voice somewhere in the background.

"jack hughes, do you have me on speaker?!"

"only for a second. i had to set it on my dresser to grab something. but you're off now." he chuckled. "and luke may be the exact opposite of jerry, but that's a good thing."

"enlighten me."

"well for starters, he's nicer to me than jerry ever was. and two, he would never ever break off your engagement for stupid reasons."

"well we would never be engaged, so there's that."

"look, do you want a solution or not?"

"a helpful one would be great."

"luke is a good guy, whether you choose to believe it or not. and i'm not just saying that because he's my brother." it was jack's turn to sigh. "just please give him a chance. it's only going to be for one night, isn't it?"

"5 actually. gotta fly up a few days before & we'll be staying at my parent's old place." y/n rubbed her head. "i hate that i'm desperate enough to actually consider using luke of all people."

"hey, i heard that too!"

"take me off of speaker, jack."

"okay okay. you're off. for real this time." jack was laughing but y/n didn't find it funny. although she and luke were never shy when it came to their dislike for one another, she didn't like him hearing how she felt. "so, desperation is making you delirious, huh?"

"i suppose so." y/n looked at her tv. "tell luke to meet me here at noon tomorrow. there's some things we need to go over if this is going to work."

"got it."

when they hung up, y/n threw herself down on the couch and groaned. she couldn't believe she was doing this. and with luke of all people.

the next day, y/n sat at her kitchen counter and stared at the clock.

11:43

she was dreading the fact that luke had somehow agreed to do this. it wasn't like him to offer her any kind of help.

11:44

time was ticking by so slowly and part of her hoped that luke decided he wanted to back out. but that hope was shattered when not even a minute later, there was a knock on her door. she opened it to find luke standing there with a forced smile on his face.

"you're early."

"yeah. figured the earlier i got here, the faster we could go over everything and i could leave."

"and here i thought it was because you actually cared." y/n playfully put her hand over her heart, acting as if she was touched by his actions. she was not.

"don't get your hopes up." luke pushed past her and entered her apartment. she turned and followed him as he set his stuff down on the counter she had just vacated. "jack said he would pay me for this."

"i hope you like having one brother because after today, he's dead."

"relax. i was joking. he's not paying me. but he does owe me huuuuge for this."

"okay you don't have to act like putting up with me is that big of a deal."

"oh, but it is." luke avoided eye contact and looked at his phone. for some reason, his words stung her a little. but she had no idea why. "okay so what do we need to go over?"

"well, you already knew jerry-"

"unfortunately."

"so i just need to go over some things i told my cousin about him and we'll need to spend some time perfecting your acting skills."

"did you happen to tell your cousin his name?"

"no. you can still be luke."

"good. because jerry is the one person i hate" luke smiled and finally looked at y/n. "besides you of course."

"lovely. let's get started, shall we."

over the next 4 days, y/n and luke met in public places to test everything she had taught him. it was not easy most of the time so on day 5, she requested that jack come along with them.

that didn't work because he laughed at everything luke did. he knew his brother was way better than jerry was and seeing him try to act like that guy made jack laugh uncontrollably.

when luke was in the bathroom, jack looked at y/n.

"what?"

"i'm realizing now that you are a saint."

"what do you mean?"

"for starters, you put up with jerry for so long and now you're putting up with luke acting like him. and you're spending time with luke without complaining or yelling at him or wanting to rip his head off."

"well, it's not like i had a choice." y/n rolled her eyes and placed her gaze on her best friend. "what's this super spectacular thing you're planning?"

"it's a surprise, sweetheart." jack chuckled. "and you can't give me that look because i'm not caving to it this time."

"you suck, hughes."

"don't doubt it." he smiled. "but you love me anyway."

"always." y/n shook her head and looked toward the bathroom. "does he always take forever or is this new?"

"maybe he ran into a girl on his way and now he's getting her number."

"oh boy. do i feel sorry for the girl who ends up with that kid."

"careful. that's your fiance you're talking about." luke appeared at the table, causing y/n to jump a little. he took his seat next to jack. "what's next on the schedule?"

"nothing. we're actually done for today. you are relieved of your duties, oh kind sir."

"okay cool." he quickly stood back up. "same time tomorrow?"

"yeah. don't be late again."

"you got it, boss." luke said goodbye to jack and y/n before walking out of the building. when he was gone, jack looked at her.

"i just witnessed over an hour of civilized conversation." he chuckled.

"there's a first time for everything. doesn't mean it's going to be an every day thing after this is all said and done."

"fair point." he smiled. "but at least you're getting along for now."

"i suppose that's one way of looking at it."

---------

on the day they had to fly up for the wedding, y/n and luke woke up early. she wanted to have the earliest flight possible so she could spend more time with her family, even though she knew they were going to pester her endlessly about her upcoming 'wedding'.

"got everything, right?" luke asked as he hauled their bags to jack's car. y/n looked through her list and nodded.

"yup. we're good to go." she yawned and climbed into the passenger seat and waited for jack to start the drive to the airport.

after 10 minutes in silence, luke spoke up. "i'm not so sure about this. what if i do something wrong and mess this up for you?"

"we've been practicing for weeks. you're going to do great, luke. i just know it." she turned to look at him with a smile. it calmed him down for a minute but once she started a conversation with jack, his worry kept coming back. he really didn't want to let her down.

jack parked where he needed to and luke grabbed the bags.

"i'm going to miss you, jack."

"it's only a week. that'll fly by."

"but a week with luke? that's gonna be tough."

"hey. i heard that." luke chuckled while closing the car door. he waited patiently for their talk to end.

"it's going to be fine. you've been working with him for weeks so i figure there's not too much hatred flowing through your veins right now. plus, you'll be surrounded by your own family so that will take some of the pressure off at least."

"yeah. you're right." y/n smiled. "still going to miss you though."

"obviously." he squeezed her hand and smiled. "i'll be here to pick you up in a week."

"okay. i'll see you then." y/n got out of the car and went to grab her bag. luke gently pushed her hand away and headed inside. "luke i'm capable of carrying my own bag, you know."

"i know. but i want to do something nice for once. i know you're stressed about something happening."

"does it look like i'm stressed?"

"no. but you're great at acting. you hide it well. and i know you well enough to know when you're stressing about something."

"okay." she walked beside him and smiled. "thanks."

"you don't have to thank me for simply carrying your bag, you know."

"i know i don't have to but it's what i do when someone does something nice and unexpected. like this just seems so out of character for you."

"i'm trying to get into my role as your loving fiance." he chuckled.

once they went through all the necessary checkpoints and made it to their gate, y/n was finally able to breath.

"i just realized that we spent the last few weeks making sure you were the perfect 'jerry' & i didn't get to know a whole lot about you."

"i'm sure jack has told you plenty. plus you know me. i'm not much of a sharer."

"fair enough, i suppose." she looked out the window at the planes. "are you one of those people who sleeps on a plane or one that can never fully rest?"

"when travelling with the team, i can sleep perfectly fine. but other than that, i'm a wide-awake traveler."

"yeah me too. at least i won't be alone this time."

"we can use that time to talk to each other and not focus on your family. don't need you freaking out on the plane."

"yeah. okay. yeah. thank you."

"no problem."

they boarded the flight 10 minutes later and spent the entire time just talking and bonding as if they were actually good friends. it was unreal for both of them.

the minute they pulled up to y/n's old house, things felt off. the worry was back for both of them and before they walked in, luke reached down and held onto her hand. she gave him a look before he just shrugged.

"we're engaged, remember?"

"oh. right. i forgot for a second."

"it's going to be fine, y/n."

"i'm sure it will be." she looked at him and smiled a little. she followed luke slowly as he squeezed her hand for reassurance. they walked into the house and her parents came flying around the corner.

"oh it's so good to see you, y/n." her mom pulled her into a hug while her dad shook luke's hand. "oh and you must be the fiance."

"it's nice to meet you ma'am. i'm luke." he held his hand out but her mom pulled him into a hug.

"it's nice to finally meet you, luke." she pulled back and smiled. "oh marc is going to be so happy when she sees you guys tomorrow. she's been talking nonstop about the wedding so seeing her favorite cousin will be like a breath of fresh air."

"i can't wait to see her, mom." y/n smiled and before she could even try, luke was grabbing the bags and following y/n's dad up the stairs to their room. "i'm gonna go make sure dad doesn't scare luke too much."

she hurried up the stairs and went to the room. luke was standing at the window of her childhood bedroom and her dad was nowhere in sight.

"i like your parents. they're very kind."

"i like your parents too. they're a lot like mine in so many ways."

"i totally understand that." he smiled and turned around. "are we capable of sharing this bed?"

"we can try. i'm sorry in advance."

"no, no. it's alright. i should be the one saying sorry. we've known each other how long & i've never really been all that kind to you."

"i haven't been kind to you either, luke. just used to putting up with you for jack's sake."

"thanks." he chuckled. "but we can manage for 5 days, right?"

"well, you did tell me that i'm good at acting so i'm definitely capable of pulling this off." she smiled. "and you're really good too. we have nothing to be worried about."

"absolutely nothing." luke smiled and walked towards the door. "wait, what if nobody believes we're really a thing and they make us prove it with, like, a kiss or something?"

"i'm sure that won't happen. they're never weird like that."

"let's hope we can make it the entire trip without having to kiss. i couldn't imagine kissing you."

"hey, i'm a fantastic kisser. thank you very much."

"i'm sure you are but i just don't have the desire to find out." he smiled.

"okay, fair enough." y/n smiled at him and set her bag on the side of the bed before taking a seat and looking at luke. "marc is going to be obsessed with you."

"why do you say that?"

"she loves guys with curly hair. you should see the guy she's going to marry."

"speaking of them, how long have they been together?"

"they met in kindergarten. i witnessed the moment they met. it was adorable. they were inseparable for years but they didn't admit their feelings until 6th grade." y/n smiled while recalling the moment marcella and jacob knew they were going to be together forever. "they've been together ever since."

"really? that's honestly a sweet story." luke smiled. "so they've really never spent any significant time apart?"

"nope. the longest they were separated was the summer before our freshman year of high school when our family went on a cruise. my parents invited jacob to come along with us but his family went to visit his dying grandfather so he chose them."

"wow. 2 months." luke chuckled. "i can't even imagine being dependent on someone as much as they are on each other."

"me either, honestly. jerry was the first guy i ever had a solid connection like that with. and he'll likely be my last."

"unless you and jack follow through with your pact, right?"

"right? well, actually, even if we follow through with it, doesn't mean i'll have the same feelings for him that marc has for jacob."

"right. but at least you'll know jack would never leave you like jerry did."

"okay. that's true." y/n glanced at the picture on her desk. she stood up and walked over to it. "thank you for doing this, luke. i really appreciate it."

"of course." he stood behind her and smiled. "just remember this when i ask for a favor."

"noted." y/n set the picture down and turned to face him. she was about to comment on the close proximity but the doorbell rang. "are you ready to meet the happy couple?"

"yes." he walked to the door and waited. "lead the way."

it should've surprised y/n when, within 2 minutes, jacob and marcella were already calling luke one of their 'best friends'. but it didn't surprise her one bit.

despite her own resentment towards the youngest hughes brother, she couldn't deny that he was actually a likeable person to everyone else.

when they were alone again, y/n leaned against the wall and watched the smile on luke's face. he looked up at her and the smile fell, but only briefly.

"i love your family. hard to believe you're related to any of them."

"funny, luke. i say the same about you and your family. ellen, jim, jack and quinn are absolute saints. and then there's you."

"you sound insane." luke chuckled.

"get used to it. i'm going to be apart of your family in the future."

"you remember we're not actually engaged, don't you?"

"of course i remember it's fake. it's the only way i can tolerate you this long." y/n shook her head. "i was talking about my marriage to your brother."

"quinn?" luke raised his eyebrow. "wasn't aware you had a thing for him."

"wasn't it you who just brought up my pact with jack earlier? how did you forget about that?"

"relax. i was messing with you." luke smiled. "you and jack are rock solid. after this wedding, there will be nothing standing in your way of happily ever after."

something didn't feel right with the way the words came out of his mouth. they tasted funny and he didn't know why.

on the day of the wedding, y/n was in the room with marcella as she was finishing getting ready. marc turned to smile at y/n.

"thank you so much for being here. and for bringing luke. i love seeing you happy." marcella smiled widely. "and it's been a long time since you've been happy."

"yeah. luke's really, really great. i'm very lucky" y/n forced a smile. she hated lying to her family but it was better than telling them the truth. "i'm not as lucky as you, of course."

"jacob is perfect in every possible way. i love him so much."

"i know. i can't believe you guys have known each other your whole lives basically. it still doesn't feel real."

"the first day of kindergarten was the best day of my life." marcella looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. "you're going to make a really beautiful bride, y/n. and i can't wait to see you walk down the aisle in your wedding dress."

"you're gonna have to wait a while. we haven't even picked a date yet." y/n sighed. "plus there's so much that goes into planning a wedding." she gestured around them but smiled as she did so.

"i don't think luke would care about a huge ceremony. i think he would be happy doing it in front of just a priest. or even at the courthouse. he loves you and he can't wait to marry you."

"and how do you know this?"

"because he's my new bestie. i know all his secrets."

y/n froze. did luke tell marcella that he wasn't really her fiance? he couldn't have. right?

"plus, he told me."

"what?"

"he told me he loved you and couldn't wait to marry you."

"oh." y/n let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "i love him too."

and she found that wasn't really a lie. over the course of their visit to her old home, y/n began to warm-up to luke. he no longer got on her nerves like he did before. she loved him, sure. but it was more like she loved him like a brother.

and for some reason, even that felt weird to say or think about.

"you ready to go out there and marry the love of your life?" y/n asked while holding out her hand to marcella.

"always." she took y/n's hand and walked to where her father was waiting.

"i'll see you in there." y/n kissed her cousin's cheek and walked in with one of the groomsmen.

the second y/n walked in, luke couldn't take his eyes off of her. he had seen her dressed up before, as she had come to many team events as jack or jesper's date, but he couldn't help the way he was staring. the dress fit her so perfectly and her hair was done up perfectly as well. she was the most gorgeous person in the room and as far as everyone knew, she was his.

but reality sank in and luke knew she wasn't really his. it was clear to him that her heart belonged to jack. there was no way he could stop it. they were just meant to be. plain and simple.

y/n stood in her place at the end of the aisle and as marcella walked towards jacob, y/n' looked around the room. all eyes were on marcella, except for luke's. he was staring right at her. y/n's cheeks felt like they were suddenly on fire as she looked away from him. this was just an act.

to y/n, it felt like the ceremony took forever. she kept glancing at luke to find him already looking her way. and she couldn't deny that he looked good in his suit and tie ensemble.

when the reception began, y/n's gaze immediately went to luke. it was starting to become a habit she didn't want.

he smirked from his seat between her parents and set his phone in his pocket. y/n went over to him and smiled.

"wanna dance?"

"with you? always." luke stood up and took her hand. she tried not to stay on the words he spoke, knowing it was only because her parents were right there. but as they danced, something felt completely right.

they were getting along silently and it was nice for a change.

their moment was interrupted when luke's phone vibrated in his pocket. he pulled it out and frowned.

"it's jack. he says he's been trying to call you for an hour but you haven't been answering."

"i have my phone on the 'do not disturb' function. i didn't want it to go of during the ceremony."

"you should call him back." luke took a step back from her and sighed. "i'm sure it's important."

"luke-"

"it's okay. i'll just go talk to marc and jacob." he nodded towards the married couple and headed in their direction. y/n sighed and picked her phone up off the table. she quickly dialed jack's number and waited for him to pick up.

"about time. i've been trying to reach you for an hour. i was beginning to think you and luke killed each other" he sighed. "speaking of which, how are things going?"

"that's why you've been trying to reach me?" y/n let out a frustrated sigh. "things between us were good. we even danced until we got interrupted."

"i'm sorry about that. i didn't know."

"it's alright, jack." she glanced over at luke. "is that the only reason you needed me?"

"yes. wait, no. i wanted to tell you that you look really pretty in your dress."

"my dress? wait, can you see me?"

"no. luke took a picture and sent it to me, along with a text that read 'you made a mistake not coming with her to this thing. by far the most beautiful person in the room'. i wanted to let you know."

"oh." was all y/n could manage to say. she looked back over to where luke was last seen and smiled when she caught him staring again. "i'm gonna let you go, jack. there's something i need to do."

"good luck." jack chuckled before hanging up.

when she was free from the conversation, she put her phone back on the table, told her parents to keep an eye on it, then headed over to luke.

"what did he want to talk to you about? did he finally tell you how in love he was?"

"no. that would be ridiculous." she looked at him and grabbed his hand. "i need to talk to him for a minute. you guys mind?" she asked marc and jacob, who seemed to be in their own world. she dragged luke to a quiet hallway.

"what's going on? what did he say to you?"

"you texted him earlier."

"i did."

"what did you say?"

"nothing bad, if that's what you're asking."

"show me." she looked into his eyes. "please?"

"why is it so important?"

"jack said i looked really pretty in my dress."

for the first time all week, luke's gaze was anywhere but y/n. "okay."

"how does he know?"

"i don't know. kid's got a thing for you and thinks you're always pretty so he probably just assumed."

"luke, please." y/n rolled her eyes. "jack told me you sent him a picture of me in the dress. he mentioned there was a text included."

"what about it?"

"you called me the most beautiful person in the room. which i can't believe."

"fine. here's my phone." he swiped the screen open and handed it to her. "you wanted proof? here it is."

y/n read the text exchange jack told her about. seeing luke compliment her made her melt. it was the nicest thing he had ever said about her. she handed the phone back to him and smiled.

"luke, this is incredibly sweet. but you're very wrong."

"what do you mean?"

"at a wedding, the bride is always the most beautiful person in the room. none of the guests can ever eclipse that."

"of course marc is beautiful. but i can't help it if i think you're more beautiful." he ran his hands through his hair.

"i appreciate the compliment, luke. i really do. but there are rules for a wedding."

"i'm aware now. thank you." luke looked at her with his signature crooked smirk. "i'm sorry for the past, by the way. maybe jack was onto something when he made a pact with you."

"can we stop talking about your brother, who most definitely doesn't have a thing for me?"

"oh, he most certainly does. how could you not see it?"

"i don't know. too focused on his brother, i suppose. think quinn and i have a shot?" she glanced up at luke and giggled when his smile dropped.

"i just complimented you for the very first time and you want to talk about being interested in quinn? unbelievable. when will it be my turn?"

y/n didn't answer with her words. instead, she pulled him close and kissed him. it started as a way to shut him up but when she went to pull away, luke's hands found her waist and he tugged her closer, deepening the kiss in the process.

"it's always going to be your turn, luke." y/n grinned when they finally pulled apart.

"jack's going to hate me." he chuckled before resting his forehead against hers. his eyes were still closed but the goofy smile stayed on his face. "but it was definitely worth it."

"hmm, was it?" y/n leaned up to peck his lips.

"oh. for sure." luke held her tight against his chest. "i can't believe i was stupid and rude to you. when i could've been enjoying that kiss for years."

"the past doesn't matter anymore, luke. we've got a whole lifetime to makeup for that."

"damn right we do."

luke smirked and pulled her in for another kiss. he still couldn't believe it was happening. but as y/n kissed him back, he could get used to making up for the past.

[hyucksos]

heavy is the crown — mark lee

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural, crime-action, fluff, angst, romance wc: 14.9k synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: closed | @/yoonohswife @morkleesgirl @cosmoshyu @barbie4jin @sthwaaberry @ohmytyong

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness—

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him was what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

“I’ll explain later,” you say, glancing around the deserted park. “We need to go. It’s not safe here.”

“No. No, no,” Mark stammers, breathless as he pushes himself off the ground with a shaky hand, his knees almost giving way. “There’s no later. What the hell is going on? Was that- was that real? Did I just see you- what are you-“

His voice is rising now, panic clear in his tone, but you don’t have the luxury of soothing him yet— not with the danger still lingering. You sigh softly. “Mark, just listen to me-”

“Listen to what?” he cuts in, his voice shaking. “You just threw fire. At a... at a thing I don’t even have a name for! This- this isn’t normal!”

You knew this wasn’t going to end well if you don’t act fast.

Clenching your jaw, you shut your eyes momentarily. “Renjun,” you mutter, almost in defeat. “A little help, please.”

There’s a moment of silence before the Chinese boy appears, stepping out from the shadows as if he had been waiting for his cue. His expression is calm, but his eyes narrow as he takes in the scene— Mark’s pale, terrified face, along with your desperate one.

“Really?” Renjun raises a brow. “You couldn’t handle this on your own?”

“Not now," you hiss, glancing back at Mark who looks like he’s seconds away from collapsing.

Renjun sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping closer. His hand glows a faint green as he grabs Mark’s shoulder and reaches for you.

For the second time that night, Mark could barely register what was going on— only this time, his world starts to spin, and the ground disappears beneath him.

Soon, everything turns to black.

Mark wakes up to a bare ceiling and a pounding headache, no sign of you or that other boy with the glowing hands whose name he could barely even remember.

He lets out a relieved exhale. So it was all just a bad dream.

“Huh. She didn’t tell me you were hot.”

Mark startles at the new voice, almost falling off the bed as he sits up, his neck whipping to his left.

He doesn’t recognise who he’s looking at. The boy looks to be around his age, maybe a little younger, with chestnut-brown hair that falls messily in his eyes. He’s seated casually in a chair right next to the bed, leaning forward with an almost unnerving curiosity that makes Mark feel like he’s a rat in a lab experiment.

One thing that Mark does recognise, is the attire the boy dons, similar to the one he saw on you. Up close, he could make out the intricate design embossed in the silk material of his shirt, and it looks just like the top-half of a hanbok, except with a modern twist.

So it wasn’t a dream. Everything that happened was real. Mark feels his head start to spin even more.

Where is he, and who are you people?

“You’re at the academy. We’re… uh, I don’t really know how to answer your question without freaking you out even more, so I’m probably just gonna leave that to someone else, but I’m Donghyuck.”

“What?” Mark rasps, his eyes squinting in confusion. He didn’t actually say that out loud, did he?

“Oh, my bad,” Donghyuck quips, not really sounding all that apologetic as he leans back in his chair. “You didn’t, but I heard you anyway. Usually I’d have to be touching your arm or something, but I guess this could happen too if the other person’s energy levels are like, skyrocketing through the roof. And my knee was kinda touching your blanket, so there’s that. You’re a nervous guy, aren’t you, Mark? Huh, wait- that explains the crash course on personal space…”

“Hyuck.”

Donghyuck halts his rambling to glance over his shoulder, and Mark follows his gaze to see you.

In the midst of his confusion, he’s slightly relieved to see a familiar face. Even if said familiar face could shoot fire out of her palms and… well, killed whatever the hell that thing behind him was.

“Well, that’s my cue to go. Duty calls!” Donghyuck sings, slapping his palms on his thighs as he stands up. “See ya around, Bruce Lee.”

You spare Donghyuck a warning glance when he walks past you, and you know he’s ignoring you on purpose as he whistles his way out the door.

“Sorry about that,” you mutter as you approach Mark, opting to stand at the foot of his bed. “How are you feeling?” You ask tentatively.

“Confused. Sore. Mostly confused.” Mark shakes his head weakly, his dark hair falling in his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

“Well, you passed out, and rightfully so. Non-Gifted bodies aren’t usually able to withstand the forces of teleportation, but seeing as you made it through…” you trail off before clearing your throat, telling him your name before you continue. “This is the academy. It’s a place for… people like me; people with abilities. And that thing you saw back there— they’re Umbras. Wraiths that feed off energy. They’re dangerous, and they were after you.”

Mark’s brows knit together. “Me? Why me? I don’t have… abilities, or whatever it is you’re talking about. I’m just a normal guy.”

You hesitate as you choose your next words carefully. “I thought so too. But I’ve been having visions of you for weeks, Mark, and it wasn’t until today did I realise that my visions of the Umbras and you… they’re all connected.” You start to pace around the room. “You have to be possessing some sort of energy for them to be after you in the first place. Are you certain you’re powerless?”

You stop right in front of him, and Mark stares at you like you’re crazy.

“Um, I’m pretty sure.”

You huff in frustration, running a hand through your hair. You know that it isn’t his fault, but he isn’t giving you anything to work with.

“So, uh, the fire thing you did back there. That was your ability, right?”

You turn back to Mark, who’s still looking at you. He’s taking this surprisingly well, you think, though it does seem that he’s still recovering from shock.

“Yes. I’m a pyrokinetic. We all have different abilities here. Donghyuck's is psychometry, and if you remember Renjun, he teleports.”

Mark nods slowly. “So you’re kinda like Elsa, huh? But with fire instead of ice? Wait, no- you’re Azula.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Who’s Azula?”

Mark parts his lips before he closes them, uttering a quiet nevermind under his breath. You notice the flush that creeps up his neck, and for some reason, the sight brings a warm sensation to your own cheeks.

He clears his throat. “So, that explains the gloves?”

You glance down at your hands, fingers wringing one another before letting them fall to your sides. “Well, yes. They help to keep things under control. My ability can get a little unpredictable if I’m not careful.”

“Unpredictable how?”

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. You weren’t even expecting for him to be asking this many questions— most people didn’t— but you figure that’s probably because something that’s ordinary in your world must seem extraordinary in his. “Fire isn’t exactly forgiving. It doesn’t listen well, and if I lose focus, it can spread. The gloves act as a barrier, like a safety net.”

Mark is a silent for a while. “Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

The question surprises you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve never had anyone ask you that before. “It used to,” you admit. “But I’ve trained for years to handle it. The pain doesn’t really bother me anymore.”

Before he could respond, you clear your throat. “You should, um, get some rest. I’m sure Headmaster Kang would want to talk to you after this. Do you need anything else?”

“No, no, I’m good.” Mark finally glances away, letting out a slow exhale as he rests on the headboard behind him.

You nod before excusing yourself out of the room, your gloved hands instinctively rising to your cheeks. They’re still warm from before— oddly warm. It’s strange, because you’ve always only been able to conjure heat with your palms, so you’re not sure if this is some new side effect… or something else entirely.

You’re sure it’s the former. What else could it be?

Mark has never had that many friends growing up. Sure, he’s constantly surrounded by people— an inevitability when his entire life is just training after training, and tournament after tournament— but even then, he still finds a way to keep to himself. There’s enough pressure trying to succumb to his own expectations of being the best athlete he could be, and the last thing he needs is the added weight of others’ opinions or distractions that could potentially pull him off course.

That, and the fact that he’s been told that he’s far too awkward, but that’s never been a problem for him— at least, until now.

Donghyuck is chattering away at a speed Mark couldn’t really comprehend, Renjun only nodding occasionally to show that he’s listening as he sips on his soup. You, on the other hand, don’t even seem all that interested, barely even reacting to Donghyuck's story about how he accidentally overheard someone’s entire dream during a nap the other day.

With both you and Renjun’s lack of reaction, he’s starting to think that this is just how Donghyuck is on a day-to-day basis.

“I swear, I wasn’t even trying this time,” Donghyuck exclaims, gesturing wildly with his spoon. “One minute, I’m dreaming about ice cream, and the next, I’m trapped in this weird universe about werewolves mating. Do you know how traumatising that is? What kind of fantasies is she having?” He visibly shudders. “Ugh. Should I go through solar confinement so it stops?”

“Hyuck, come on. Why would you want to put yourself through that?” You finally speak up, concern lacing your tone. “Plus, I doubt it’ll do much to help with your… questionable dreams.”

“It wasn’t even my dream!” Donghyuck whines, and it is only when Mark notices the small upturn of your lips does he realise that you were just pulling your friend’s leg.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile. He thinks it’s kind of nice.

“What’s the solar confinement?” He finally asks, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“Oh, just this lovely punishment Headmaster Kang came up with." Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "You stand in the sun for hours, no shade, no escape. Supposedly it 'clears your head,' but I think it’s just a slow way to turn someone into a human oven. Huh, I think I’ll take werewolf dreams over that any day.” Donghyuck shudders again. “But hey, speaking of the headmaster, have you met him yet?”

“Yeah. Yesterday, actually.” Mark spares you a glance. “He told me that it’d be better for me to stay until we figure out why the wraiths are after me. It’s safer that way. That’s why I’m still here, I guess,” he chuckles awkwardly.

After you left Mark at the infirmary yesterday, you went straight to Headmaster Kang to inform him what had happened. You brought Renjun along with you, mostly because you were terrified of being reprimanded for bringing in a Non-Gifted to the academy, but Headmaster Kang took it surprisingly well. You suppose it was the urgency of the entire situation; the Gifted and Non-Gifted are supposed to coexist in two separate worlds, and now that one is beginning to bleed into the other, there seemed to be only one way to contain it: by bringing Mark in.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t worry about it, though. The Umbras won’t be able to get to you here,” Donghyuck assures. “But seriously, your energy must have been super strong for them to reach you in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not a Gifted,” Mark corrects him. “I mean, I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out, I guess.”

“Woah, really? I kinda thought that was how I managed to read you yesterday without even touching you,” Donghyuck hums, curious. “Mind if I read you now, Newbie? Maybe that could help in finding your elemental.”

“Oh, uh- sure.” Mark outstretches his palm across the table hesitantly, and Donghyuck places his hand on top immediately. As much as Mark was expecting to feel something— maybe a small jolt of static or any other kind of sensation— it’s surprisingly painless, and Donghyuck withdraws his hand with knitted brows.

“Weird. It’s all fuzzy. I can’t see anything,” he mumbles. “I wonder what changed.”

“I have ADHD,” Mark admits. “Maybe that could be it?”

“Ah, yeah!” Donghyuck clicks his tongue, snapping his fingers. “A lot of things going up there, huh? I get it. I’m sure it’ll come to you eventually. You know, I was a late bloomer, too. Got my abilities at twenty. I got admitted to the psych ward because people thought I was crazy, when the whole time I just had abilities. Headmaster Kang bailed me out-“

“He didn’t bail you out, Hyuck. It wasn't a prison.”

“-now here I am!” Donghyuck finishes off his speech, ignoring you.

You shake your head, scoffing in amusement, and the table is finally silent when everyone returns to their food.

If Mark wasn’t aware of his surroundings then, he definitely is now.

The dining area isn’t that big, housing only about twenty other people or so— most of which are casting him less-than-subtle stares behind their bowls. He gets it, though— in a school this small, word definitely would have gotten out fast. He’s sure the students here wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that a Non-Gifted is among them, and the fact scares Mark by a little.

“Ignore them,” you mutter from beside him when Renjun and Donghyuck escalate into yet another argument. Mark knows you aren’t referring to them.

He chuckles. “You read minds too?”

“No.” You snort. “Your face says it all. They just aren’t used to seeing new people, is all. You have us, Mark. You’ll be fine.”

If it weren’t for the smile you gave his way, Mark is sure he would’ve had a hard time believing you.

✦ ✦ ✦

Scratch that— Mark doesn’t think he’ll be fine.

Seated uneasily in the headmaster’s office, he couldn’t help but to feel out of place. The walls are lined with dark wood panels and rows of ancient books, the kind that seemed to know secrets no one dared to ask about. For some reason, he finds it difficult to tear his gaze away from them, specifically the one with the weathered, leather spine tucked away at the very end.

Mark has no idea why he's staring at it intently— it could be because out of everything else in this room, that odd-looking book seems to be the most interesting. He must have been looking at it for too long, because for a fleeting moment, the book starts to glow, only for it to disappear after a blink.

Mark takes that as a sign to look away. His body must still be struggling to adapt to everything that's been happening in the last 48 hours to the point of him seeing things.

He had been called in right after breakfast, where he had to split ways with you, Donghyuck and Renjun as you carried on with your daily activities. The floor-length windows of the office gives him the perfect view of the academy grounds below, where students are scattered across the courtyard as they practice their respective abilities.

Instinctively, his eyes search for you, quickly spotting you alone at the edge of the training field. A flicker of fire ignites in your palm before it disappears completely.

“Mark.” Headmaster Kang’s voice brings him back to the present. Mark looks away from the window. “Let’s go through your background again. Where did you say you were from?”

“Seoul, sir,” he answers stiffly. “But, uh… I don’t really know much about where I came from before that. I was adopted when I was a baby.”

The old man purses his lips in thought. “And your adoptive family? Were there any unusual experiences growing up? Any unexplained phenonema that could suggest why you might be a target for Umbras?”

“Umbras,” Mark repeats, the term still foreign on his tongue. He shakes his head. “No, sir. At least, not that I know of. I mean, my parents have always joked that that I was… emotional, I guess? They said that I had this weird way of making everyone around me feel what I was feeling,” he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don’t suppose that would explain why shadow demons are chasing after me now?”

Headmaster Kang smiles, the upward tug of his lips softening his otherwise hard features. Admittedly, the gesture helps in making Mark feel a little less jittery, though the sharp glint in his eyes remain stern.

“Listen, Mark. The world of the Gifted is vast and enigmatic. Each of my students here possess their own unique abilities that sets them apart from the rest. While it is not common for abilities to manifest at your age, no one has ever ruled out that possibility.” He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “The Gifted have existed for hundreds of years now, yet there are still so many things we can’t explain due to the nature of our bodies. They’re constantly changing, evolving, defying the boundaries of what we think we know.”

The information is a lot to digest, so Mark doesn’t say anything.

“You can start off by looking into your biological family. See if they have any ties to our world— that might give more insight as to why these things are taking place. The library is free for you to visit, and if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me,” Headmaster Kang continues. “For now, we’ll focus on integrating you into the academy. You’re going to need this-“

He pulls out a drawer, taking out a neatly folded fabric before setting it on the table. Mark recognises it instantly.

“I understand you practiced Taekwondo before coming here. Discipline and control are central to martial arts, qualities that align well with what we value here.”

Mark nods, unsure of how else to respond. “I’ve been doing it for years. It’s… grounding.”

“Good. Then that foundation will serve you well.” Another faint smile flickers on Headmaster Kang’s face as he nods towards the uniform. “You’ll begin training tomorrow. Even if your elemental remains dormant for now, it’s important to cultivate focus and discipline. Those qualities may unlock more than you realise.”

Mark nods slowly, picking up the silk material. The uniform is heavier than he expected, like it carries the weight of something much larger than himself.

“Thank you,” he says softly. It feels strange to be grateful for something he didn’t ask for.

The next couple of days seemed to pass by in a blur, at least for Mark.

Life had settled into a strange rhythm; he would spend his mornings in physical training, afternoon in power control (something he didn’t even have, leaving him to do more physical training), and evenings sparring under the watchful eyes of the instructors. As gruelling as it was, it gave him less time to think about the wraiths that were after him— or why he was even here in the first place.

The midday sun beats down on the training grounds as students gather to observe the mock battle that was about to begin. You spare Mark a glance, his face passive as he waits for your instructor’s signal, but you can feel it— the sharp undercurrent of nervous energy radiating off him, and it prickles on your senses like electricity.

You blink, trying to shake it off, but it’s hard to ignore the sudden wave of unease that settles around you, almost like a weighted blanket that only grows heavier with each passing second.

Your force yourself to regulate your breathing, not realising that you’re on the verge of hyperventilating until you hear Mark calling your name.

“Hey, you okay?” He turns to you, eyes wide with concern as he ducks slightly to look at your face. You can feel his fingers circle around your wrist even despite the latex barrier between your skin and his fingertips, but it doesn’t do much to bring you comfort.

You part your lips to answer, but nothing comes out. “I-“

“Mark and Younghyun, to the center of the ring,” your instructor’s voice calls out, causing Mark to inhale sharply as he reluctantly lets go of your hand. He casts Donghyuck beside you a look, who nods in understanding as he pulls you closer towards him.

“You alright?” Donghyuck mutters quietly, his arm still around your shoulder.

You nod wordlessly as you exhale, the heaviness finally leaving your chest. With your vision refocusing, you’re only now realising that Mark is no longer beside you, already standing at the edge of the ring as he prepares himself for the first round. “Just- felt lightheaded all of a sudden.”

Donghyuck is silent for a while until he speaks up. “I felt it too, you know.”

You tense as you turn your head to face him, but his eyes are not on you, rather, on Mark. You didn’t even notice how unusually grim Donghyuck is being, unlike his usual self, and that instantly tells you that something is wrong.

“I can’t read you at all.” He finally looks at you, his hand tapping your shoulder before he drops it completely. “Same thing happened with him during breakfast the other day, remember?”

You swallow. “But Mark said he had that- that thing. It’s a condition, right?”

“Yeah, but I literally managed to read him through his blanket on his first day. Could practically feel the nerves bouncing off the guy.” Donghyuck looks around before he exhales, dropping his voice. “I think his elemental has something to do with his emotions. You felt it, I felt it. And now that he left, the feeling’s gone. Don’t you find it weird?”

“I…” you trail off, shaking your head as you try to piece things together in your head. “It’s just, his energy shifts, right? Are you saying that it’s more than his emotions just affecting him… it affects everyone around him as well?”

“Exactly. It’s not easy to balance both your energy and emotions, especially when you don’t know what’s happening. I’m betting that’s why he’s been out of touch with his abilities.” Donghyuck nods towards the ongoing match, and you follow his gaze, looking at Mark and Younghyun as they circle the ring, waiting for the other to throw the first move.

This isn’t the first time these two are sparring each other. You don’t know Younghyun that well, nothing more than the fact that he’s a shadow manipulator, and that he has a particular habit of taunting Mark every chance he gets. They’re always subtle, but you can tell it gets under Mark’s skin every time— including now, as you could tell based on the downturn of his lips.

“Come on, Lee,” Younghyun calls out, voice dripping with mockery. “Thought you’d put up more of a fight. Or are you too scared to use your powers? Oh, wait,” he snickers to himself.

Mark’s jaw tightens. The comment is meant to get a reaction— and it’s working. Without warning, he throws the first punch, a straight fist aimed right towards Younghyun’s face.

The boy only barely manages to sidestep, the contact knocking him off-balance momentarily. The air starts to grow heavy, more volatile, and with the way Younghyun’s smirk drops slightly, you know he feels it too.

Donghyuck might just be right.

“Nice try.” Younghyun recovers quickly. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he says lowly, stretching out his arms as he directs his own shadow towards Mark, the silhouette solidifying before it lurches foward and grabs a hold of Mark’s limbs, pulling him down harshly. He loses his balance, the sound of him hitting the ground making you gasp.

“Oh, c’mon!” Younghyun laughs as he stands at Mark’s feet. “Are you just gonna keep lying there like an injured lamb? Tsk. Powerless,” he taunts some more, garnering a few chuckles from the crowd.

Mark didn’t seem to like that.

“Shut the hell up,” he grits as he gets up. The air around him seems to hum, thick with unseen energy. The crowd falls silent, their laughter replaced by gasps of alarm, but Mark doesn’t notice it— until it happens.

A burst of white light explodes outward as he lunges towards Younghyun, the energy radiating like a shockwave, causing the latter to fly backwards before landing on the ground with a loud thud. The air still crackles with tension as Mark stumbles back, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he looks at his hands, trembling with the unfamiliar power.

“What the…” he whispers to himself, slowly looking back to his opponent who still lies unconscious, the only reassurance of him being alive the faint rise and fall of his chest. Relief washes over Mark for a moment, before it’s quickly overshadowed by the feeling of dread as the murmurs around him grow louder, the words “dangerous” and “unstable” cutting through the noise.

He looks around helplessly, before his eyes land on you, already looking at him with concern painted on your features. You step towards him, but Mark stumbles back, his stomach churning.

“Mark,” you say softly, but he shakes his head, feeling his eyes burn with tears he knows he shouldn’t let fall in front of you, so he does the next best thing:

He runs away.

✦ ✦ ✦

You find Mark in his room, his back turned to you as he frantically packs his bags.

“Wha- are you leaving?”

Your voice causes him to stall before his hands fall in defeat, and he finally turns to you.

Based on the redness of his eyes, you know that he’s been crying, and the sight tugs on your heartstrings. It’s a deep, unshakeable sadness that wells up in you, and you know it isn’t his emotions bleeding into yours this time— it’s all yours.

“I shouldn’t be here anymore,” he says weakly, his voice hoarse. “I can’t— not if I’m hurting people along the way. I didn’t mean to hurt him-“

“I know. I know, Mark.” You step towards him slowly, and he lets you, though he’s quick to avoid your gaze as he looks at his shoes. “It’s not your fault.”

The lights in the room start to flicker as he takes in a shaky breath, the dim glow struggling to stay steady. With each passing second, the flickering intensifies, plunging the room into near darkness before the bulbs flare brightly.

“Look at me?” You plead, gently cupping his jaw to tilt his face towards you. His tear-filled eyes gaze longingly into yours, and you make sure he doesn’t look away as you drop your arm, tugging the glove off your other hand.

Conjuring a small flame in your right palm, you raise back your hand, letting it hover steadily between the two of you. His eyes naturally follow the fire that dances in your palm, the orange hue reflecting in his glassy irises.

“Breathe,” you say gently. As the flame pulses and sways in a slow, rhythmic pattern, his breathing begins to match its cadence, each inhale and exhale drawing closer to the calm tempo you’ve set for him, until the room eventually stops flickering and returns to normal.

“Your abilities don’t make you a threat, Mark.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, feeling your own tears well in your eyes. In a way, Mark Lee reminds you of yourself— alone, misunderstood, burdened with a gift you never asked for. You understand his fear, because it mirrors your own; and it’s taken you years alone to realise that it doesn’t define nor destroy you.

“It can be tamed,” you continue softly, and the flame in your palm steadies, its gentle glow casting shadows across his pained features. You fight back the urge to hold him, to smoothen out the worry between his eyebrows, and tell him that it’s alright. So instead, you settle for a smile, hoping that your words are able to convey what actions couldn’t.

“Just like mine.”

You’re looking at Mark again, only this time, he’s standing at the other end of the room, far away from you. His features are illuminated by the moonlight breaking through the cracked window next to him, his fists glowing faintly with a power he’s only beginning to understand.

You try to call out for him, but your voice comes out as muffled. The towering shapes that surround the two of you feel vaguely familiar, along with the dust that swirls in the air and the faint smell of musty paper, but the way they’re constantly twisting and blurring into nothingness makes it hard for you to pinpoint exactly where you are.

One by one, the Umbras start to appear, and you can’t see Mark anymore with how quickly they’ve encircled him. The air is heavy, suffocating, and that’s when you hear it; a familiar voice:

“Engulf him.”

The shadows start to hiss, the sharp noise growing louder and louder with each passing second. Instinctively, you bring your hands to your ears, only for pain to flare instantly as your skin burns on contact. With a gasp, you let your arms fall, and that’s when you notice the absence of your gloves, your palms raw and red.

An estranged cry leaves your lips as the burning sensation starts to spread beneath your skin, causing you to fall to your knees. You want to call out for Mark, but you can’t, your lips feeling as though they’ve been sewn shut so tightly that you can’t do anything else but to stare helplessly as the Umbras consume him.

You jolt awake with a scream, clutching your arms as the phantom burn lingers. It was just a nightmare, but not just any ordinary one— it was another vision.

The sudden banging on your door causes you to jump out of your skin, and you’re hesitant to move from your bed, given the state of your own frantic self. It is only when you hear the familiar voice at the other side do you finally stumble to open it, and you’re instantly met with Renjun’s panicked face, his fists raised and glowing.

He sighs upon seeing you, dropping his hands. “God, I was literally about to break into your room! What took you so lo- are you crying?” Renjun halts amidst his rambling when he takes in your tear-stricken face, something you didn’t even realise until he pointed it out.

“I just, uh, had a bad dream,” you mutter, quickly wiping your eyes with your bandaged hands. You had switched from sleeping with your gloves on to wrapping them with gauze, something Donghyuck had taught you when he noticed how irritated your skin would get after wearing them for a full day. You still have yet to master wrapping them perfectly, the fabric currently falling apart at the seams, but at least they keep your palms covered.

Renjun shakes his head, as though snapping himself out of distraction. “Listen, it’s Mark.”

Your heart drops upon hearing his name.

Renjun continues. “Something’s going on. I noticed his door was left ajar when I left my room to go to the washroom, so I knocked to see if he was okay, but he wasn’t inside. I don’t know where he is.”

You swallow hard, and it feels like bile has risen in your throat at the thought of your vision coming true. You shove past Renjun wordlessly, stumbling into the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He calls out after you, but you don’t respond, your feet carrying you towards the end of the corridor. Your steps only falter when you reach a junction, and you close your eyes as you try to steady your breathing. There’s a tug in your mind, like an invisible string that’s pulling you towards the shadowy corners of the academy, and that’s when it hits you: the cracked window. The dust. The smell of old paper. 

“Are you seriously not gonna answer me?” Renjun pants when he catches up to you, clearly annoyed. “I know you’re worried, but running aimlessly won’t help you find-“

“I know where he is,” you cut him off, turning around.

Renjun frowns before his expression eases into one of realisation. “Your visions…”

You nod before taking off towards the east wing, not looking behind to check if he is following after you.

You don’t remember the last time you visited the old library— or anyone, for that matter. Since the fire that ravaged the east wing a few years back, the entire area was deemed unsafe, left to rot after the surviving books were moved to a newer wing.

But it wasn’t just the fire that left the library abandoned; more so, the rumours that followed. The timing of the incident had been too coincidental, perfectly lining up to the time when your abilities first spiraled out of control. No one had ever outright accused you, but the rumours were enough to make you feel their suspicions.

You’d avoided the place since, the unspoken blame too much of a weight for you to bear. But now, as you approach the charred doorway, your stomach churns at the thought of stepping back inside.

Taking in a shaky breath, you push the heavy door open, the hinges creaking as it reveals the forgotten library.

It’s there, just like you envisioned earlier, which is why it doesn’t take you long to spot Mark, standing in between the bookshelves as his eyes and fists glow a bright white. Dark shapes swirl around him like smoke, some darting towards him only to be repelled away at the last second, as though he’s being protected by an unseen force.

Now this, you didn’t see in your vision.

“Mark?” You call out, your voice trembling as you slowly inch towards him, but Renjun quickly catches your wrist.

You turn to meet his worried gaze. “I don’t think- should I go call Headmaster Kang?”

You stall. “If we tell him, I’d have to explain how I know. You know he doesn’t know about my visions,” you reply hesitantly, wriggling your hand out of his grasp. “I can’t afford to do that right now.”

“Yes, but-“ Renjun is insistent before he lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing that nothing he could say would change your mind.

“I can’t go back to confinement, Jun,” you say quietly, and Renjun looks away.

“I know,” he mutters. “At least let me call Hyuck?”

You nod hesitantly, and Renjun gives you one last look before he raises his fists, conjuring a portal and disappearing.

You turn back to Mark, keeping your eyes on him as you unravel the bandages on your hands. You let them fall to the floor before you raise your arms, your palms heating up instantly.

As though sensing the shift in the air, the Umbras turn to you, and you barely notice Mark’s protective barrier start to flicker uncertainly before the wraiths lunge towards you at full speed.

“Not today,” you mutter through gritted teeth as you flick your wrists, sending a jet of fire through them before they screech, eventually disappearing into nothingness.

It feels never-ending, and you know you’re growing tired as the heat of the flames intensify the more you attack. Still, you ignore the pain that sears your skin, letting the adrenaline take over until the last of the wraiths vanish with a hiss, and you finally allow yourself to drop your arms.

You pant heavily, only now registering the state of the charred library shrouded with smoke; as though the fire from years ago had come alive before your very eyes.

Your knees buckle, and despite the pain that seizes your entire body, you crawl towards Mark, shifting so his head could fall to your lap. His lips are pale, body unnervingly still, but he’s still breathing; albeit shallowly.

“Mark,” you croak, your trembling hands hovering over his face as though you’re unsure of what to do with them. Your bandages are somewhere on the ground behind you, and you don’t want to accidentally burn him by touching him. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

This scene feels oddly familiar.

You fight back a choked sob, but it doesn’t do much in stopping the tears that fall down your cheeks. They burn, like acid, and you quickly wipe them away with your sleeves.

You vaguely hear someone calling your name behind you, registering the familiar voice of Donghyuck before he skids to a crouch next to you. You tilt your chin to look at him, and his lips part in shock upon taking in your face.

“Help him, please.” You cut Donghyuck off just as he’s about to say your name, and he swallows before nodding grimly, beckoning for Renjun to come over.

You scoot away to give the boys some space, and your eyes fall to your hands on your lap. They sleeves of your shirt partly obscure them, but the burns still peek through, a stark reminder of the flames you wielded, and a haunting proof of how your even visions aren’t able to save Mark.

Mark thinks he’s going crazy.

He had woken up in the infirmary with no recollection of what had happened, the marks on his skin the only evidence that something did actually happen in the time he was unconscious, but that isn’t even the worst part.

The worst part is that he hasn’t seen you since he woke up, and neither Donghyuck nor Renjun is telling him where you disappeared off to.

He finds himself in Headmaster Kang’s office instead, and the downturn of the man’s lips tells Mark that he isn’t here for a casual chat.

“So tell me, Mark. How did you find yourself in the old library?” Headmaster Kang rests his elbows on his desk as he leans forward.

Mark swallows nervously, his head hanging low. “I- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t remember.”

Headmaster Kang nods. “I understand that you’re still trying to adapt to your abilities, which might explain why these things are happening. How has training been going for you? Good?”

“I-“ Mark pauses. The answer is at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t possibly admit that to the headmaster, can he? How could he say that no, nothing has been going well for him ever since discovering his abilities, that his life has turned to literal shit since the day he knocked that kid Younghyun off his feet?

Despite his struggle to answer, Headmaster Kang smiles, as though knowing exactly what it is he wanted to say. Mark wonders if the he could read minds like Donghyuck.

“We’ve never had an Umbra attack at the academy before. This is a first, and I reckon it has something to do with your emotional resonance. As you already know, these things feed off energy, which could explain how they’ve managed to break through the perimeter.”

Mark clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Don’t be.” Headmaster Kang shakes his head. “This is a school. An instituition. I never want my students to feel unsafe at the one place that’s supposed to protect them.”

Mark nods, not really sure where the conversation is heading towards.

“That said, a wraith attack is to be taken very seriously. It was fortunate that nobody else got hurt-“

Relief washes through Mark momentarily. That would mean that you’re okay, right?

“-but for the sake of ensuring the safety of the other students, I’m afraid that I’d have to take action to make sure this doesn’t happen again. I hope you understand this isn’t mean to be a punishment, Mark, more so a protective measure to help regulate your abilities.” The headmaster pauses, as though thinking of the next words he’s going to say.

“Solar confinement,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. “A method designed to stabilise energy levels. It’s been used in the past for students who needed time to regain control over your powers. In fact, your friends have gone through this as well, so I’m sure you are familiar with it, yes?”

Mark stiffens, his fists curling on his lap. Of course, he’s familiar with it— it’s the one thing Donghyuck wouldn’t stop talking about ever since he joined this academy.

“You’re isolating me,” he responds, his tone stiff but measured.

“No, Mark. Helping,” the headmaster corrects. “Think of it as a period of rehabilitation. You’d be surprised what four hours could do in stabilising your inner elemental.”

Mark inhales sharply, knowing that he isn’t left with a choice. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. You can head down to the courtyard and start when the clock hits twelve. I’ll have someone check in on you hourly until it’s done. And Mark?” Headmaster Kang’s tone shifts, the gentleness replaced with a sharper edge. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Mark could only afford to nod robotically before he leaves the office, each step heavier than the last. At the rate he’s going, he’s not sure if any type of confinement could help with the inner turmoil he’s feeling.

✦ ✦ ✦

The headmaster lied.

It only took one hour in for Mark to realise that no, nobody was going to check in on him as he’s standing in the middle of the courtyard, alone and on the verge of passing out under the intense summer heat.

It’s also a weekend, which explains why the academy feels so desolate— not like that would have helped in any way, whatsoever. He’s convinced that this so-called ‘rehabilitation’ is nothing more but a thinly veiled punishment for luring the wraiths onto school grounds; as though he even meant to do it on purpose in the first place.

If it weren’t for his recently-discovered abilities— emotional resonance, or whatever— he’s sure he wouldn’t even be able to make it to the twenty minute mark, let alone a whole hour. And with three more to go, he doesn’t think even his inner elemental could help him with that.

He doesn’t notice Donghyuck walk up to him until the boy taps him on his shoulder, grimacing upon taking in his face.

“Headmaster Kang told me to come tap you out,” he says cautiously.

Mark’s hazy mind barely processes Donghyuck’s words. He’s pretty sure it’s only been two and a half hours, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. His body gives out immediately, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion. A wave of nausea hits him, and before he could stop it, the bile rises quickly in his throat before it spills all over the ground in a violent retch.

Donghyuck cringes, crouching hesitantly before handing him a bottle of water. “Pretty rough, huh?”

“Shut up,” he heaves, taking a mouthful of water before spitting it out. “How come?”

“Um,” Donghyuck seems hesitant to continue, but he sighs eventually. “Listen, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so you didn’t hear this from me! But, uh… a transaction, of sorts, has been made. Believe me, I was not on board with it at all, but she was just so fucking adamant-“

“What?”

Donghyuck glances around, as though to make sure nobody is listening. “Someone, made a deal with the headmaster to let her do isolation instead of you doing the full four hours,” he says in a hushed whisper. “You know, someone being-“

“Yeah, I got it, Hyuck,” Mark answers gruffly, getting back to his feet unsteadily as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where is she?”

“I-“ Donghyuck’s jaw tightens before he swallows. “The old library. When she heard that you were going to be put in solar confinement, she marched straight to the headmaster’s office to tell him to lighten your sentence and to give it to her instead. I don’t- damn it,” he sighs, struggling to form his own words as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s been avoiding you. Blaming herself for the shit that went down. It’s like she thinks her visions were promises that she broke, or something. I keep telling her that it’s not her fault, but she just won’t listen. She’s convinced that staying away from you is the only way to keep you safe.”

And suddenly, everything comes rushing down to him. The Umbras that surrounded him, the white light that blinded him. The sound of your sobs, the feeling of his head in your lap. The way your voice cracked when you whispered his name, filled with guilt and fear.

Mark lets out a shaky exhale before he moves past Donghyuck, but the boy stops him.

“Not now,” he grits through his teeth, his eyes flickering upward momentarily. Mark follows his gaze, seeing the headmaster’s shadow behind the glass window at the very top floor. “You’re a walking target now, remember that. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Don’t have to worry about that." Mark shrugs Donghyuck’s hand off his shoulder. "From now on, I’ll just do everything my way.”

You can’t feel anything in your palms.

You’ve been trying to conjure fire for the past twenty minutes, the emptiness in your hands gnawing on the edges of your sanity. It’s not just the absence of heat— it’s the absence of you, and in the suffocating quiet of the old library, it seems that that part of you has been snuffed out.

But this is what you asked for, right?

Mark had gotten hurt because of you; went into solar confinement because of you. If isolating yourself means not crossing paths with him anymore, maybe you could stop feeling the guilt of failing. Maybe you won’t have to see Mark hurt again and know it’s because of you.

Maybe you’ll finally have some peace.

Still, there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head that refuses to be silenced. The voice you heard in your vision, commanding the army of Umbras to engulf Mark— you know it wasn't just another cruel trick of your mind; not when it's so familiar, so authoritative.

You didn't want to believe it, but in the cold, soulless library, the truth suddenly hits you with a sickening clarity. That voice you heard in your vision was the voice you hear every single day.

It was Headmaster Kang.

Your heart thumps wildly against your chest, and you almost miss the creak of the door behind you in the midst of your revelation, only frantically blinking your thoughts away when you see a white light illuminate the otherwise dark room. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Mark.” Your voice is hoarse from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He ignores you, stepping further into the room towards where you are in between the shelves. His gaze sweeps over the makeshift cot you’ve been using, the scattered bandages, the faint scorch marks on the walls— your desperate attempts to summon even a spark.

You finally turn to him, and Mark inhales sharply upon taking in your features. Your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying, and the streaks on your cheeks are raw, angry, as though your tears carried the heat of your abilities, stinging your skin as they fell.

Your vision lands on the orb of light that hovers above his palm; small, but bright enough to light the space in between the both of you. “How come?”

“I don’t know,” he replies just as quietly. The light disappears as he puts down his hand, leaving the room basking in a dim light only illuminated by the moon outside. “Guess confinement didn’t work for me.”

You nod stiffly, averting your gaze to the window to your left when Mark kneels before you. He doesn’t miss the way you clench your fists tightly.

“Let me see,” he murmurs as he reaches towards your hands.

You hesitate at first, but you don’t know what it is that makes you give in finally— whether it’s the weight of your own exhaustion, or the way your name so softly escapes his lips that prompts you to extend your arms towards him.

Mark gently takes your hands into his, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite the rawness of your skin. Pulling out a roll of fresh bandages from his pockets, he begins to wrap them.

“You know,” he starts lightly. “I used to do this a lot in Taekwondo. Bandaging hands, I mean. Usually for someone who landed a bad punch.” He glances at you through his lashes, as though trying to gauge if his attempt at humour has landed. “Though I don’t suppose you punched anyone, right?”

You chuckle softly, sniffing as you raise your free hand to dry your cheek. Mark gives you a lopsided smile before he continues, and the both of you settle into a silence.

“Does the headmaster know you’re here?” You ask, just as he’s about to finish with your second hand. Mark replies with a hum.

“I’m sure he does. He’s been watching me like a hawk the entire day. Listen…” he trails off, his eyes fixed on your hand still in his. He’s done with wrapping you up, but he doesn’t let go, his fingers fumbling over yours as though he’s thinking of something. You don’t mind.

“I know this is just how things go here, but do you really think that makes it right? Why does he keep throwing us into confinement instead of teaching us how to control our abilities?” He asks, frustration evident in his tone. Mark finally lets go of your hands, but his gaze lingers on them.

You part your lips to reply, but Mark beats you to it.

“And don’t even get me started on you.” His voice drops as he meets your eyes. “Donghyuck told me what you did. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing yourself into confinement- do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You could feel your tears start to burn, but you’re fixed on not letting them fall as you look down on your lap. “I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Mark laughs bitterly. “You think isolating yourself, weakening yourself, is protecting me? You think I’d want that?”

“It wasn’t just about you, Mark,” you argue, though your voice falters. “I just thought- if I stopped having visions, I could stop failing. Stop feeling-“ You cut yourself off when you feel yourself getting choked up, and Mark’s features soften.

“Stop feeling guilty?” He completes your sentence for you, and you nod hesitantly.

“Headmaster Kang doesn’t know about my visions,” you admit. “I knew he was going to send me into confinement if I did, which is ironic because I ended up doing that to myself anyway. But it’s also because-“ you hesitate. Mark watches you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“There’s a prophecy,” you finally say, swallowing harshly. “I didn’t understand it at first. I kept seeing someone surrounded by light and shadows, but the more you showed up, the more it started to make sense. You were the centre of it all.”

Mark’s expression hardens. “A prophecy? What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “They’re all vague, like most prophecies are. But it talks about light and darkness… and someone being consumed by the other. I think- I think they’re about you.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “And you’ve been keeping this all to yourself?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Mark,” you protest, almost pleadingly. “And it’s not just that- there’s something else.” You stall, unsure if you should share the next part, but you push forward. “In my last vision… there was a voice. It commanded the wraiths, telling them to find you. Someone’s been controlling them, and I think…” you exhale shakily. "I think that someone is the headmaster."

Mark stiffens, but you continue before he could say something. “There’s a reason why I’ve been keeping this to myself. I don’t know what he knows, but I knew I couldn’t tell him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not until I find out why he's doing this.”

“So, what? You decided to take this all in yourself? You thought you could just fix this on your own?” The anger in his voice has dissipated by now, replaced with a mix of desperation and concern.

You lower your head, the weight of his words pressing on you. “I just wanted to keep you safe. Keep everyone safe.”

“And what if I don’t need saving?” He asks, his voice quieter now. “What if what I need, is for you to be there with me? To help me figure this shit out?”

“I’m sorry,” you choke, tears already spilling down your cheeks at his words. Your features crumple in pain, and Mark seems to notice as he quickly takes your face in his hands.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Don’t cry,” Mark murmurs, his thumbs working in wiping the moisture away.

“Mark, stop,” you croak as you try to push his hands away, knowing your tears would burn him the way it does you. But Mark is unyielding, his palms holding the sides of your head firmly as he urges you to look at him.

“Listen to me,” he insists. “You don’t get to shoulder this all on your own. You don’t get to punish yourself because things didn’t go the way you thought it would. Whatever this prophecy means, and whatever happens next, we face it together. Got it?”

You finally look at him through your tears, and Mark offers you a soft, pained smile as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. He’s looking at you so tenderly, like you aren’t the monster you’ve convinced yourself to be. 

For the first time in forever, you feel a flicker of hope ignite inside you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Together.”

The door creaks open, and Donghyuck looks up from the paperback he’s holding, brows raising when he sees you and Mark.

“Well, well, well.” He shuts his book, settling it down on his lap before leaning back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Look who decided to rejoin society. I didn’t think I’d see you until the next apocalypse.”

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, your hands brushing against the bandages still wrapped around your palms. Weirdly enough, it brings you a sense of comfort; less like a remedy for your wounds, and more of a quiet reassurance.

“Donghyuck,” you say quietly, ignoring his quip. “We need your help.”

The boy shakes his head as he stands up. “Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me what the hell is going in that head of yours, little lady. Do you have any idea how worried Mark’s been? How worried I’ve been? Seriously, I thought you’d buried yourself with the way you holed yourself up in there!”

Despite the tension in your body, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at your friend’s nagging. You know that’s just how Donghyuck is; always one for the dramatics. It’s his way of showing he cares, as much as it grates your nerves sometimes.

“Enough, man. She’s here now, and that’s all that matters, alright?” Mark cuts in, and Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him.

“Right. So tell me-“ He gestures between you and Mark. “What’d you do to get her out? Sweet talk her? Promise her eternal gratitude? Or, don’t tell me!“ Donghyuck gasps dramatically as he turns to you. “He gave you some heartfelt speech about how you’re not alone and how devastated he would be if you wasted your days in there?”

Your cheeks heat up as you look away, and Mark clears his throat awkwardly. Donghyuck is snickering to himself, but quickly stops when he registers your reaction.

“No way. He actually did that? I was kidding!” He scoffs, almost in disbelief. “You gotta tell me what you said, Mark. I might need it someday.”

Mark only groans. You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s just embarrassed as you; the subtle change in the air says it all. Based on the growing smirk on Donghyuck’s face, you know he feels it too.

“Hyuck, will you just shut up and listen? We need your help. It’s about the east wing.”

At the mention of the east wing, Donghyuck’s smile falters. “East wing? What about it?”

Mark turns to look at you, and you know that he’s leaving it to you to explain. You take in a deep breath.

“When I was in isolation, I lost my abilities momentarily. But I don’t think it was the isolation that caused that. It was the old library.” 

Donghyuck’s brows furrow. “What? But it works the same way as solar confinement, doesn’t it? It weakens your abilities in general.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.” You shake your head. “Solar confinement targets your physical fatigue— it drains you, making it harder to control your abilities. There was no reason for me to lose mine when all I did was coop myself up in a room alone. The energy in there, Hyuck… it’s different. It doesn’t just drain me, it interferes with the connection to my abilities.”

You turn to Mark. “That’s also how you were able to conjure light in the library, even though you went through confinement. All of this has something to do with the prophecy, I’m sure.”

“Wait- prophecy? What prophecy?” Donghyuck interrupts, confused.

You nod. “Through my visions, I saw a prophecy-“ you pause to gauge his reaction, but his silence prompts you to continue. “Something involving light and darkness. We need to find out what it is and I think the old library has the answers we need. And Headmaster Kang-“ You cut yourself off, his name sounding bitter on your lips. “I need to find out if he’s really behind all of this.”

Donghyuck stares at you for a long moment before he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You guys really know how to ruin a perfect evening, don’t you?” He mutters, though the way he’s already putting on his jacket betrays his reluctance. “And for the record, I’ve always known there was something off about that guy.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, and Donghyuck squints his eyes at you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet. I can’t believe you kept all this shit from me! You’re explaining everything on the way. And you.” He turns to Mark, who raises a brow. “If you hurt her, I’ll make it my mission to read every single embarrassing memory you’ve ever had. Non-stop. For weeks.”

Mark laughs wryly. “Yeah, alright. You can’t even read me properly.”

“Cocky now, aren’t we?” Donghyuck wiggles his fingers ominously. “Remember, the more guilt you feel, the easier it is for you to be read. So tread lightly, lover boy.”

You try to suppress a snort as you shove past the two boys, stepping out into the hallway to mask your own burning cheeks. “You’re insufferable, Hyuck.”

You don’t see the way Mark’s lips twitch into a faint smile as he watches you walk ahead, nor do you catch Donghyuck narrowing his eyes at him and mouthing, I’m watching you, before stalking after you.

✦ ✦ ✦

The stillness of the night is almost unnatural, but you feel strangely at ease. You wonder if it has anything to do with Mark in front of you, his shoulders loose and pace steady. The air around him is calm, no longer weighed down by the tension that used to betray his every thought. It seems that he’s gotten better at keeping his emotions in check, and for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him.

He stops before the entrance of the old library, glancing behind his shoulder to look at you and Donghyuck. The latter is weirdly quiet, but you don’t blame him one bit. As far as you know, Donghyuck has never stepped foot into the east wing before, the fire having happened way before he even enrolled in the academy. The weight of having to use his abilities tonight must be daunting as it is unsettling.

He steps forward, eyeing the melted doorknob before placing his hand on it gingerly. You hold your breath as he does so, only to gasp quickly afterwards when you take in his reaction.

Donghyuck tenses immediately, his limbs locking as though he’s being struck by an unseen force. It looks like he’s trapped in a trance with the way his eyes roll to the back of his eyelids, chin tilted to the ceiling. You’ve never seen him react this way before, and you know it isn’t normal.

“Hyuck!” You step towards him, only for Mark to pull you back by your wrist. He shakes his head at you, as though to signal you not to interfere just yet. His free hand glows with a soft, white light when he raises it, ready for what might come next.

You gnaw on your bottom lip nervously as you wait for the situation to play out, opting to put your trust in Mark for now. The seconds stretch on unbearably, and you soon notice the faint trickle of blood from Donghyuck’s nose. Before you could react, Mark beats you to it, quickly placing his hand over Donghyuck’s.

The contact immediately breaks him from the trance he was in, and Donghyuck stumbles back with a gasp, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“Hyuck, you alright?” You ask, your arms already stretched out in case you needed to catch him. “Did you see something?”

“Smoke,” he mumbles, his eyes unfocused as though still in a daze. “Black smoke. And… Umbras. Lots of them.” Donghyuck shakes his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes as he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve. “This has never happened before.” “I know. I’m sorry,” you say apologetically. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No. You were right.” Donghyuck meets your gaze. “Something definitely went down in here. I saw a book.”

Mark perks from beside you. “A book?”

“Yeah. I could feel that it’s ancient. Enchanted. The problem is… it looked like any other leather-bound book in the ancient section of the library. How the hell are we supposed to find it? I mean, we could probably head over and I could touch each individual one-“

“No, don’t. That’s too much for you to handle, Hyuck. We don’t want a repeat of whatever this was.” You shake your head as you gnaw on your bottom lip, the gears in your head turning as you think of another option.

“We wouldn’t have to do that anyway,” Mark suddenly murmurs from beside you, and you turn to him in confusion.

He isn’t looking at you, his eyes distant as though he’s deep in thought. Mark swallows before he finally meets your eyes.

“Because it’s in his office. I saw it.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Of course. That’s such an amateur villain thing to do! Hiding a literal weapon out in the open?”

“How did you know it was the one?” You ignore Donghyuck, prompting Mark to continue.

“At first, I couldn’t stop staring at it. Like there was some sort of unseen force pulling at me. But then, it started to glow,” Mark recounts before taking in a sharp inhale. “My abilities weren’t awakened yet, so I brushed it off. I thought I was seeing things. Guess I was wrong.”

Silence stretches between the three of you as Mark’s confession hangs in the air, and Donghyuck is the first to break the silence.

“So… what now?” He voices cautiously.

You don’t need to look at Mark to see the glint of determination in his eyes, the shift in the air telling you all you need to know.

“We pay the headmaster a little visit.”

In hindsight, you should have known that things were bound to go awry the moment it started being too good to be true.

You’re situated in the ancient section of the new library with Donghyuck and Renjun, a mountain of books stacked on the floor around you as you rapidly skim through each one.

Renjun groaned loudly. “Remind me what we’re looking for again? You know I can’t help you guys if I don’t know what we’re doing, right?”

“Something. Anything,” Donghyuck muttered distractedly. He seemed to be considerably more productive than you, only needing to graze his palm across the surface of each book before moving on to the next one. Then again, you’re not a psychometrist.

“Anything you can find on Mark’s biological family, or the history behind his abilities. Or maybe something like…” you trailed off when your eyes catch the body of text in the book you’re currently holding, and your breath caught in your throat. “This.”

The Lee Clan of Jeonju — Rulers of the Resonant Throne 공명의왕좌

The boys were by your side in an instant, peering over your shoulders to read through the page.

“The Lee Clan was once a dynasty of empathic rulers, believed to govern not with force, but with resonance— the ability to weave emotions into power…” Renjun murmured.

“This has to be it, right?” Donghyuck blurted. “Look here. The remaining Lee descendants scattered, their bloodline diluted over the generations, and now believed to have ceased to exist. Yet, an ancient prophecy speaks of a final descendant— one who will either restore the throne or silence it forever.”

The air around you stilled, none of you daring to say anything as you slowly registered the newfound information you just learned.

Mark is a descendant of a royal bloodline— that had to count for something, right?

The double doors barges open suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear— it’s Mark, with a leatherback book in his hands.

“I got it,” he says, slightly out of breath as he approaches the table next to you. You’re quick to abandon the books on the floor as you stand up to move next to him, Donghyuck and Renjun following suit.

“Thank God you’re alive! We almost thought you’d triggered a booby trap or something with how long you took. I told you, you should have let one of us tag along!” Donghyuck chides.

“There was no booby trap, and I’m here now, aren’t I?” Mark answers wryly, setting the book on the wooden surface with a soft thump. There was no reason for him to involve you, or any of the boys in taking the book from the headmaster’s office. Not when the stakes were too high, and especially not when the wrong move could cost you everything.

He glances towards you, and you’re already looking at him with a look he couldn’t exactly decipher. Mark hopes it’s not his own nerves that’s you’re mirroring— he believes he has gotten better at controlling them. Then again, he’s pretty sure he’s still awful at concealing just how much he cares for you.

“So, what are we waiting for? Open the book,” Renjun demands impatiently.

With a deep breath, Mark flips the heavy cover open to the first page, only to reveal…

Nothing.

“What?” He exhales in confusion, quickly flipping to the other pages, each turn more frantic than the last. “It’s empty? Why the hell is it empty?”

“Let me try.” Donghyuck steps forward, all humour gone from his voice as he rests his palm on the yellowed pages, closing his eyes at the same time.

“Shit…” he mutters after a few seconds, his irises glazed the moment he opens them. “I got nothing. Are you sure you took the right book?”

“Yes, Hyuck, seeing as it was the only one that was glowing, I’d say I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Okay, calm down, you guys,” you step in, inhaling sharply. “Look, why don’t we all go back to his office and see what else we can find? And Mark, about your family-“

Your words are cut off by a sharp creak from the doorway. You spin around, your breath catching in your throat when you see Headmaster Kang standing in the entrance, his dark gaze sweeping over all of you.

“Well, well.” His voice is calm, but there's a chilling edge to it. “I suppose I should have expected this.”

“Get out of the way, Kang,” Mark says lowly, stepping forward as he blocks your path.

Headmaster Kang just smirks, stepping into the room slowly. “I don’t think I will. You should have stayed out of this, all of you. This is bigger than any of you can understand.”

Before anyone could react, he raises a hand, and suddenly, a rush of air fills the room. With a sharp gesture, he sends a wave of energy towards you, knocking everyone back into the shelves. You barely even register the pain that sears through your bones, quickly getting back to your feet with your hands at the ready for whatever comes next.

“I’ve been patient, Mark, but this little game you’ve been playing ends now. Tell me what’s in the book.”

Mark’s jaw clenches. “No.” His clenched fists already a glowing white, but you know he’s holding back— holding you back from stepping in as he relaxes his fingers behind his back, signalling you not to do anything. 

Headmaster Kang’s lips curl into a thin smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think you have a choice in this?”

With a sharp movement, he raises his arms, instantly unleashing an army of Umbras which come barrelling straight towards you and your friends. You’re quick to conjure the flames in your palms, but Mark is much quicker as he summons a massive shield, just in time to deflect the attack— but not for long.

Mark’s shield pulses and flickers as he struggles to keep it steady, and you know it would only be a matter of time before it breaks. Your lips part. “Mark-“

“Take the book, and go,” he grunts through gritted teeth, glancing at Renjun. “Conjure a portal and get out of here.”

“Are you crazy? He’s going to fucking kill you!” Donghyuck cries.

“He doesn’t know that I can’t read the book. So long as I can keep him distracted, I can buy you guys some time,” Mark pants, ignoring the younger’s claim. He finally turns to you, and your heart drops at the sight of his paling lips— his shield is weakening, and you know it won’t last much longer. “Go.”

You want to argue, but you don’t. You know what he’s asking; the risk he’s taking for you to figure things out.

So you settle for a nod, already feeling the tears burn in your eyes as you grab the book from the table. You barely hear the headmaster’s furious shout before Renjun’s portal opens up, and you step inside.

The last thing you see is Mark’s smile— a tired one, but one that makes your heart swell tenfold nonetheless.

You find yourself in the courtyard of the academy. From the outside, the building looks as unassuming as ever, untouched by the havoc unraveling within. As though it isn’t infested with evil; as though Mark isn’t still inside, holding the line with everything he has.

It’s silent, save the laboured breaths coming from you, Renjun and Donghyuck. You’re still hugging the book tightly against your chest, and you finally loosen your grip as you let you arms fall to your lap.

If you weren’t already staring at it so intently, you would have missed it— the amber glow that seems to emit from within, through the gaps in the pages. Your skin tingles before it quickly starts to hurt, the contact between the hardback cover and your hands burning you in a way you’ve never felt before. 

You release the book with a startled gasp, even kicking it away in the midst of your panic. You vaguely hear the boys calling for you, but you don’t turn to them, your eyes trained solely on the book, now glowing amber.

You let out a shaky exhale before swallowing harshly, pushing yourself off the ground to reach for it once more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Renjun asks.

You ignore him, hastily flipping the book open to a random page. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn you anymore, and what greets you instead are the once-blank pages that start to fill slowly, bodies of anxient texts and symbols swirling before your very eyes.

“What the fuck?” Donghyuck murmurs from beside you, proving that you aren’t the only one seeing this.

“The prophecy,” you whisper shakily as the words begin to form across the pages, loud and bold.

When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one, the veil shall break and fate will awaken. By nature's decree, only the fittest shall endure, and balance will be restored.

Silence.

“So you’re the final descendant of the Lee clan? What the fuck? Does that mean you’re related to Mark?”

“No, you idiot!” Renjun smacks the back of Donghyuck’s head, the latter crying dramatically in return. “It means-“

“-that I need to go back in there.” You finish his sentence for him, finally looking at your two friends. “This is why I’ve been getting those visions. Mark isn’t supposed to fulfil the prophecy alone-“ you pause. “It’s because I’m supposed to fulfil it with him.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Mark could taste copper on his tongue.

His vision is starting to swim and his limbs are heavy, but he forces himself to push through. He couldn’t give in now— not when the Umbras are still barelling towards him at a hundred miles per hour; not when Kang is still alive and breathing.

His shield flickers weakly in front of him, the toll of every attack weighing down on his bones. The old library is engulfed in darkness, the light he emits not bright enough, making it difficult for him to tell between wraith and shadow, and his blind attacks aren’t doing much to ease his fatigue.

That is, until he feels a shift in the air; a warmth cutting through the cold.

Of course. Of course, you’re here. As much as he had been counting on you to stay outside, he couldn’t say he’s surprised that you’re back.

“Mark, listen to me!” Your estranged yell cuts through the loud hissing of the wraiths as they burst into flames at your constant fireballs. “I need you to stop channelling!”

The white glow emitting from his palms falter slightly at your words, but Mark doesn’t turn to you. “What?” He rasps as he continues to unleash orb after orb. “Are you- no! It’s too dangerous!”

“Trust me, please,” you urge. “I saw the prophecy. You have to trust me!”

Mark glances at you— just for a split second— but a split second is more than enough; enough for you to know that he hears you.

He trusts you not just with his life, but with the parts of himself he’s never dared to give away. And maybe that’s what scares him the most. Not the battle, not the prophecy, but just how much you mean to him.

Which is why he decides to let go.

He relaxes his hands, and the white light that surrounds him fractures like glass. You see the power leaving not just his fingertips, but his entire being, and you lunge towards him to keep him from falling.

With his shield gone, you conjure your own, the wraiths around you bursting into flames instantly.

“Mark,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel your muscles begin to strain with the weight of your shield. You don’t hesitate to take his hands into your shaky ones even despite the absence of your gloves, knowing now that your abilities won’t hurt him. If anything, it’s necessary.

“When the bearer of light and the flame that defies the abyss stand as one,” you say through clenched teeth, feeling your chest grow heavy with each word that escapes your lips. The air around you starts to shift, but you press on.

“By nature’s decree, only the fittest shall endure...”

Your ears are ringing at this point, and you could barely hear yourself with the shrill hissing of the restless Umbras around you. Headmaster Kang’s strained yell cuts through the noise, and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s getting weaker.

“…and balance will be restored.”

Your shield breaks, and when you finally open your eyes, you’re met with a blinding light— white and amber, burning side by side but never merging. You look at your hands, still intertwined with Mark’s, the glow mirroring the colours you see above you. The Umbras are no longer coming towards you; instead, they surge towards Headmaster Kang like moths to a flame.

Shadows coil around him, clawing and tearing as he thrashes, until his screams are eventually swallowed by darkness and his form unravels into nothingness.

As quickly as they came, the Umbras vanish, leaving only silence and emptiness in their wake.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, your eyes instantly blurring with tears.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

You look down at Mark, his head still in your lap, and you’re surprised to see that he’s already awake and looking at you, a weak smile on his lips.

“You did it,” he says quietly, the awe in his voice stirring something in you. He reaches for your face, his thumb carressing your cheek softly to wipe the moisture from your skin. “S’proud of you. My Azula.”

Despite yourself, you find yourself laughing. You still don’t know who or what an Azula is, but his usage of my made you so giddy, you don’t let yourself think twice before lowering your head and crashing your lips against his.

Mark meets you halfway, and the way he smiles into the kiss tells you everything you need to know.

Despite the steady stream of people coming and going on the academy grounds, you stay seated on the floor of the courtyard, far too exhausted to move a limb. All around you, students carry boxes and bags, their footsteps quick and voices a blur of confused questions and hurried farewells. You can’t find the energy in you to go back inside to pack your belongings, even if it’s to leave this place for good— not after everything that had just unfolded.

“So…” Donghyuck exhales. “What now?”

“It’s gonna take a while for the ministry to rebuild the school. Even then, I don’t think there’s any use in waiting,” Renjun sighs, his head lolling against his hand as his elbow rests on his knee. “Should I go back to China?”

“Can I come with you?”

“Fuck no. You’re a liability. I can’t risk getting stuck at customs because you decided to read the airport staff during security checks,” Renjun mutters.

“I told you, that was one time!”

You let their bickering blur into the background, not really wanting to get involved despite how amusing you think it is. You glance to your left to see Mark, staring into the distance with a content smile on his lips.

“So,” you start. “What are you gonna do after this? Are you going back to your dojang?”

“Naaah…” Mark shrugs, resting his weight on his palms as he leans backwards. He finally turns to you, his boyish grin growing wider at the sight of your face. You don’t miss the pink hue that paints his cheeks.

“I was thinking, um,” he stalls as he tries to find his words. You stay silent, prompting him to continue. “I was thinking of going to Jeonju. You know, find out more about my biological family, and all that.”

You nod in understanding. It only makes sense, seeing as you had only managed to tell him briefly about his ancestors earlier. You make a mental note to pick up the book from earlier later after packing your items.

“Do you wanna come with me?”

His question causes your eyes to widen, and Mark’s smile turns bashful. He chuckles nervously.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” he hurriedly explains. “Seoul’s your home. I’d understand if you don’t wanna-“

“Yes, Mark,” you cut him off with a beam. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Mark exhales, a mixture of a relief sigh and laughter. “Yeah?”

You nod, and Mark brings a hand to cup your cheek as he smiles at you softly. You lean into his touch, savouring his warmth.

This is it, you think. As the sun rises above the academy and casts a golden glow over the ruins of the past, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[maxtermind]

Hi I was wondering if you’re planning on continuing You were never not mine series?

SCENE 6 :: TWO GRAVES, ONE GUN ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their wayback to each other? ★ : a/n :: uh so yeah here we go the big reveal lmao, to that one person who figured it out in my inbox, you're a star

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

"The Untold Story Behind Y/N and Carlos Sainz’s Breakup" By Ash

(before you click, there is a tw right after this which is a major spoiler, skip reading it if you don't care)

tw:: loss of pregnancy

For months, every single Formula 1 fan has been obsessed with the mystery of why Y/N L/N and Carlos Sainz, long celebrated as F1’s golden couple, ended their relationship so abruptly. Now, the truth has come to light in a shocking twist: Alisa, a former close friend of Y/N, has decided to very kindly break her silence, airing pivotal details of the couple’s struggles in a bombshell interview.

“This isn’t about being malicious,” Alisa claims as she leans forward in her chair, though her smirk and sharp tone could suggest otherwise. “It’s about honesty. Everyone deserves to know the real reason their so-called perfect relationship fell apart. And trust me, it’s not what people think.”

She begins by revealing what had been kept secret from the public: Y/N’s pregnancy. “Nobody knew she was pregnant,” Alisa says, her voice dripping with mock concern.

“Not the fans, not the media. It was supposed to be this happy news, right? Except it wasn’t. The pregnancy was high risk from the start. She had complications, and the doctors warned her there was a chance she’d lose the baby. But instead of dealing with it quietly like she should have, Y/N turned it into this massive ordeal where everyone had to tiptoe around her feelings.”

Alisa sighs dramatically, crossing her arms, exhausted. “Carlos was already under so much pressure with his career, and Y/N made it worse. She begged him, can you believe it? She literally begged him to not leave for the race. She said she couldn’t handle being alone. And I get it, she was scared blah blah, but Carlos had a job to do. The doctors had assured them she was stable. He wasn’t being careless, he was trusting the professionals.”

Her tone sharpens as she gets to the big reveal. “Then it happened. That Friday, while Carlos was at the track, Y/N miscarried. And instead of accepting it for what it was, a hprrible tragedy that we all knew was coming, she turned it into his fault. She let him take the blame. Do you know what it’s like for someone like Carlos, who’s worked his whole life to get to the top, to have to sit out a race last minute because his partner couldn’t cope? She let the media speculate while she played the grieving victim, soaking up all the sympathy.”

Alisa’s words grow colder as she continues, her eyes blurry. “And now, she’s the one refusing to reconcile. She’s out here pretending she’s heartbroken when, really, she’s just punishing Carlos for something that was her fault. Carlos gave her everything, but Y/N? She’s always been selfish. She just hides it well behind that perfect little image she shows the world.”

Taking a deep breath, Alisa leans back, satisfied with herself. “I cared about Y/N, I really did. I still do which is why I'm here so she doesn't have to do it herself. No one likes to admit their mistakes. That mafe being her friend like walking on eggshells. She only keeps you around as long as you’re useful to her. And when you’re not? You’re done. That’s who she is.”

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©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TRIGGER WARNING: the aftermath of surviving a suicide attempt. SUICIDAL IDEATION, DEPRESSION, possible past-eating disorder. depersonalization-derealization, detailed writing of vomit.

This story is written from the perspective of a biased omniscient narrator, keep this in mind as you read and don't take everything they say as absolute truth.

Please proceed with caution and consider your personal comfort and wellbeing before continuing.

Nine months of your inception. Within your mother's womb, you were cradled in warmth, your arrival anticipated without reservations—it seemed to matter not if you were nobody, if you were just you. What mattered was your very birth, the fact of your existence. Milestone after milestone was marked—your first word, your first stumbling step—each met with joy, creating an illusion that despite still grasping the basics and balancing on two clumsy feet, you would always be loved.

Lies. They are all lies. As you grow up, you realize the world is not as it seemed, and love is not that unconditional. You have to be something, someone, in order to be loved.

Being human means wanting to be unique, but not so different that it results in being deemed "troubled." Being human means having people insist you have dreams only to be forced to bury them deep and never revisit them. Being human means standing between two contradictions that ultimately make you a hypocrite. Being human is reaching for something and nothing. Being human is always wanting to be loved, loved, and loved.

You long to be an ordinary daughter, with no talents, no remarkable qualities. Just you. With a father who would take you out for ice cream simply because he loves you, not because you got an A in class; with a mother who cooks your favorite meal simply because it brings you happiness, rather than as a means to keep you confined at home during the weekends.

But that doesn’t get you anywhere, you know. There’s no celebration in being ordinary, no celebration in breathing another day. So you turn your life into one long series of attempts to be something worth staying for, worth loving. What a pathetic woman, one might say—always harping on about love, love, love. Shallow. Cliché. But I can’t help that that’s me.

You tried many times to persuade that little girl—who persisted inside you as you grew older, blowing out candles without a cake, with hopes that were gradually pared down until only one obstinate one remained: God, please, just once, I want to be happy. She lives somewhere inside you, permanently; you can’t get rid of her even if you wanted to (there’s something absolute about humans always trying to burn away their past selves—which, you think, is to fool the world that they were born this way).

You dislike her. That girl and her curiosity to keep searching for the light. Like a trapped baby animal, her little hands clawing at your pancreas every time you neglected her dreams—the old, worn-out dreams that you had buried to the depths of your soul. Made only to be forgotten. Unfortunately, she would never understand this—still believing that the world was so benevolent to give her what she desired.

And unfortunately, you don't have the heart to tell her either.

So, here you both are—you and the little girl—dancing in a denial created by one or the other. She in her naivety, you in your rejection of her. A deadly, dissonant duet; a bleak and morbid song that gnaws at your flesh. The burden of her hopes for the future bends your back; your sternum pops as she tries to find her way out of the confines of your ribs.

You dislike her—the girl—but you endured the sting her nails left as she carved red crescents into you. You also refused to let her leave—scooping her small body from the ichor-covered floor as gently as her father had done to her. This was your distraction for her, your coaxing to keep her. So she could only see you through the lying mirror in the bathroom. So she wouldn’t see the reality of who she was growing up to become.

Maybe it's shame. Maybe it's guilt. How she dreams of softer days—with flowers and citrus stains on her dress while basking in the glow of the spotlight, but you've become a rotting fruit, sour, bitter at the end. The blood inside you clots; black ink pours from your heart. Never will you reach that house. She dreams of being the brightest star while, once again, you let her down and-

You left the stage.

Your own consciousness feels like a tidal wave, pulling you back and forth between sleep and reality. The world around you feels hazy, the edges of your vision blurring as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings.

Something wet brushed against your cheek. Confused, you tried to jerk your head back, but the movement only spread the dampness further. You can barely recognize your own voice as it came out as a pathetic whimper of pain. Forcing your burning eyes open, you blinked into consciousness. You shifted again, your brow furrowing as you felt something rising through your gut and throat.

Without warning, you find yourself retching, your body convulsing as you expel the contents of your stomach onto the bed. The acrid taste filled your mouth, and you could smell the vomit staining the sheets beneath you.

It was at that moment that all of your senses rushed back to you. You hold your throbbing head; your body feels weak, and yet, your heart is beating so very fast. Extending your hand, you try to reach the glass sitting on the nightstand and finish it in one go. You no longer care where the glass ends up. Waiting and waiting, you hope the water can do something to alleviate every single pain you're feeling.

To your dismay, it does nothing more than ease your throat of the remaining bile. Your heart is still racing, your hands are still shaking, and your stomach feels like it’s being twisted and stabbed from within. Curling up into the fetal position, disregarding the pool of vomit you're lying in. Your fists are pressing into your abdomen, trying to dull the suffering, but all you get is another of your cries.

You feel like a stinky mess. Your hair is damp, matted, sprinkled with tiny particles of foul, sour smell. For an hour, you lie there like the dead, occasionally letting out a small groan from how torn your stomach is. The nagging feeling of needing to vomit keeps crawling up your throat, but time after time, it would pass, and nothing would come up, just a release of pent-up gas.

An hour later, the pain finally gives in, dulling. You scramble out of bed, walking towards the door, using the wall as support for your wobbly limbs. Reaching the bathroom, you try as hard as you can to ignore the empty pill bottles scattered on the floor and yank the cabinet open. You pop a few activated charcoal into your mouth, hoping it will at least do something. To make the pain go away.

You sit on the bathroom floor, leaning your back against the tiled wall. The coolness of the surface is a welcome sensation on your sweaty body. You are aware of the thoughts brewing in your mind. You try to avoid them and look for distractions around you—a crack in the wall, a thin spiderweb at the corner.

But you’ve never been known for being a good escape artist. One thought slips out, and you’re left crying in the bathroom. You cry for yourself—you think this is the first time you’ve ever genuinely felt sorry for yourself. Funny, to feel so guilty when you’re the one who brought this on yourself. You feel like a narcissistic, self-pitying woman who somehow always manages to paint herself as the victim.

Knowing that you don’t deserve this—everything that led you here and the way you’ve treated yourself. In the rare moments of self-compassion, the many previous versions of you come running to you. You could almost guess what they’re thinking: "You erased me just to create this wretched person you’ve become?"

A chuckle escaped you, devoid of humor, yet full of the arrogance that only humans can possess. But it was short-lived, as tears quickly filled your eyes and broken sobs wracked your body. The untamed flame crawled up and licked your throat, preventing you from speaking. In fear that if you did, you would string together another word you would regret. You guess that's what you are, a human full of nothing but regret.

From how hard your heart beats, you can follow its rhythm without putting your hand to your chest. Thump, thump, thump. You wonder if the sound of its beats is bouncing off your rib cage, broadcasting as if it were an announcement.

The owner tried to kill it, but it survived.

It's unsettling, this feeling. The awareness that you are owed an apology, and yet you are the very person who caused yourself pain. Always looking at your imperfections with a magnifying glass but never acknowledging the good you try to offer. Always yearning to be someone else when it was you who brought yourself here. Despite your disgrace, you should have tucked yourself in as gently as you would have done anyone else.

The silence of your lonely apartment holds up a mirror that has been forced upon you. It demands that you face yourself—to stop seeing what isn’t there, to accept who and how you are. Your virtues and your vices. Your virtues. Your vices.

But with your black-and-white vision, you don’t have that ability. If you're not entirely good, then you're a terrible person, and vice versa. You consider half measures as crime, as inconsistency. Since when did you developed this perspective you didn't know. Given your mother, you suspect it’s hereditary—or if not, perhaps taught at an early age. This makes you realize that you will never make up for how horrible a person you are.

You sat in the bathroom for two hours. Once you feel a little better, you try to find your footing and stagger into the kitchen. The light from the refrigerator you opened casts a parallelogram of light into the dark room. You reach for whatever leftovers are inside, scooping up the cold pasta you made the other day with your bare hands and stuffing it into your mouth. A frown forms at the unfamiliar temperature, but you keep chewing. You quickly swallow, then move on to the next unheated meal.

You don't even know what to hope. You're unsure if stuffing your belly with food will help to calm your racing heart and trembling body, just as it did in the past when you purposefully denied yourself meals.

By some miracle (or perhaps some intricate bodily mechanism that you don't understand), it worked. After two more hours of dozing off in front of the television, you’re no longer sweating, and you no longer feel like you’re going to die right then and there. But not much else had changed. The silence in your apartment lingers on, and the numbness inside you is still there, if not yawning to the point of conjuring your brain into a state of stasis.

Getting up, you make your way back into your room. The sight is almost normal, except for the stains on your pillow and bedspread. You strip the sheets off the bed and throw them into the laundry bin—to your relief, the vomit hasn't seeped into the mattress underneath. You quickly replaced them. Everything seems normal, as if you hadn’t just tried to take your own life.

You always have the same way of arranging your four pillows—the plain one in the back, the two with floral covers in the front. You spread a new blanket on your clean bed before placing a warmer one on top.

Walking to the nightstand, you gather up the used tissue balls and your empty glass. You grab basically any trash you see and carry it out of the room. Reaching the main living area, you scan the room—by the window, at your stretching area, at the brown chair at the far end of the room, at your ivory couch, in between the piles of pillows, and at the perfectly square coffee table.

You lowered your eyes to the overflowing ashtray sitting in the middle. The object looks strangely out of place in your home because you don't smoke. You don't, but someone else used to.

With caution, you approach slowly like one would a wild animal. You stood right in front of the table. In front of the ashtray. The accumulated cigarette butts sit on the ashes that have long since cooled.

You pinch the edge of the ashtray with three fingers and pour the contents into the plastic bag you carry. Tilting the ceramic, you can see how it has gone gray underneath from the embers and cigarettes that were rubbed against it. There will never be another use for it. You tossed the ashtray in with the rest of the rubbish.

Finishing your frenzied cleaning, you step into the shower and rinse yourself under the cold water. Normally, the steady rhythm of the water flowing would relax your body, and it would be a signal for your mind to wander—to give you something to fret about. But today, there was nothing—just a vast, empty expanse of plain white, awfully quiet like the aftermath of a storm.

You ran your fingers through your hair, searching for a sensation. Nothing. There was nothing. It was as if your hands couldn't even touch your head—like a phantom unable to hold anything because it was from another world and did not belong in this reality.

Though as unusual as it is, you’ve experienced similar experiences before, leaving you somewhat used to it but still not able to deal with it. So, you accept it unwillingly, watching yourself go through your routine: “You” scratched at your scalp with your nails, digging deeper. White suds from your shampoo pooling in the shower drain. “You” finish your shower, wrapping a towel around yourself, and head to the bedroom to get dressed.

“You” sat down on the yoga mat, taking a moment to look in the mirror to ensure you're in the correct position for stretching. Next to the mirror is your duffel bag, filled with your ballet necessities – which has been sitting there for days, untouched because ballet has become nothing to you.

But “she” touches it—the “you” in your body. After finishing her stretches, she stands and rummages through her bag like you always do before class and rehearsal. A meticulous doppelganger, this one. She ties your hair into a bun with the same efficiency as you; glancing in the mirror a second time to make sure everything is perfect before she shoulders the duffel bag and heads for the door.

Wait, what is she doing?

Where is she taking you?

No ballet today—and there will be no ballet in the future. So where is she heading?

A skilled copycat. She knows just which subway line to take and precisely when to get off. You watch her climb the steps you've ascended countless times before, proceeding straight ahead and then turning onto the sidewalk where the crimson-painted flower shop is located. She walks and walks, seemingly unaware that her presence at the opera house will be questioned and unwanted. You want to scream at her to stop, to spare herself and you the embarrassment of rejection, but this invisible glass wall is so thick, it smothers your voice, preventing it from reaching her.

She continued down the deformed corridor, ignoring the surprised looks from the other dancers. At the end of the hallway—right where the open door to the prima ballerina’s dressing room was—stood Henri, his expression not much different from the others as he watched her barge in and immediately sit down at the dressing table like a long-gone queen reclaiming her place.

You hear Henri say your name, but wait for her response. He shuts the door behind him for more privacy before dropping his voice to almost a mumble, “What are you doing here?”

Unbothered, the doppelganger began to arrange her powders and makeup on the vanity table. She glanced in the mirror, making eye contact with the director. “Isn't tonight's show day?” she asked, remaining calm and composed as if she belonged here.

Henri stood there, baffled, the wrinkles on each side of his mouth accentuated by a frown before he called you again. The more he said your name, the more foreign it sounded to your ears.

“We’ve talked about this—Claudine is going to be the one playing the Swan Queen for tonight’s show and the next few performances.” He said in a no-nonsense tone, not up for discussion, not up for full-on defiance.

“You” averted her eyes back to her own reflection in the mirror, then dragged her foundation-stained fingers across her face, leaving a paler shade of her natural skin tone. “Just because I failed at the first show,” she pumped another dollop of the product, “doesn’t mean I can’t redeem myself.”

At her words, Henri opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but didn't. In his silence, the doppelganger saw the obvious cracks in his “inviolable” decision—it carved a smug smile on her face.

“So, where is Claudine now?” she questioned, a rhetorical one.

“She’s…”

“Late again?” she guessed (though it sounded like she was finishing the sentence for him), and his subsequent expression confirmed that her hunch was correct. She arched a brow in a “told you so” manner. “Claudine’s always got a problem being on time, didn’t you know?”

A sharp exhale escaped Henri. He pinched the bridge of his strong nose, muttering a curse under his breath in French. “You’re on,” he said, then approached the chair where “you” were sitting. “But for God’s sake, don’t disappoint me. I have a lot at stake here, and I don’t want any more disasters from you or Claudine.”

Leaning down, he brought his head closer to hers, their gazes locked in the mirror. “Perfection itself is imperfection,” he told her.

Having stated his piece, Henri straightened his back and turned to leave the room, leaving your doppelganger alone. The woman continued her makeup; applying contour according to the White Swan makeup portion, tapping the bristles on the blush and bringing it to fill in your cheeks, and finishing with a setting spray to set everything in place. It was all your exact routine.

Even though you weren't in her body, you could tell what she was thinking as she put the white faux feathers to either side of her head. She smiled at her reflection, proud of the end result of her appearance.

You’re not sure how Henri relayed the news to Claudine, but somewhere out there, she must be grieving for the opportunity that once again slipped through her fingers. Her dream was just a reach away from her—an almost—before it was cruelly snatched away from her. If you were a better person, you would feel sorry for her. You would also find similarities between the two of you.

But you and “she” both know that there is only one person eligible to play the lead role—the story of a swan floating aimlessly can only be played by a bloated corpse of a dreamer girl.

Nothing happened. And you are the Swan Queen.

Around twenty minutes later, a knock came at the door. “White Swan is up in ten!” a voice called out from the other side. The doppelganger turned her gaze in the mirror, examining her reflection one final time. Satisfied, she rose from the vanity chair and left the room to the backstage.

You watched as the swan flocks exited the stage in a graceful, synchronized glide. And then, without hesitation, “you” jumped into the spotlight, and the audience burst into applause at the entrance of the White Swan. Odette, with her arms spread wide like wings, opened her chest and pulled her spine back. She stood on pointe; her long legs took step after step, all in time with the harmonious plucking of the string instruments.

The pale light of the moon cast a silvery hue upon the solitary lake, a place that she and her flock of “swans” had been forced to call home for so long. During the day, they gather under the sheltering shade of the weeping willow tree that stands at the end of the lake. But when evening falls and the shadows grow long, they try to adapt to the unfamiliarity of the soft earth and the limbs of the girl they once were.

It was supposed to be yet another night of her cursed existence. So, when a man revealed himself from the darkness of the shadows and approached her, Odette couldn't help but feel terrified and flee, extending her arms as if she was about to take flight.

Who are you, stranger? She wandered in her thoughts. Was it coincidence that brought you here tonight, or is there another intent behind your appearance? Do you intend to harm me, just like the others who have come before you?

The crossbow in his hand should have spoken volumes (in another life, it would have been a worn and faded all-black leather jacket), should have been enough for her to stop wondering and run. To spare herself from more agony, to spare herself from piling on another curse she would have to endure. She ran—but not too far, still within his reach if he were to pursue her further. The only attempt at defense was her shielding her face with her hand—forgetting that she was no longer in swan form.

The man set down his crossbow and approached her slowly, stating that he meant no harm. Despite his reassurances, she still tried to elude him. Curious, he asked her why she was here. She halted her escape and attempted to stand still, explaining to him that she was the queen of the swans and that there was a lake nearby that was created from her mother's tears. And not far from here, there was a powerful evil sorcerer named Von Rothbart—it was he who cursed her into becoming a swan.

But—

You observed as your doppelganger placed her hand over the spot where her heart beats. "If the one who loves me marries me and swears to be faithful, then I will no longer be a swan.”

So gentle was his touch as he held her, as if she would perish if he were to apply any more force. She had always seen herself as a girl full of resignation, moving through life bearing only what remained of her—devoid of hope since her dreams had already been extinguished. Long had she borne the weight of this curse, believing that no such man—or such love—could ever prove her wrong.

But being in his arms now reignited the dwindling ember in her. She fell to his feet, her frail bone like brittle twigs. Before she knew it, his name spilled from her lips in a plea—for him to save her—for him to love and save her.

When he protected her from the sorcerer, she perceived him as a kind of savior. Were you the one written in the prophecy? To soothe her aching joints and tell her that she was worth saving—that she was not as far gone as everyone had led her to believe. Wide-eyed, she watched him declare his love—his promise to return for her. The scene came to an end, leaving the enchanted lake alone again.

(My heart is an overripe pomegranate; will you be the one to harvest it?)

The crimson curtain fell, signaling the end of the act. You watched as the doppelganger rushed off the stage. She passed by Henri, who stood in the wings, his expression full of concern as his head turned to follow her as she disappeared behind the door.

Entering the dressing room once more, the doppelganger shut the door behind her. Slowly, she approached the vanity table, sitting on the chair. She stared back at her image in the mirror, but her expression was similar to that of someone offering it to a complete stranger. Carefully, she began to remove the pristine white headpiece, placing it on the table's surface. She opened her eyeshadow palette and prepared to do her makeup for the Black Swan.

The white costume had been replaced by a lustrous black ensemble, adorned with sequins on the torso. Her makeup was bolder now, with heavier and more pronounced strokes around her eyes that would be visible even from the farthest reaches of the theater. On top of your head, a new headpiece rests, fancier and heavier.

It didn’t take long before a knock came at the door, and “you” left to return backstage.

With the heavy castle doors opening to the sound of trumpets announcing her entrance, Odile was confident she would win the favor of this prince. In her fiery blood that boiled like bubbling potion in a cauldron, she was well-versed in such things—gracing elegant balls in a flashy black dress that contrasted sharply with the unfortunate girl suffering under her father's curse and captivating everyone's attention without even trying.

Odile was made to be a social butterfly, albeit borrowing Odette’s appearance.

It was a mere game to her, nothing more than a side pleasure. When she caught sight of the unsuspecting prince, she struggled desperately to suppress a victorious smile. Even before she danced, this callow man seemed ready to offer her his heart on a silver platter. No wonder her father was so worried—this prince truly loved the white swan girl.

Poor soul, indeed. To perceive love as something lavish, rather than something to be used and thrown aside at will. How naïve. Odile would never be like that. If she were to speak truthfully, they would make a good pair—this swan girl and this prince.

And no, she had not come here in hopes of his love. Such a thing wasn’t in her lexicon. Love was a repugnant thing. She saw it as nothing more than a tool to manipulate, to control someone—like a rein on a horse, a whip on a cow. Love was a repugnant thing; it left you fretting about what someone thought and felt about you. She wouldn’t allow anyone to define her.

Under no one's critical eye, Odile flourished into who she wanted to be—dancing in whichever direction she desired. Agile, sharp, seductive. Brimming with confidence. Immune to the murmurs and jeers of others—let the dog bark, she wouldn’t allow anyone to define her. She wanted to be a star and she knew she would become the brightest star in the universe.

The red lip of that doppelganger curved upwards into a smile that was almost identical to the one the girl from the club had. If she were speaking verbally instead of in pantomime, you were sure her voice would sound exactly like hers.

Odile danced and danced, eluding the prince's grasp. But, unlike the timid Odette, she seemed to indulge in the thrill of the chase—a prize rather than a prey, toying with the man who so desperately desired her. Love was a repugnant thing, indeed. She continued this dance of cat and mouse. This game in which she knew full well who would emerge victorious.

(Instead of her falling at his feet, it was he who knelt before her.)

The doppelganger launched into the 32 fouettés, her body spinning with speed and precision. You hear the applause of the audience. The muscles in her legs rippled beneath the fluffy, black tutu as she spun and completed the variation.

You couldn’t remember how you made it backstage, but you find yourself on your knees—your stomach twisting itself into a painful knot. It's the same sensation you experienced hours ago—the unfinished consequences demanding your attention. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you're clenching your fists, and your face turns a deep shade of red as you grimace in pain.

The sound of multiple footsteps is heard as several dancers and crew members rush to your side, including the director—Henri. You can hear their concerned voices, one of them asking if it was cramps and another already rushing to find the medicine box they keep on hand. The backstage area turns into a chaotic scene, with you becoming the focus.

“Mon dieu!” Henri exclaimed. “What is happening? Tell me, where are you hurt?”

Trying to hold back your pained voice, you spoke in a breathless tone, “It's—it's nothing. I… I just… I need a moment.”

But Henri wasn’t buying it. Turning to one of the other dancers, he said, “Get Claudine. she’ll have to take over the rest of the performance.”

“NO!” You screamed, face flushed with a mix of pain and anger. How could it be so easy for him to replace you? How could he abandon you and find someone else who doesn't even know him as well as you do, thinking that is enough to fill your place? After hours of feeling empty, you almost forgot how burning anger can be. “I can do this. I know I can! Just give me a moment. I can finish this.”

Forcing yourself to get up as you had done a thousand times before, you bit your lower lip to hold back the excruciating burn. You clutched your abdomen, focusing your brain only on putting one foot in front of the other as you made your way down the corridor and into the dressing room.

When you turn to face the mirror, there you are waiting—you in your body. Slowly, you walk to the vanity, sinking down in the chair and hunching forward. You allow yourself a maximum of twenty seconds to steady your breathing, as well as to allow the suggestion to convince your mind and body that the pain isn't as excruciating as it feels, so it can stop exaggerating it.

Gritting your teeth, you reach for the cotton pads and makeup remover, wiping off the heavy, dark eye makeup of the Black Swan. The white is stained with black, tossed aside in a nearby trash bin. Then, you grab the same eyeshadow palette and use the brush to apply it across your eyelids.

As you lean in toward the mirror, your eyes narrow at a small patch of black that you missed—a stubborn remnant of the Black Swan makeup. Instinctively, you try to scrape it away with the tip of your nail. The action stings, causing your eyes to water. You try again, but the stain remains as a blemish on the supposedly pristine White Swan makeup. It will never be as clean as it was at the start.

At that moment, you did the last thing you thought you would do. You laughed. Tortured by the agony in your stomach and the stubborn black stain that marred your appearance, you laughed. You’ve never felt so alive—pain made you feel truly alive; anger made you feel real. Throughout your existence, you’ve seen yourself as a girl full of resignation, moving through life bearing only what remained of you. But now? Now, you’re filled with resentment, with betrayal. Up until now, you've been grieving, but now your grief has turned into anger.

Staring at your reflection, a mix of loathing and pity fills your heart. Why did you make me like this? What did I do wrong that you made me like this? Is it because I am a horrible person? Who made me a horrible person? Why did you let me live if I am such a horrible person? If I am truly irredeemable, why did you let me live instead of letting me die?

You laughed again, as if daring yourself to find a trace of real amusement in it. There was none. You kept laughing, your eyes locked on your own gaze in the mirror, waiting for that genuine spark of joy to ignite it—it never came. It was then that you realized that every time you performed this little “act,” the only person you had been fooling was yourself. Your lips began to wobble, a shaky breath escaping you as you lowered your gaze, your head bowing slightly. The stinging tears dripped onto the surface of the vanity table, dampening it.

When you stepped back onto the stage, the world was inundated in an overwhelming light, so bright that it almost burned your eyes. The flocks of swans around you scattered in pandemonium, aware of their imminent doom. You dance the dying swan—feeling every flabbiness of her joints, the trembling of her limbs as the curse seeped deeper into her blood – forever transforming her into a swan. The infamous Tchaikovsky score swelled around you as everything grew more intense.

In the hope of a happy ending, you find yourself scattered. If this were a pain of your own causing, perhaps you would find satisfaction in self-destruction. But this is not the case. The betrayal inflicted upon you is flaunted—paraded as a display of how foolishly you placed your trust. The artificial moon hanging overhead seems to gloat in your suffering.

You felt your steps lighten as you made your way up. As you reached the edge, the orchestra played to a climax, the drums echoing throughout the hall. Turning to face the prince, you met his gaze one final time before launching yourself off the surface.

The drums reached a deafening volume as you hit the mattress. Instantly, your surroundings seemed like a fever dream, with phantom sensations all over your body. You could hear the hurried footsteps of someone rushing towards you and the touch of something warm against your cold, sweaty forehead. “Something’s not right,” they said, “call an ambulance!” they shouted. It was odd how panicked they sounded when all you could think about was that empty chair in the front row—the one reserved for the man you were still waiting for even now.

Deep within your consciousness, a memory surfaces from your first recital in elementary school—where the younger you stares at the empty chair right next to Mother’s. It should've been occupied by the man the eight-year-old you had been waiting for—Daddy. He had promised to bring you flowers, to come and watch. Yet, the chair remained empty.

In both of those broken promises, somehow you find consolation. There's a peculiar reassurance in knowing that you’ve survived through something similar before, so you’ll overcome this one too. This is how most humans continue on, accumulating wounds atop wounds.

When you open your eyes, you blink against the blinding fluorescent light that illuminates the unfamiliar white ceiling above you. Confused, you sweep your gaze around for answers, trying to make sense of your situation. It takes you a few minutes to finally realize that you are in a hospital, on a patient bed, and connected to a dripping IV hanging from a steel pole next to you.

Memories of what had happened flood back into your mind, and instinctively, you search for any traces of pain. Strangely, it's nowhere to be found. You're unsure if this numbness is a product of another episode of detachment or if the pain has been dealt with. Nevertheless, you're grateful for it.

You furrow your eyebrows and reach for the call button. Within moments, a nurse appeared with her tired face, making you wonder how long her shift has been. It's just the two of you in the room, provoking the "stranger danger" in you until she flashes you a warm, kind smile that instantly dispels your concerns. She slowly approached your bed.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

Shifting uncomfortably in the hospital bed, you wonder how to answer the question. “I feel strange” is the best you can come up with. “What happened to me?”

The nurse's expression shifted. “Well now, it seems you may be suffering from a touch of… medication poisoning, love.” She meets your gaze,  indifferent to the awkwardness you feel. “Luckily, it appears your liver is still in good shape—if we'd gotten to you even a bit later, the outcome might have been different.”

It wasn't hard to understand what she was implying. The difference. Of course it was poisoning, you scoffed inwardly. There was no way you had taken those pills and mixed them with alcohol and not expecting this. But you couldn't bring yourself to admit it out loud, not with the nurse watching you so intently so you just nodded wordlessly.

“Now, while this may have been unintentional, I’m afraid the psychiatrist will still need to have a chat with you, just to make sure everything is on the up an’ up.”

Your head shot up at her words. “Psychiatrist?”

“Yep,” the nurse emphasized the ‘p’ with a pop. “We've seen cases like this before. Sometimes it's an accident, sometimes..." She paused, considering whether to continue, but ultimately decided not to. “Anyway, we just want to be absolutely certain you're getting the proper care and support you need so you leave the hospital healed an’ happy.”

Forcing a chuckle, you tried to play it off as nothing more than a simple silly mistake. “It was just a bit of a mix-up, that's all. I took some pills and had a few drinks; nothing to worry about, really.” You give her a sheepish smile, hoping it will convince her.

But then again, you know that being here means there’s little you can do to avert the truth. They have their ways of uncovering the real story—they had access to all sorts of analyses and evidence, and you’re sure they've probably already run tests on your bodily fluids when you were brought in unconscious. These people have spent years studying biology and chemistry, yet you believe you can fool them with half-baked excuses and foolish smiles.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you murmured, voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. “It was just an accident, I swear. I never..”

The poorly constructed lie might seem very obvious to the woman—especially with the way you’re behaving right now. Fortunately, she didn’t call you out on it directly. If she suspected something, she didn’t voice it.

“This is just standard procedure, a’igh? Nothin’ to be afraid of, I promise!”

Fairly speaking, since she entered the room, this woman has displayed nothing but kindness and non-judgmental advice. She is a good, reassuring person, and you wish you could be a better patient for her. But you are not.

The immeasurable fear inside you has spread and seeped too deep for someone to pull you out. A psychiatrist. The thought of someone competent to dissect your head like an organism under a microscope—to effortlessly pinpoint every sore spot and chronic abscess, uncover the roots of your actions, and link them to your past and present selves. To have them write down a diagnosis of what's wrong with you, a label that ties everything together, fills you with both dread and impotence.

And what if, on the flip side, there was nothing wrong with you at all? What if this was all just a product of your own design—a wounded person’s need for another wound?

Out of concern, the nurse offered, “Would you like me to have her come in?”

“Her?”

“Sorry! Uh, seems when you came in, the first emergency number we had on file was disconnected. So we had a go at the second one on the list. Sabrina, right?”

At the mention of your cousin's name, you're reminded that you've listed her as your second emergency contact. While the thought of disturbing her honeymoon period is met with a pang of guilt, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

“Yes, please,” you murmured. “I… I would appreciate that.”

“Alright, love, I’ll fetch her for you straight away.”

As the nurse exited the room, a hush fell over the space; the only audible sounds were from the soft purr of the air conditioner and the muffled voices from the hallway outside. You adjust the pillow behind your back to find a more comfortable position. Waiting, your eyes keep darting towards the door for Sabrina to come through that door.

When the door finally creaks open, you feel a surge of relief, expecting to see Sabrina's blonde hair and cheerful presence. For her to rush to your bed and hug you just like she used to when you were children.

But when it dawned on you who the person was, your sense of relief dissolved as you sharply inhaled. It wasn't your cousin—it wasn't Sabrina. The middle-aged woman stepped through the threshold, the shape of her eyes bore a striking resemblance to yours. It was, you prayed, the only trait that you had inherited from her. From your mother.

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found family | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

pairings: leah williamson x reader!monkey x jordan nobbs

summary: how it came to be.

You never really understand the importance of family, after all you grew up with an alcoholic and drug addict of a father who made it very well known he didn’t care about you from the very day you were born but meeting Leah and Jordan changed everything for you– They became your found family.

You had been a part of the Arsenal Girls’ center of excellence since you were about nine or ten, however, if you asked Leah then she would tell you that she’s practically watched you grow up right in front of her.

It was somewhat true at least.

You guess that you can say she has always been watching out for you, even when you weren't  aware of it.

The only family member that actually gave a damn about you was your grandma– your dads’s mum. That lady adored you, fussed over you and made sure that you never went without so when she died when you were 15-years-old, you were completely heartbroken.

Everything started to fall apart.

You were left with an ass hole of a father who was nothing but neglectful, he couldn’t have cared less about you and it wasn’t just his words that he lashed out with, but his fists too.

It wasn’t long after that when people started to realise that everything wasn’t as perfect as it seemed behind closed doors, your dad had always been clever at hiding the truth but even the best kept secrets have a way of coming to light eventually.

Leah was the first person to start piecing things together.

During the time of being eased into the first team, ever the observant one, Leah would notice the way that nobody ever came to pick you up after training on the days that you were there.

“Calm down, I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse for them not being there,” Jordan would try to reason with her worried girlfriend, “Perhaps her parents are just at work.”

Her concern only got worse though when you would arrive late in the mornings, stumbling in with a messy kit and barely holding it together, along with seeing the way you would scarf down any snacks left at the club, like you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in god knows how long.

Of course you think you’re doing an amazing job of hiding it– Keeping your head down, making jokes and pretending like everything is totally fine.

Even when it’s not, and the blonde woman is able to see right through it.

“Where the hell are this kid’s parents?” Leah couldn’t help but think to herself after watching you slip out the door alone.

You’re oblivious to realise how Leah would frown every time she sees that you’re alone or how she would shake her head when she watches you drag your feet in the morning.

Of course she can see through you acting like a menace.

“I’m telling you Jord, there’s something seriously going on,” Leah brought up the conversation with her girlfriend again as they left training for the day, her own maternal instinct kicking in

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jordan attempts to reassure her girlfriend as they make their way over to the car, “The kid is old enough to be able to make her own home anyways,” She added.

“I feel like there’s something more going on,” Leah murmured, her hand resting on her slightly swollen belly, “You can’t deny that you don’t feel like there’s something suspicious going on?” She asked the older woman.

“I don’t know, Le,” Jordan admitted, shrugging her shoulders, “Do you think you’re maybe just overthinking things because you care about this kid?” She wondered.

“No… I don’t know, it just seems like there’s something else going on,” Leah replied, biting her bottom lip as she tossed her bag into the boot of the car before climbing in the car, “I know you might think I’m overthinking this, but I have a gut instinct about this.”

There was definitely something wrong.

Leah couldn’t shake the feeling about something being off, every day she watched you, the nagging sense that things weren’t quite right only grew stronger.

The blonde’s worry only continued, especially on one particular miserable day where the rain was pouring down and it was the kid of relentless downpour that would soak you to the bone within seconds, she was driving back home from a quick check up with the physio when she spotted you trudging down the road, you were completely drenched through and shivering in the thin jacket that you wore, your kit bag slung over your shoulder as you tried to shield yourself from the rain with the attempt of a flimsy hood.

“What the hell,” Leah’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened in disbelief, she couldn’t believe the sight that she was seeing at that moment– You were there, walking alone in the freezing rain, not a single adult in sight.

Without even thinking twice, the blonde slowed the car down and pulled up beside you, “Hey, kid!” She rolled down her window and called to get your attention, “Do you want a ride? It’s absolutely hammering it down out here.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” You're quick to disagree, shaking your head as your teeth chatter from the freezing weather, “It’s not much further to talk, I’m good.”

“Kid, come on. Let me just give you a ride,” Leah was relentless to give you a ride as she leaned over to open the passenger door, “You’re bound to get sick otherwise.”

You're hesitant to agree to the blonde’s offer, you didn’t want to give anything away but you couldn’t deny the warmth and safety of her car would be better than being out in this miserable weather.

“Okay,” You gave in and opened the car door, sliding in as your teeth still continued to chatter from the freezing temps, “Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to not meet her gaze as you stared down at your sodden trainers.

“It’s okay kid, anytime,” Leah said softly, cranking up the heat in the car to help you warm up, asking you for the address which you gave her and she started to drive again, “So, is there any particular reason you’re out walking alone in this weather?” She asked, trying to tread carefully and not spook you when asking questions.

“Oh, uh, my dad is working late so he couldn’t pick me up,” You were quick to make up the excuse, knowing full well that if you had asked your father for a lift home then he would have most likely laughed in your face.

Leah clicked her tongue in disagreement, “What about your mum?” She wondered.

That question was one you would love to know yourself as well, the said women abandoned you at the tender age of 2 and didn’t think twice about it.

“She’s dead,” You didn’t think twice about telling her, because to you she might as well be.

Leah glanced sideways at you with her brows furrowing slightly at the casual way you spoke about your mother, sensing there was more to the story but she didn’t want to press for answers.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that kid,” Leah replied softly, her voice filled with genuine sympathy that made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t something you were used to hearing, especially not from someone who actually meant it.

“It’s fine, it was a long time ago,” You shrugged your shoulders and brushed it off as you focused on the rain pattering against the windshield, with a hope that the blonde would just drop it.

“Listen kid, if you ever need a ride to training or you know, just someone to talk to…” The blonde began to talk, glancing over to try and see your reaction, “All you have to do is ask, alright? I don’t mind you giving you my number.” She added.

“Thanks,” You murmured in a low tone of voice, although you weren’t quite sure if you would ever take up on that offer as trust wasn’t something that came easily to you, you had your walls built up so high around you.

It was the only way to protect yourself.

The next week at training, you’re late again. This time though, you’re not just dragging your feet but also feeling pale, shaky and you’re barely able to even stand up properly.

Before you know it, your vision blurs and you can feel yourself stumbling but before you can drop to the floor, Leah’s there in an instant to catch you before you hit the ground.

“Whoa,” Leah held you steady in her arms as she guided you towards the bench in the changing room, “It’s alright, come and take a seat.” She told you, gently.

“M’ fine,” You murmured as you felt yourself being pushed down onto the hard bench.

The blonde wasn’t entirely convinced, “No you’re not, you can barely stand up,” She paused as she routed through her bag and pulled a protein bar out for you to eat, “Here, eat this. Please.”

You don’t hesitate to tear into it, the gnawing hunger finally easing up a little bit.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?” Leah questioned, softly.

You hesitated the answer, your mind scrambling to remember the last time you sat down to eat something that wasn’t a hastily grabbed snack, “Uh,” You stammered, the pause in your response telling Leah everything she needed to know.

The blonde sighed softly, crouching down to meet your eyes, “Hey, why don’t you come around for dinner tonight?” She suggested, her voice warm and inviting, “I know you like pizza, right? We could order that, watch a movie and just chill.”

“I… I don’t know, my dad’s working and all,” You find it difficult to agree as you look down at your fingers and fidget with the edge of your sleeve, “If I’m not back by a certain time then my dad will worry about where I am.”

“I get it, but if you’re dad’s working then surely he won’t mind you being around teammates?” Leah gave you a sympathetic smile, taking to mask the concern that flickered across her face, “How about you come for just an hour or so? Have some pizza with us and then I’ll drive you home right after if you want.”

“Okay, alright. Just an hour though,” You agree begrudgingly with the blonde, knowing she wouldn’t let it go.

“Deal,” Leah grinned, relief washing over her face with the promise of a warm meal and some company, even just for an hour, it felt like a small victory in a battle she was determined to win.

“Jord? We have a guest for dinner!” Leah called out, her voice warm as she gently rested her hands on your shoulders as she guided you through the front door of their home.

The older woman had made it home before her girlfriend, already being given the heads up ahead of you coming to their home for dinner so the pizza was on its way. 

You were weary enough to be here, anxious in case your dad did find out where you were.

Of course he wasn’t at work, more like down the pub instead, so maybe he wouldn’t care if you were home or not after all.

“Hey kid,” Jordan appeared from around the corner, a dish towel slung over her shoulder as she smiled warmly at you, “I heard you like pizza, huh?”

“I do,” You quietly replied in agreement, fumbling at the loose string of your club branded jumper before Leah gestured you to follow her into the living room.

“I ordered cheese pizza because of Miss picky over here,” Jordan joked, pointing her index finger in the direction of her girlfriend, “Are you okay with that?” She checked.

“It’s okay, I like cheese,” You told the women as you settled on the sofa, you couldn’t help but notice various baby items scattered throughout the living room and you suddenly felt a bit curious to ask questions, “Are you going to have a baby soon?” The words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“We are,” Leah said, her smile gentle as she rested her hands on her growing bump, “Only another few months to go till we get to meet our little bubba.”

Jordan joined Leah on the sofa, her arm draped casually over the back of Leah’s seat as she shot you a friendly smile, “We’re really excited to meet them, but can I let you in on a little secret?” She asked, leaning in as if to share a secret only meant for two of you to hear.

You couldn’t help but nod, intrigued to know what it was, “What is it?”

“I’m actually pretty nervous as well,” Jordan confessed, glancing at Leah with a faint small smile, “There’s still so much to do before they arrive, so it’s still kind of overwhelming, you know?” She admitted.

You nodded, somewhat understanding the weight of feeling overwhelmed more than they both knew, “I do,” You agreed quietly, picking at the loose string of your jumper.

Despite the initial hesitation being there, the warmth of the home and the kindness of the two voices began to chip away at the walls you had put up.

The pizza arrived, small chatter was engaged and sure enough, Leah stuck to her word and an hour later, she drove you back to the empty, stark home where you lived.

You felt something that you hadn’t felt in a very long time around these two women, you felt safe.

The all too familiar gut feeling returned that Leah couldn’t shake as she pulled off from the being parked up outside your house and drove back to her own home.

“There’s something going on, more than what we know,” Leah brought up the conversation with Jordan that night as they got into bed, her voice tight with worry, “I’m really worried about the kid. Tell me you’re not worried about her as well?”

Of course I am,” Jordan pulled back the duvet and settled in beside her,  “You’re not imagining things, there’s definitely something more going on behind closed doors than we know about.”

Leah turned to face Jordan, her brows furrowed with frustration and helplessness, “Then what do we do? We can’t just ignore it,” She said, her voice wavering, “We know there’s something wrong, and we can’t just sit here and do nothing. If anything was to happen to her, then I… I will never forgive myself!”

“Le, I know you’re worried about her as am I,” Leah sighed softly, wrapping her arms around the blonde and resting a hand on her bump, her thumb tracing soothing circles, “I get it, babe, I do and I am just as concerned about her as you are, but we can’t do anything about proof. All we can do for now is be there for the kid, make sure she’s okay and that nothing serious happens.” She added.

“I… I know,” Leah nodded, but her mind was still restless with thought, staring at the ceiling with the weight of the unspoken promise heavy on her shoulders, “I’ll do whatever I can to protect that kid.” She vowed, ready to act when the time came.

Over the next several weeks, Leah and Jordan made more of a conscious effort to keep an eye on you during the time you were at training– Making sure to always include you in conversations and ask how you are doing, Leah would often slip you a protein bar when she noticed you hadn’t eaten and Jordan would offer you a ride home, whether you tried to refuse it or not.

You had definitely wormed your way into their heart and neither of them had a problem admitting that.

Then, one day there was something more serious that happened and both women were alerted of the situation immediately.

At first Leah and Jordan just thought you were running late for training again, the fact that you missed their previous texts and calls was a cause for concern in itself, but nothing new when you had a habit of not always checking your phone. Still, there was an uneasy feeling that neither of them could shake and when you finally stumbled in the state that you did, bruised and limping, it became clear that something far worse had happened.

“Now do you believe me there is something going on?” Leah said urgently, her eyes locking onto Jordan’s with a mix of fear and frustration, gesturing towards you while she noted the bruise on your cheek and the way you favoured one leg, “I knew it, I knew there was something wrong!”

The concern and protectiveness that the blonde felt for you was something else.

“I do… I do believe you,” Jordan’s face fell as she took in the sight of you, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, “But what do we do now?”

“The kid needs help,” Leah said determined, her mind already made up, “I know you think I’m crazy, and maybe I am for suggesting this, but I want her to move in with us.”

Jordan was a bit more hesitant to agree to the idea, “I… I don’t know, Le. We’ve already got our hands full with the little one on the way,” She pointed out gently, trying to remind her girlfriend of their current situation, “Do you really think it’s a good idea? A newborn baby and a teenager– It’s a lot to take on.”

“I don’t care, we can manage it– We can handle it!” Leah was still more determined than ever with this decision, “I…I know it’s a lot, but I can’t just sit back and do nothing about it, can I? She needs us, Jord and if we don’t help her, then who will?”

Jordan exhaled a deep sigh, running her hand through her hair as she weighed out the gravity of Leah’s plea, she knew her girlfriend’s heart was in right place, but the practicality of the situation loomed large, “Okay,” She finally gave in reluctantly as there was no point in trying to argue about it when her stubborn girlfriend already had made her mind up about this. After all it would be a bad idea to disagree with a pregnant lady after all, “Alright, fine, if this is what you really want to do then I’m on board.”

“I do, I really do want this,” Leah’s expression softened, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over her as she reached out to squeeze Jordan’s hand, “Thank you, I just… I can’t turn my back on her, not now. She needs a safe place, a real home.”

“I know, babe,” Jordan said, her grip on Leah’s hand tightening, “I know and we’ll make it work, whatever it takes– we’ll figure it out together as a team.”

Leah nodded and gave her girlfriend a genuine smile, “As a team,” She repeated, squeezing her hand in reassurance, “Just get ready for the chaos.” She joked.

“Oh with a newborn baby and a teenager under one roof? I couldn’t think of anything more chaotic,” Jordan replied playfully, pulling her girlfriend in closer, “But it could also be kind of fun as well, right?”

“You and I have different versions of having fun,” Leah teased, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes, “But, yeah, it might just be the best sort of cray we’ve ever signed up for.”

It was surprisingly a lot easier to get your father to agree to it, he was more than willing to wash his hands off you, he was so disinterested about you swear you actually saw him smile for the first time. An actual genuine smile on his face, which just made you more sad about the fact that your dad really could care less about you.

Maybe it was the fact that he never got the son he so badly wanted?

“Have her,” The man sneered, “I’ve washed my hands off her, she’s your problem now.”

His parting words stung a lot and while Leah’s hands clenched in anger, bug Jordan’s arm around her kept her grounded.

The blonde’s eyes were blazing with anger, “You are unbelievable,” She spat out, her tone sharp and unfiltered, “You’ve got a kid right in front of you, a kid who’s done nothing but try to survive in spite of you, and all you can do is shrug her off like she’s nothing? You don’t even have the decency to pretend to care.”

Jordan just held Leah tighter, her silent support a calm anchor in the storm of emotions, “Let’s go, Le,” She urged softly, though her own gaze was cold and unforgiving as it lingered on your father.

The blonde’s anger didn’t fade, if anything, it deepened as she looked at the man who’d treated you as a burden instead of his own flesh and blood, “She’s not some problem to be handed off, and she’s not a mistake you can just ignore. She’s a kid, your kid and the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Your father scoffed, as if he was barely affected by Leah’s words, “She’s your problem now,” He repeated in a gruff voice, “I want nothing to do with the brat.”

Leah’s jaw tightened, the venom in his words made her stomach churn in disgust. Opening her mouth to say more, Jordan gently tugged at her arm with a silent reminder that nothing else could be said would change the man in front of them.

Turning away from your father, Leah relented as her expression softened when she looked at you, but the fire in her eyes never dimmed, “Let’s just go.”

“Come on little one,” Jordan protectively guided you out of the house with her arm wrapped around you, the two women helped you gather the small amount of belongings that you had and you left the house, “Let’s get you out of here.”

You should have felt instant relief leaving that house, but instead you just felt incredibly sad that the father you grew up with, regardless of how much of a neglectful bastard he was, he was and always still would be your dad.

A part of you foolishly hoped that one day he’d see you, really see you, and want you around.

That never did happen though.

“I know this isn’t easy for you kid,” Leah noticed the flicker of sadness in your eyes and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “But you’re not alone now, okay? We’re here and we’re not going anywhere. You’re safe.”

Jordan nodded in agreement, giving you a small encouraging smile, “Le’s right, we’ve got you little one,” She told you gently, “Whatever you need, whenever you need us, we’re here.”

And from there on, you were about to gain the family that you’d always deserved– A real home, with two people who cared a hell of a lot about you to fight for you, even when the world seemed to have given up.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[fishermanshook]

SH4RK B!TES !!

( ellen joe ) + gn!reader

୧⋆｡🪭. -ʚɞ relationship h/c’s , friends to lovers , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

Never one to think she had the time or energy to spend on relationships that ventured out of the comfort zone of “friends”, Ellen Joe can’t remember the last romantic relationship she shared with somebody in the past four years.

But then, you come into the picture, and everything [including how she’s ever felt towards anyone before] changes for the greater good.

꒰wc꒱ 856

✧ Ellen Joe, the newest member of Victoria Housekeeping and one of the most popular girls in her school, has never once thought of love. Okay, maybe that’s bending the truth a bit. She has thought of it, and on more than one occasion, but the shark is already busy enough. Ellen’s been tied up with school work, her friends, and most importantly, a work field she keeps hidden from all. She holds the friends she has tightly knitted to her and isn’t one to take up new activities without good reason. She truly just doesn’t have the time for it.

✧ Ellen Joe who, as oblivious as ever, doesn’t pick up on her own growing feelings until one of her friends asks her about it. A “close friend” has now become something seemingly more than that, and she [plus the entire school atp] wants to learn more about it. Overall, it’s an awkward conversation that ultimately ends in the shark realizing her “new” feelings.

↳ Unless you’re the most oblivious person in New Eridu, her affection towards you isn’t well hidden. A slight blush accompanied by a small smile appears on her face when you appear by her side. Ellen’s tail sways quicker than usual as she tries to calm it along with her ever-reddening face.

“You even gave them your last lollipop! What do you mean you didn’t realize you liked them?” Her friend asks with confusion and a bit of rage laced in her voice. “I’ve been your best friend since freshman year and you’ve never once given me a lollipop, let alone your last.”

“I was feeling nice…I hadn’t realized it truly meant something. But the more that I think about it, I guess I do like them. Like, a lot.” Ellen realizes.

✧ Ellen Joe who confesses her feelings to you in front of a sunset background on the top of her school. It’s the only place she can think of that will spare her just a bit of privacy from the prying eyes of others. She hides her face behind her tail as she reveals her feelings towards you, and is met with a kiss on the lips as a confirmation that her feelings are mutual.

✧ Ellen Joe isn’t one to delve much into the romantics outside of the privacy of her own home, or at least with the two of you alone. The most that she will do for you in public is hold your hand while she walks you to your next class.

↳ Ellen seems like one to not enjoy physical affection, but when she’s away from the crowd [mostly people that she knows], she becomes much more affectionate. Pressing soft, little kisses to the temples of your forehead before slinking her arms around your waist, pulling you in closer as the two of you cuddle on her bead.

✧ Ellen Joe who, despite her lack of physical affection in public, wants people to know that you are at least taken by her. She doesn’t want to rub it in the face of anyone, but as long as people know that you and her are a thing, she feels a bit more at ease. It’s the knowledge that nobody’s going to be trying to woo you in any shape or form. And if they were to? Well, you’d have to make sure you hold her back.

↳ Ellen is such a sucker for seeing you wear items of her own. It yet again signals to all who your amazing girlfriend is. A handmade bracelet adorns her right wrist at all times, and a homemade trinket made from red gems dangles on the end of her weapon when she fights. A reminder for her to keep her head held high as she pierces through enemies and reaps the rewards. [her paycheck.]

✧ Ellen Joe who is [slightly rightfully so] protective over you. Her job, while a well-paying job, puts Ellen and her loved ones at risk: including you. She’s always scanning the area around the two of you, looking out for any particularly suspicious people. Do they have a weapon on them? Do they have bad intentions? She’s paranoid either way, and you have to give her hand a tight squeeze to bring her back to reality.

“Yes, there are bad people in the world, but no, no one is out to get us [at least right now].” You state, kissing her on the cheek. The last part you keep to yourself, there’s no need to keep her worried. She grumbles and mutters something under her breath before taking your hand in hers.

✧ Ellen Joe, the newest member of Victoria Housekeeping and one of the most popular girls in her school, hates to admit that you’ve stolen her heart.

note: hiiiii…*bats my eyes cutely* I wrote this before seeing the natlan trailer and wow it’s…something!!! love Ellen, dislike hoyo

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

[miniwheat77]

American Honey. (Alejandro X Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, Sex Pollen, fuck or die, unprotected sex, reader getting bullied by Alejandro and his men, poorly translated Spanish, (sorry if I missed any)

I love the way this turned out, I hope you guys love it too! This was a request :) please comment and reblog so that this can reach other places, Alejandro is too good to go unseen 🥵

(Not edited because I’m lazy.)

Truth be told, you weren’t the biggest fan of this place.

You’d been adopted as a child and your adoptive family loved Mexico, which is how you ended up here. It wasn’t always the safest, but they seemed to like it. It was difficult growing up in an English speaking household, school was difficult, the kids there were mean to you, and as you got older, it only got worse.

You decided to join the special forces in the hopes that you’d be tucked away in an office somewhere, as little interactions as possible. But it’s not how everything worked out. You were on the front lines.

Everyone had a cool call sign, or nickname.

But you? You were just Gringa. Nobody liked you, you were different and people didn’t like different. Especially not the special forces.

You ended up on Alejandro’s base by chance. He didn’t want to let you in, but because you were the most skilled out of a lineup, he had no choice. He picked fun at you too alongside everyone else. The only person that was even remotely nice to you was Rudy. He and his wife had you over for dinner a couple times, and he even called you by your name. It was nice when people were kind to you, because it didn’t happen very often.

On more than one occasion, a few of the women on base cornered you in the women’s barracks. It got so bad that you had to be separated. When you brought it up to Alejandro, he told you that you either had to deal with it, or be separate. Of course, when you were given your own room, it only ramped up the harassment you got on a daily basis. Jealous that you were getting special privileges. They found other ways around you not being in the same barracks.

Which is why you walked around with a black eye and a split lip almost every day.

You didn’t want to fight back. They were your people and you refused to lay a finger on your own. You just wished they thought the same. You had just sat down, water bottle in hand. You knew better than to get in line to eat first. They’d always push you to the back.

“Gringa. You have mail, in my office.” Alejandro nods. This was unusual, usually he’d just bring it to you. You stood up and followed after him. Despite the fact that he harassed you too, you always obeyed him. You did right by him even when he didn’t reciprocate. He sits down at his desk, sliding a box out of his drawer. “I need to see what’s inside, that’s why I brought you in here.” You nod your head, pulling out your pocket knife and cutting the box open. You open it up, there’s a small black bag inside along with a letter. You unfold the letter, reading the inside.

“Hi Honey, we miss you so much. We wanted to let you know we’ve been thinking about adoption once again, you’ll have to give us a call when you get the chance. Your real grandfather from America sent this for you along with a small card on the inside. We thought it was sweet because you’re our American Honey. We hope you have better luck than you’ve been having. Keep your head up and don’t let them get to you too much.

Love, mom and dad.”

You pull the black bag open, sliding the contents into your hand. It’s a bunch of Honey Sticks. You smile, finally understanding the joke she’s made, American Honey. You take the card out that she mentioned and open it up. Inside is a photo of a woman, but you don’t really understand.

“Hello, I know you probably don’t know me, but I’ve always wanted to meet you. Your mother was a little young when she found out she was pregnant with you. She was a wild child, I’m sure you’re a wild child just like she was. I adored you from the day I met you, and when I found out your mom was giving you up, it shattered me. I hope I’ll get to meet you one day, I never did get the chance for anymore grandkids. You’re my only granddaughter. Here is some American Blueberry Honey from our farm, it’s all organic and it’s very sweet like I imagine you are. I’m writing this to you because your mom passed away unexpectedly. I felt you deserved to see her. I’m attaching a couple photos of her, and my address and phone number in case you ever want to call or write back. I’d really appreciate it if you did.”

You smile, looking down at the photos. For a minute, you forget where you are. You forget all about your Colonel’s judgmental eyes. You put the card back into the envelope, passing it to your Colonel. He has to look over everything. He doesn’t trust you.

You slide a couple of the honey sticks from the bag, looking over them.

“You were adopted Gringa?” He asks. You nod your head. He nods, “where were you born?” He asks. You shrug. “Somewhere in the states.”

He takes the bag from you, looking over it before passing it back to you. “Don’t forget we’re going on a mission tomorrow, everyone else needs rest from the last mission. You’re my only available soldier.” You nod your head. You always got left behind on missions. “Yes sir.” You stand up, picking up the box of stuff you’d just gotten. “Goodnight Gringa.” You nod your head. You were really starting to hate that fucking nickname.

—

The next day, you were dressed and ready. It was still early, you’d already eaten breakfast. You sat patiently outside of Alejandro’s office, waiting for his orders.

When the time came for you to leave, you finally got a breakdown of the mission.

“It’s nothing big, that’s why it’s just the two of us. Narcos have some other kind of operation going that we need to bust up, it’s probably only 5-6 men. We’re going to move slow, try to take them out from afar.” You nod your head. The both of you got on the helicopter, and it was quite a long ride. It was silent. Alejandro sat near the pilot and you sat in the back, admiring the view of the forest. It was dense. The green went on for miles. You couldn’t help but smile down at the peacefulness of it all.

“Something funny Gringa?” Alejandro asks. You can barely hear him, luckily the headset you’ve got on makes it easier. “No sir. Just admiring the views.” You turn your head back toward the window. You can hear Alejandro laugh quietly.

When you arrived a few miles away from the operation, you geared up completely. You had your sniper rifles, handguns, assault rifles, and plenty of ammo. You started hiking through the dense forest. Side by side. You were aware of your surroundings, ready for anything. You stayed calm despite the intense situation. You had a basic idea of what might be waiting for you, but you never knew what you could be walking into. Alejandro poked fun at you, but he actually really liked you. You were calm and collected. Fast on your feet. You were skilled when it came to any kind of combat. He knows he neglects you as a soldier. He sees the way they treat you around base and knows that he should intervene.

He doesn’t know exactly why he doesn’t.

When you get close enough to see everything going on, you get set up. Propping your rifles up to get a good view of all of them. “Shoot fast, Gringa. Can’t risk any of them getting away.” You nod your head, lining up your crosshairs with them.

You don’t wait for his orders, the moment one is lined up in your sights, you fire, kicking the empty bullet casing out of the gun and lining up for another shot. When the both of you finish, you’ve only killed 4. “Others must be in the building. Go ahead, I’ll cover you.” He nods. “Yes sir.” You stand up, leaving your rifle behind and drawing your assault rifle out. You hike down toward the building, keeping yourself covered with trees and walking as quietly as possible. It was a little difficult with the vegetation from the forest but you still did your best. Alejandro watches you in the scope of his rifle, watching ahead of you and around you. He hopes this mission will go smoothly. As you get closer to the building, he feels unsettled. “Go slow gringa, something doesn’t seem right.” He says into his radio. “Yes sir.” You reply. You slow your speed, eyes scanning everything in front of you. Your senses are heightened because you’re nervous, you’re sure you’ll hear anything.

Unfortunately for you, it’s too late. You hear the soft patter of something hitting the ground in front of you, and only have a split second to react, covering your face with your arms and stepping back as the grenade explodes.

Alejandro watches in horror as you’re thrown back, dirt and debris fly into the air, a cloud of smoke covering his vision. “Shit!” He growls. He stands up, rushing to get to you. He sees a few men appearing out of the tree line, firing at each them. He rushes to you, kneeling next to you. “Gringa?” He asks.

You don’t know where you are. The darkness is nice, but it only lasts for a few seconds before you hear Alejandro’s gunshots. You’re being shaken by him, but the ringing in your ears overrides everything else. “Gringa? Can you hear me?” He asks. He shakes you again, seeing your eyes move. “Hey, you’re going to be okay.” He breathes. He’s looking over you, he can see a few wounds from Shrapnel, but he doesn’t see them anywhere serious. “Y/N!” He snaps in your face. You close your eyes tightly. Sitting up. “I’m fine.” You breathe. He helps you up and you flinch at the loud ringing. It starts to fade as you look around. It’s quiet now.

As peaceful as it was on the helicopter.

When the ringing fades out completely, you wish you could just lay there, stare up at the sky and enjoy the peace for just a second. What you’d give for it.

“Come on. We have to keep moving.” He breathes.

You move in quickly to sweep the building, it’s an old cement building, but the inside is actually pretty nice. It has to be for how long everyone stays out here. Months on end, making whatever drug their boss tells them to. You notice a few bottles of something red. You can tell it isn’t blood because of the translucent consistency. But it’s odd. You make your way back outside, noticing the work stations are all full of the same red liquid. There a few large barrels of it sitting outside. “The hell is this?” You ask aloud.

Alejandro is standing near you, and neither of you expect to be splashed with the liquid. You flinch away, turning and raising your guns at your assailant.

His maniacal laughter is what really scares you. He’s got a gunshot wound on his side, he’s not going anywhere. He’s leaned up against the barrel, plastic cup in his hand. “Es una droga sexual. ¡Ahora ambos están infectados!” He laughs again.

Alejandro moves in quick, he’s seething. “What did he say?” You ask. The man looks at you, eyes wide. He’s got an evil smile on his face. “estas con una gringa? ella no sabe español?” He laughs. Alejandro shakes his head. “¿Cuál es la droga?!” He yells. You flinch away at his tone of voice. “Vas a tener que chingarte a tu gringa linda, dejarla embarazada.” He purrs. “¿Qué significa eso?” Alejandro growls. Grasping the man by the lapels and slamming him back into the barrel. “La cura es el sexo, no hay otra. Buena suerte hermano.” He smirks. His teeth are red from his blood.

“No eres hermano mío, solo un cobarde.” You flinch as Alejandro raises his pistol up, firing into the man’s head. His body slumps forward and Alejandro stands up, letting out a frustrated sigh. “What did he say? What is this?” You ask.

He rubs his face in frustration.

“It’s a sex drug.”

You look confused. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a sex drug, but it’s in the early stages of development, that’s why we’ve never heard of it before. He said..” he pauses. “If the infected doesn’t have sex, they’ll die.”

“And what he splashed on us.. was that-?” You look at him. He nods his head. You turn away from him. “There’s no other cure?” You ask. “No. Not something we’ll find in time.”

“Well. Suppose we should head back. Say our goodbye’s.”

His turns quickly to look at you. “What?” He asks.

You look at him. “What?”

“Y/N.. we can get through this if…” he swallows hard. You raise your eyebrows. “What? If what?” You cross your arms. Looking at him. “If I have sex with you? Are you out of your mind?” Alejandro’s assumptions have clearly stuck a nerve. “You’re loco if you think I want to have sex with you!”

“But you’d rather die? I’ll have to say Gringa, that’s pretty harsh.” He smiles. “That right there is exactly why I’d rather die.” You seethe. He looks confused. “My goddamn name is Y/N.” You growl. He steps closer to you. “Watch your tone with me.” He growls. “I’m going to die anyways.” You shake your head. “What, you’ll let us both die over me calling you Gringa? Really?” He breathes.

“It’s not just you.” You shake your head. “It’s everyone.” You voice is low and aggressive. “They call me gringa. I’m last to eat, last to shower, last to be chosen for missions. I haven’t had dinner in a week. They exclude me, treat me like shit. They corner me in the goddamn bathroom and beat the holy hell out of me. And my Colonel? The one who’s supposed to give a shit? Doesn’t say a word when he sees the bruises they’ve left. You had no right to call that man a coward. You’re the biggest coward I’ve ever met.” You spit your words at him like they’re laced with venom. Like they’ll drop him dead in a few seconds. He sighs. Everything you’ve said is true. He’s mistreated you.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes. “Querida…” he trails off. “I know I’ve been bad to you. But I can change it.” He breathes. “No.” You shake your head. “Make yourself comfortable because I’m not changing my mind.” You breathe. You shove passed him, walking into the building. You go into one of the rooms, sitting down on the bed. You take your shoes off, pulling the blanket off. Walking back outside. You walk into the woods a little more, laying the blanket out. “What are you doing?” He asks. “Enjoying the peace and quiet.” You breathe. He nods. “Mind if I join you?” He asks. You shrug. He sighs, sitting down next to you. You’re laying on your back, looking up at the sky. “Cloudy.” He mumbles. “Yeah. Hopefully it’ll rain.” You smile. “I like when you smile.” He laughs. “Why?” You look at him. “Because you don’t do it often. Earlier in the helicopter, I was admiring you.” He laughs. You roll your eyes. “Also, when you saw that letter from your family. I like their nickname for you, American Honey.” He smiles. You can’t help but laugh at this. “If this is you trying to get me to have sex with you, it’s not going to work. He rolls his eyes. “I can be a gentleman without the intention of trying to have sex with you, Mocosa.” He laughs. “I’m serious. Why do they call you that?” He smiles. “They said I was too sweet. As a kid I knew no stranger, so they called me American Honey.” You look down. “American Honey? I don’t think I’ve ever had any.” He shrugs. You think for a second, sighing.

You grasp hold of your pocket on your jacket, the Velcro making a tearing sound as you pull it open, you slide out a few of the honey sticks, passing one to him. “It’s blueberry honey.” You nod. He takes it from you. “You have to bite the top to split the film open.”

You bite the top of yours, feeling the honey drip into your mouth. You can’t help but smile as you watch Alejandro struggle to open his. You laugh. Reaching your hand out. “Here.” You say. He passes it to you and you turn it to the other side, biting it open for him. “Thank you.” He smiles. You can feel the effects of the drug beginning to kick in. You want to kick yourself for the way you’re looking at him. He’s getting more and more attractive by the minute. You hear a groan leave his lips. “This is really good.” He breathes. “It is really sweet.” He licks his fingers where it’s dribbled onto them. You have to force yourself to look away. The tightening in your lower stomach becoming harder and harder to ignore. “Here, have another.” You pass him the other. “Open it for me, Cariño?” He smiles. You nod. You bit it open, flinching as it pops into your mouth. Alejandro freezes up, having to force himself to look away from your lips, and how sweet they’re looking. He’s felt the drug working but has ignored the way his pants have gotten tight. He takes the stick of honey from you, and watches as you lay back.

The minutes tick by and his heart is racing, the arousal he feels is almost unbearable. You can barely focus on anything, his heavy breathing, the smell of him. It’s too much. “I’m sorry.” He breathes. “I’ve got to get away from you, or I won’t be able to stop myself.” He breathes. Just as he stands up, you’re quick to yelp. “Wait!” You breathe, sitting up. He turns to look at you, confusion written all over his face. You’ve shed your jacket and he didn’t realize it, but he can see how hard your nipples are through your shirt. “What?” He asks. “You.. you don’t have to.” You breathe. You’ve got your knees pressed together. Tightening your thighs to try and ease the ache you feel between them. He steps toward you, and he can see the fire burning in your eyes. You don’t move away or tell him to stop. “Are you sure?” He asks. You nod your head. He lowers himself to his knees, thankful for the blanket beneath him. He moves himself between your legs, licking his bottom lip as he leans into you. His lips brush over yours lightly. Hips presses into yours. He moans out when you rock your hips ip into him, desperate for some kind of relief. He presses his lips to yours, he kisses you hard.

He can taste the honey on your tongue, and he’s addicted right there. You moan into his lips when he rocks his hips into yours. He pulls away, but only to attach his lips to your jawline, moving down to your throat. He’s biting at the skin, feeling your heart beat as he runs his tongue along your jugular vein. He pulls your shirt up and over your head, helping you remove your bra with it. He attaches his lips to one of your nipples, sucking at it gently, feeling you buck your hips up into him. He can’t help smile into you. He doesn’t want to neglect you, moving to attach his lips to other. You wrap a hand in his hair, whining out at the attention he’s giving you. “Alejandro- want you so bad.” You breathe. “You’ll have me, ser paciente.” You nod your head. He kisses lower, over your chest and belly, tugging your pants down your legs. You take a deep breath as he glides his hands down your hips, kissing over your belly button. He looks up at you, dipping down to press a kiss against your clit. Cock twitching at the mewl you let out. You whine, raising your hips into him. Desperate for attention. He pushes your hips down, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you still. His tongue gliding up through your folds has a sigh leaving your lips. He moans into.

“Taste so fuckin sweet..” he mutters, chuckling into you. “You’ve got the perfect nickname, you’re just as fucking sweet.” He growls, burying his face into you, starting his assault on your clit. You blush, looking away. You try to squirm out of his grasp but he holds you tight. You clutch the blanket beneath you, moaning out as you look up at the sky. You can feel the sting from the shrapnel still buried in your skin, but you’re overwhelmed. The peacefulness and the way he makes you feel overrides any pain you’ve felt.

You’re getting louder with each flick of his tongue and he knows you’re getting close, but he doesn’t want you to cum like this. He pulls away, feeling you whine at the loss of friction. “Relax, I’ll give your pussy the attention it needs.” He smiles, unbuckling his belt.

He wipes his face, moving his hips up to yours. “You sure you want this?” He asks. You nod your head eagerly. He pushes the tip of his cock up against your entrance and you bite your lip. You close your eyes as he sinks into you, clutching the blankets hard. The pleasure is intensified from the drug you’ve taken and the both of you nearly cum right there, moaning out. “Fucking hell you feel good.” He growls, moving to kiss you. “You taste yourself on me? Hm?” He smirks, starting to thrust his hips into you. He’s starting at a brutal pace and you can’t keep it together as he fucks you.

“You taste sweet yeah? Sweeter than that honey.” He smiles. His belt rattles as he thrusts into you. The sound is distracting you. The thought of what it is, him fucking into you so good. You can’t keep it together. “I’m gonna cum-“ you whimper. “Already?” He chuckles. He’s taunting you. You nod your head. “Yes!” You moan. He lifts your thighs up, thrusting deeper, trying to get a better angle on you. “Rub your clit for me.” He breathes. You nod your head, still obeying him. You rub circles over yourself, and he fuels the burning fire with his words.

“Yes- such a good girl. Always doing what you’re told. Yeah, rub that sweet pussy for me baby.” He growls. He can feel his own high approaching pathetically fast. “I’m- I-“ he laughs at your lack of words, feeling your legs shake as he pushes you into your orgasm. You cry out, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you shut them tightly. You soak his cargo pants, and he growls as he feels your arousal on him. He doesn’t stop fucking you, even with you being overwhelmed. He’s chasing his own high. He leans down to kiss you again, desperate for the taste of sweetness he knows he’ll get from you. He kisses you hard, feeling your tongue move against his own. You moan into his lips, wrapping your legs around his back.

“Give it to me, Colonel.” You look him in the eyes. He growls, thrusting harder if it’s possible. “Beg for it.” He breathes. “Please-“ you gasp. “Please cum inside me, I’ve been good for you. Please give it to me!” You whine. His heart is pounding, cock twitching as he gets closer and closer to his high. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He gasps. “I’m gonna give it to you, Cariño. Trust me.” He groans. He has a death grip on your thighs. When he reaches his high, he’s sensitive before he even finishes. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had by far. He holds your hips tightly into him, taking slow deep thrusts to ride out his high.

“Oh fuck-“ he gasps. He slides out of you, watching his filth spill out of your pussy. The relief you feel is immediate. Hearts are no longer racing. He lays next to you on the blanket, panting as he comes down from his high, looking up at the sky. “I’m sorry if I was too rough.” He breathes, looking at you. “You weren’t.” You blush.

Just then, your radio’s go off.

“Colonel, do you copy?”

“Colonel do you copy? Exfil is still about an hour out, it’s going to be dark soon.”

“We’re on our way.” He says into the radio.

He helps you up. You both redress yourselves quickly.

“We’ve got to make quick work of this, got a lighter?” He asks. You pass him the one you keep on you at all times and he picks up a stick, lighting it on fire. He throws it into a barrel of liquid and you both run away quickly.

The barrel explodes and the whole area around it bursts into flames. You both admire it for a second. “Let’s go.” He grasps your hand, pulling you along. He hands you back you lighter.

It doesn’t take too long to reach exfil, but the wetness you feel from Alejandro’s cum is a little uncomfortable and he can tell by the way you keep shifting yourself on the seat in the helicopter, sending you a wink every once in a while. You turn your head away from him each time, blushing.

—

When you get back, you go straight to the infirmary for your wounds to be treated from the explosion. While you’re recovering, Alejandro has a quick meeting with his soldiers.

“I want everyone to know that Y/N isn’t going anywhere. I want you all to treat her the same as you treat everyone else. She saved my life today and she didn’t have to. If I see anyone mistreating her from this moment forward, you will be discharged from my base. Do I make myself clear?” His voice is stern.

“Yes sir!” They all say in unison. “Thank you! Go back to eating.” He calls.

He makes his way to the infirmary to check on you. Unsure of what to do with these newfound feelings that he has for you, and what in the hell he’s supposed to do if you’re pregnant.

[shakingparadigm]

may i ask your opinions on what ivan is truly like ?

( without pretending to be someone or something else entirely ? )

Okay !! Finally back to answering asks !! Once again, please be mindful of the fact that these are mostly my own personal thoughts. Always take them with a grain of salt.

The thing is, Ivan is an incredibly difficult character. He was written to be complex and multi-faceted, literally having more than just one "face". His actions almost always have another layer of depth to them and he tends to contradict himself, further complicating people's perception of him. It's not easy to pin him down, and that was exactly the intent. They made sure that the viewers wouldn't be able to fully grasp his emotions.

( I find this fact rather funny, because in one of the behind posts QMENG herself says that sometimes Ivan does things she cannot understand. The creators just allow Ivan to be complicated. He is what he is, and while there are undoubtedly reasons for it, the full truth remains unknown to us. )

Regardless, this is what I personally think.

Ivan seems to define himself by his imperfection, so much so that his actions and perspectives are influenced by his deep self-hatred. It's established that Ivan is "lacking" something, he is fundamentally different from others. Ivan builds himself around this since he literally has nothing else. He defines himself by his lack of definition. The fact that he is different and needs to be "cured". Ivan grows attached to the qualities that he "lacks", drawn to the biggest personality in the garden like a moth to a flame. He is fascinated, not envious, and I think that says a lot about him. He places those qualities on a pedestal, believing them to be so much better than himself. He feels that it's something he will never achieve or deserve, something he can't have.

It's interesting that the only time we can pin Ivan as "envious" is not when he's faced with his opposite, but with his parallel. Someone he believed to be just like him.

One thing about Ivan is that he is (unsurprisingly) lonely. Since his entire life is defined by this feeling of separation from others (either literally through the segyein's selection or more intangibly through his mental and emotional difference from others), Ivan feels constantly isolated. Nobody has been able to properly understand him, which further worsens the feeling that something is wrong with him.

When he finally finds someone that he can relate with, it brings him a sense of relief. Note that when Ivan refers to (what he perceives as) their similarity, he uses derogatory language. Twisted. This is how he views himself.

( translation is by @sorrowcure ! )

Compared to his interactions with others, his confrontation with Sua is uncomfortably honest. Ivan is most critical with the person he relates to, further emphasizing how deeply critical he is of himself. Ivan is not envious of Till or Mizi, who are so fundamentally different from him, he's envious of Sua because she is just like him yet has something that he doesn't.

It may feel unfair for the one person you saw yourself in to accomplish something so out of your reach. Her love was reciprocated in full, adored and revered by the person she loved most. They weren't the same, after all. It reinforces what he always believed to be true: he was alone.

( translation by @/oreganocactus on Twitter! )

There are many other instances of Ivan's self-deprecation and low sense of self-worth that leak into his behavior, such as down-playing himself in his interview, referring to his own feelings as "shallow", convincing himself that he was never truly cared about, etc. His deep dissatisfaction of himself rises to the surface quite often, shown in the way that he takes pride in his achievements (his work), yet cannot view himself as a person in a positive light.

INTERVIEWER: What do you think is your charm?

IVAN: I can't really think of any, because I think I have more flaws (haha),

To me, a lot of the "actual" Ivan can be seen in his younger self. It's not a complete display of what Ivan is truly like, obviously. He was a child and hadn't yet developed in certain areas. Still, it's a period in Ivan's life where he didn't mask or play up a different image. The quiet, stoic, and blunt Ivan seems to be a more genuine side of him, at least compared to his more charming persona. QMENG considered Ivan with his hair down to be "most like himself", and I think it's no coincidence that the most memorable version of Ivan with his hair down is his child self. The infamous Bowl Cut Ivan.

With this fact in mind, I also find it no coincidence that in ROUND 6, where Ivan is presented as a "perfect actor" in costume, he starts off with his hair slicked back.

And when he finally drops the mask, when he acts out of his own volition, his hair falls onto his face. Hair down, most like himself.

Another notable instance of Ivan's hair being down is the casino/karaoke room scene, which was quoted as an example for Ivan's emotional immaturity, his supposed "childishness".

There's so much to be said about Ivan, including the neurodivergent/autistic traits that have been discussed by other people in more depth (notably his difficulty in understanding/expressing certain emotions, his masking, his often misconstrued actions, etc). There's also many of Ivan's more conflicting aspects (which seem mostly confined to the patreon? so I'm not sure if they're still planning to incorporate it into the publicly official content or if it was overhauled), but I'm going to stop here because I feel like this post is already pretty random and disconnected.

The gist of it is that I don't think I can give a solid answer on what Ivan is truly like. I'm not even sure if he can answer that, as he seems to be at war with himself quite frequently. Ivan, under his charming and cheery facade, is unable to feel or express emotion in the same way other people do, which causes difficulty and struggle in many other aspects of his life. Not like the one he has is completely his anyway, but, you know.

[boobabietch]

Chapter I: "From College Phenom to WNBA Superstar: The Victoria O’Hara Story" | Diana Taurasi x OC

Warnings: Kinda narcissistic, kinda obsessed Victoria (excuse my girl she just wants to do good)

A/N: first chapter baby let’s fucking goooo, I’m so so excited about this series and I cannot wait for you guys to read it. As always English is not my first language so if you see any mistakes (I wrote this super high so there’s probably some) please let me know so I can change them asap, comments are highly appreciated, please let me know what you think! My ask box is always open too. Love Sof :))

Making headlines masterlist

There’s a funny thing about being a woman in sports, and it’s that being good is not enough.

When I was first drafted to the W, my back was in agonizing pain, breaking under the weight of everyone’s expectations. Having an excellent college career made the country ache with the need to see me play with the big dogs, some rooting for my success, but most of them patiently waiting for my imminent downfall. I struggled; climbing up that fucking hill was hard. But everything became easier once my mind was blinded with rage, and that anger had a name: Diana motherfucking Taurasi.

Growing up she was everything I aspired to be. She made it all look so easy, so effortless, and I wanted that. And the thing is, I’m not an aggressive person, not even a bad one. I bake for my teammates every Friday, I have friends all over the league, little girls want my shoes after the games and their grown fathers want my ass, teenage girls even write about me on Tumblr, for fuck's sake! I am perfectly fine!

Until that fucking game.

May 19, 2017

My rookie season. We faced Phoenix for the first time. The air was thick with anticipation, and I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut that nobody on that arena came to see me.

There she was.

Diana was there, larger than life, owning the court like she owned the entire damn league. And the truth was, she did.

I knew this moment was coming, but nothing could’ve prepared me for actually standing across from her. She locked eyes with me during warm-ups, her face impassive, like I wasn’t even worth her time. I looked around and every person was the same, nobody really came to see me, not even my team. That’s when I realized that being good at the game it’s not enough, you have to play another type of game if you want people to see you, and I was determined to make them beg for more of me.

That was all it took. I felt something rise inside of me, a mix of insecurity and pure terror, and from that moment, the only thing I wanted more than winning was beating her. Proving her wrong.

And that’s where all the shit unraveled.

It wasn’t just the basketball. It was personal. Every shot I took, every time I drove the lane, I wasn’t just thinking about the score, I was thinking about her. The way she moved. How her voice echoed through the arena when she barked orders to her team. I hated how much I was drawn to it, to her.

My teammates tried to talk me down, “Vico, chill you’re obsessing,” Sydney said. But they didn’t get it. Diana Taurasi was my benchmark, my North Star. My fire, I wanted what she had and in order to get it she was the one to beat. Every game after that I took it as duel, a fight for dominance. I was determined to make her see me, to make her acknowledge that I wasn’t just some rookie passing through, because if she knew that, then everybody would know that I was Victoria fucking O’Hara, and I was coming for the crown, her crown.

And I was doing a hell of a job:

"Rising Star: Victoria O'Hara Leads All Rookies in Scoring and Rebounds"

"WNBA newest princess? O’Hara’s Rookie Season Proves She’s a Force to Be Reckoned With"

"Victoria O’Hara Makes Waves: Record-Breaking Rookie Season Captivates Fans and Analysts"

But it never seemed to be enough, until…

July 7, 2017

It was after another grueling game. We lost by three points, but I played the game of my life. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, slumped on the bench, trying to catch my breath. And someone towered over me.

Someone I was very aware of.

“Not bad, O’Hara. Keep it up, and you might actually be a challenge someday.”

My stomach twisted.

I stared at her for a weirdly amount of time, unsure how to respond. Hell, was she mocking me? Or was this some twisted form of respect?

Before I could think too much, I snapped back:

“Someday? I’m already a problem for you.”

Fuck, that sounded way harsher than I intended.

I saw her look at her shoes, clicking her tongue before staring at me again, a smirk plastered in her face begging to be slapped it out “Of course you are”

And that’s it. She left.

July 30, 2017:

We were playing again, and the tension was unbearable. Everyone could feel it. Diana was all over the place, controlling the game like she always did, like she owned it. But this time? I wasn’t letting her have it. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she still ran the show. I needed this moment. I needed to prove myself. To her. To everyone.

Then, in the third quarter, it happened.

I saw her coming. Her eyes were locked on me like a damn predator, and I wasn’t backing down. I made a drive, quick and sharp, cutting to the basket with everything I had. I was going to score, but she had other plans. She slammed into me, body on body, knocking me off my path like I was nothing. I hit the floor hard, my elbows burning from the impact. The whistle blew, and I stayed down for a second, rage boiling under my skin.

"Get up," she muttered, standing over me like she owned the place. "You’re gonna need more than that to take me down, rook."

The audacity. I pushed myself up, heart pounding in my chest, glaring straight at her. I was chest to chest with the legend, staring into her eyes, and for the first time, I wasn’t intimidated. I was pissed. “You think you’re untouchable? Just fucking wait.”

She smirked, like she’d heard it all before. Like she didn’t even have to try. "I don’t think, O’Hara. I know," she spat back, her voice dripping with arrogance.

That was it. That was the moment I snapped. "Oh, you’re just a fucking bitch, aren’t you?" The words flew out before I could stop them, and I shoved her, hard.

The arena erupted in chaos.

Before I knew it, she was lunging at me, ready to push me back. But our teammates were faster, grabbing us before we could even make contact. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, my fists clenched, ready to throw. But the second I tried to break free, I was held back by a wall of arms pulling me away from her.

It took four players to hold me back. Four.

Diana wasn’t any better off. Her teammates were holding her down too, but I could see it in her eyes. She wanted this fight as much as I did. There was fire there, the same fire I felt burning inside me. She wasn’t just here to win; she was here to prove a point. But so was I.

We both struggled against the hands holding us back, trying to break free, trying to get at each other. My muscles ached with the effort of pushing forward, but no matter how hard I fought, it wasn’t happening. I could almost feel the impact of my fist hitting her. The unfinished fight burned inside me, an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

I didn’t give a shit about the cameras or the refs. I didn’t care about the technical they were about to call. All I cared about was making her feel this rage, this fire that she had sparked inside me. I wanted her to know that she wasn’t untouchable. That I wasn’t just another rookie.

Finally, the refs managed to pull us apart, forcing us to opposite sides of the court. My chest heaved with adrenaline, but I wasn’t done. I looked back at her, catching her eyes one more time. That damn smirk still on her face. But I knew she saw me now. I knew she felt it too.

The fight wasn’t over.

That was the moment I realized. Diana Taurasi wasn’t just another player to beat. She was the one. The one I had to take down. And maybe, just maybe, she’d finally met someone who could.

Fucking Diana.

"Rivalry Ignites: O’Hara and Taurasi Get into Fiery Altercation During Friday Game"

San Antonio Stars Victoria O’Hara Adidas Grey and Black Edition Player Jersey | SOLD OUT

Requests are Open!

Massterlist

[solei-eclipse]

[ dry coughing ] hey

I'd like to introduce the ocs/concepts I previously mentioned! they were thought up mostly for fun (and HEAVILY inspired by a few things, try and take a guess) so I'm not sure if I'll spend as much time on them. who knows, maybe they'll grow on me.

they're super funny to me. i think i made them just to have a laugh. sorry. you'll see why soon!

anyway, this is Jiu and Kioku! They have a long history together (well, at least one of them thinks so).

Jiu ( jee - yu )

A very dutiful and serious person

Has a formal way of speech (he almost never speaks casually)

Carries himself with a regal air, behaves like a young noble

Incredibly melancholic

His eyes have a strange quality to them, almost as if he's looking far off into the distance or straight through certain people (even if they're standing right in front of him)

Often takes a leadership role, adept at managing and organization (class president/class rep type)

Very cold and distant despite taking on multiple responsibilities

Neutral in stance, polite but in the detached way

Willing to help his classmates with whatever is needed, but won't do more than what's absolutely necessary

Holds his duty and responsibility in high regard, always in service to someone or something

Used to have a gentle, caring, and protective nature, but was forced to snuff it out due to his cruel home environment and those who took advantage of his kindness

Under the ownership of a rich and illustrious segyein, the hostess of an establishment where human pets were put to work

Due to his exceptional mental abilities and sense of duty, he was promoted to a high position at a very young age. He handles accounting and is the hostess' right hand man

Because of his duty and devotion to service, he is made to carry out illegal and immoral acts in secret

Whenever he returns from the Anakt Garden, Jiu is immediately put to work

He is pale to the point of his veins showing and has a dull, steely gaze

Jiu sleeps face-down. There's no reason for it, he just does

Yes, it's suffocating. Someone has to turn him over in his sleep just to make sure he can breathe right. There was once someone who used to do it for him, but now nobody does

Kioku ( kee - oh - ku )

Prefers everyone to call her Kio !

She arrives to the Garden quite late due to certain health complications (according to her guardian)

Has a very open face and unguarded eyes, which may lower the guard of other people

It's genuinely a strange quality. Those who hold secrets or ill intent may feel uncomfortable looking into her eyes for long periods of time.

Kio herself almost never lies. She will tell the truth even if it brings about consequence

Very athletic! Excels in sports and ranks high during Field Days

Kind in a way that's incredibly stubborn. Wills herself to forgive those who have wronged her and regards them with gratitude despite everything

Very persistent, has a great amount of inner strength

As a child, Kio was weak, cowardly, and codependent. She entered an establishment at a young age in exchange for her safety, but since she refused to adjust herself to the environment (perform actions she deemed cruel) she was often picked on and treated unfairly

Since she was weak, she clung onto the first person who gave her the slightest bit of help and blindly trusted them

Currently so different from her child self. Those who knew her back then find the change incredibly jarring (almost like she's become a completely different person)

There is something off about her. She can't seem to recall anything about her past and feels like something has been taken from her in a way

The fact that she can't recall her childhood pushes her to live in the present, she'd prefer not to look back

She is still unaware of how she got the scar on her cheek

Together :

Jiu seems to regard Kio differently, almost cautiously

As Kio arrived to the Garden late, the responsibility of looking after her fell into Jiu's hands

He was in charge of getting her acquainted with routines, past lessons, etc.

Though Jiu is normally as imperturbable as a rock, there is a unique air of awkwardness to him whenever he interacts with Kio

He refuses to look her in the eyes

Kio, for her part, tries very hard to catch up and makes sure she isn't a burden to him

His odd treatment of her makes her conscious that he dislikes her, which pushes her to work harder

Jiu is the only person who refuses to address Kio by her nickame. He only calls her Kioku, or if he can help it, doesn't refer to her by name at all

Particularly observant individuals may notice how Jiu begins to lose composure. It's incredibly subtle, so it's not obvious to others

Kio has a strange feeling about him that she just can't put her finger on.... at times it makes her uneasy

Random tidbits:

Jiu ( ジウ ) : samurai, warrior, knight. or "to serve someone of high rank or status with respect and loyalty."

( emphasis on themes of service and devotion )

Kioku ( キオク ) : literally translates to memory.

( to remember, remembrance, recollection )

Jiu's sharp strands of hair that fade to white are meant to vaguely mimic a dragon's features (two sharp fangs on his forehead, two long whiskers on the sides of his head)

Kioku vaguely resembles a bird feather.

Her eyes are wide, round, and far apart. They not only emphasize her openness, but are also reminiscent of fish eyes (associated with empty-headedness, a certain lack of something + the concept of goldfishes with bad memory)

Kio's main emotion is curiosity

Jiu's main emotion is guilt

[hyucksos]

heavy is the crown — mark lee [preview]

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural au, crime-action, angst, romance preview wc: 1.2k (actual wc: tbc) synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: closed | click here to join

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson, or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness-

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him were what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

[pinktrashgoblin]

SERIOUS POST.

This may have some uncomfortable topics. But please read this whole thing. It’s important to be transparent, and I don’t want Cin to spread more shit.

my deepest apologies to people who are just here on my blog and reblogging my work for fun.

EDIT: I can’t believe I have to say this but don’t fucking harass anyone mentioned in this post. That just reflects on YOU.

Alright, Cin. Since you want a response so bad, here ya go.

So what is this whole thing about?

User @/cintagonisupset is going around telling people this.

I’m already seeing the impacts, having my friends come to me about this. You’ve got my hands tied, so I’m making my statement.

First and foremost: I‘m not going to pretend that I didn’t make dirty jokes in my server in the past, before my birthday when I was 17, a minor myself, and before I banned such jokes last year. With 100% earnest I know this was a bad idea, and I have taken the time to be more careful about what I say around certain audiences. I am not perfect. But in his haste to fuck me up, he left out some crucial details.

1: I was 17 at the time, a minor myself, and was and still am in high school. I was a high schooler, making high-school-tier jokes in a server of other high schoolers. I am not ACTIVELY MAKING THESE JOKES like he says I am, and I do not condone the idea of doing so.

2: I am autistic. I struggle with social cues, with decision-making and so forth. I am only recently 18, but that does not mean I am mentally or emotionally mature, far from it. Mentally I am still a child. I struggle more than the average person with judgement, and often slip up around those I let my guard down around. I am working on this to avoid things such as this.

3: I am incredibly susceptible to peer pressure. In a place where those jokes were made, I wanted to feel like part of the group. So, as I often do, I mirrored behavior to feel like I fit in. I wasn’t sitting my high-school ass down and going “Let’s make raunchy jokes with kids!”, I was thinking in terms of “Maybe if I talk like them, they’ll like me and I’ll fit in somewhere” without fully realizing what everything meant, and without being able to properly process the social queues associated.

4: This was MONTHS ago. I do not actively do these things, nor condone them, I think it’s fucked up and I’ve done everything I can to be better than that. But to misrepresent the situation as me actively doing so isn’t great either.

So with that out of the way.

Do I think it was a good idea? No, absolutely not, but let’s not pretend that this is unheard of in high school and definitely on the internet. Since the dawn of time kids have made stupid jokes with one another. I was a middle schooler once and a high schooler now, I know exactly what goes on in those places. Let me restate: that doesn’t make it good, but let’s not pretend I’m the only high school kid who’s ever made a joke like that around their peers.

My point is, once this thing has become so normalized all over the place, in school, in media, it becomes difficult, especially for a neurodivergent such as myself, to deduce what to and not to do. I have fundamental principles and rules, but that does not mean I am not susceptible to being pressured into this sort of thing.

As I mentioned: I am not emotionally, or mentally, mature. I don’t know everything. I don’t fully comprehend the nuances of things. I am not always aware of what I am saying. I cannot understand social queues in the same way you do.

Make your conclusions as you will, but this is my stance, and this is the truth.

Also, maybe don’t tell people to kill themselves and that nobody likes them? Just a thought. (BTW: As mentioned I am autistic, it’s not as simple as “grow up”.)

TL;DR: I made raunchy/dirty jokes in my server when I was 17, in high school, with a bunch of other high schoolers, and Cin is telling me to end my life because of it.

Please consider my words. I have worked hard to build what I have, and feel it is important to be transparent. I want nothing but to make a positive impact on this community and the people within it. This does not mean I am perfect, but I am trying my best and my intentions are good.

Feel free to ask me, or leave opinions in the reblogs and replies. This is a conversation, not a preaching.

Also, about the art thief thing: I genuinely have no fuckin clue what he’s going on about there.

Edit: I have deleted the “P.S.” section regarding a suspicion I have to avoid further conflict.

[mjalti]

Mjalti, I wish you a lot of happiness 💖 please feel free to ignore if you have already answered some variation of this.

I have turned 19 and everybody in my life keeps telling me not to waste my precious moments now, I should maximise my potential, and do things that will make me happy to look back on decades from now. But when I ask them for advice on what exactly to focus on, everyone says "you'll probably figure it out" or "if I knew, I wouldn't be regretting my adolescence". I feel kind of scared, frustrated and lost!

All I have been doing now is studying and hanging out with my friends, I don't have much free time but I am trying to develop a few skills like whittling and playing piano. So there is nothing remarkable, and I am not thinking of romance right now. What would you advise I should push myself to do in this stage?

happy 19th, beautiful. 🎉 And honestly, I totally get where you’re coming from. Everyone loves to dish out their "wisdom" about how you should be "maximizing" your life, but nobody really tells you how to do that. On top of that, most people's "wisdom" is some fucked up revenge fantasy that can't exist organically in the natural world. When people give you advice, they often aren't even "talking" to YOU; they're talking to their younger self. And you haven't made the choices that their younger self made, so you can't speak to the regret or trauma they're processing.

At every point in life; at 18, at 20, at 25, at 35, etc there is this immense pressure to have everything figured out. It can feel like you're expected to have everything figured out, and the pressure is heavy. you know this organically but just so im sure you hear it

NO ONE has it all figured out. Not me. Not them. But it depends on (1) who is being honest about the things they do not know, (2) who is willing to share the things they honestly do know, or have learned and (3) who is emotionally mature enough to help lead you through carrying the weight of the pressures around you .

The truth is, there’s no one-size-fits-all answer to "what should I focus on?" You’re exactly where you need to be — learning, growing, exploring, and just being. And here's the kicker: even when you're just "studying and hanging out with friends" right now, you're building your future self in ways you probably can’t see yet. Those little moments, those skills, those friendships — they all matter.

But if you’re feeling restless and want to push yourself in a direction, I’d say this: dive into things that make you curious. Not things you feel like you should do, but what you actually find exciting, even if it's small or "unremarkable" to others. Maybe it's a new hobby, like your piano and whittling, or maybe it's something deeper — travel, even short trips, different perspectives, or even challenging yourself to step outside your comfort zone in other ways (like learning a new language, or just speaking up more in spaces where you feel shy, going to a therapy session to explore the concept of inner work, etc anything!!). The key is to keep your heart open to what excites you and be patient with the process. My personal tidbit is to find someone famous/set that you admire. Read their books, find what paths they followed in life, what courses they took, what adventures spoke to them, and "try" it on yourself!!

And tbh... try your best to not get too caught up in romance or any other external "milestones." Trust me, you’re in a stage of becoming, not rushing toward something. Be kind to yourself, and let your journey unfold in its own time. You are allowed to figure things out, even slowly, without that pressure to be some perfect version of yourself.

You're on the right path and when you look back, those seemingly small moments will be the ones that shaped you. Keep exploring, keep dreaming, and keep doing you because you are the only person that knows who that is and how to do that best. 💖

[kathlare]

tangled truths

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: George’s curiosity about Lando and Amelie’s past drives him to seek answers after the Monza Grand Prix.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

September 12th, 2021 - Monza, Italy

George Russell was on a mission.

He had one task and one task only—find out what had happened between Lando and Amelie.

It wasn’t just any curiosity; it was a fucking obsession. The entire paddock knew Lando and Amelie had been close at one point, but then—poof—they disappeared from each other’s orbit. And now? Nobody knew what the hell was going on. But Charles and Alex were itching for gossip, and George, well, he was the most likely to get it. He thrived on this shit.

The Monza Grand Prix had just wrapped up, and McLaren had absolutely smashed it—1st and 2nd place. George had been there to congratulate both of them, but his mind was elsewhere. He was already scanning the paddock, looking for Lando. He had a gut feeling that after today, Lando would be in a good mood. That was when George could slip in the questions, play the role of the casual friend.

It didn’t take long for George to spot Lando, standing near the McLaren garage, chatting with a couple of team members. He had that relaxed look on his face, the kind George knew meant the guy was about to have a nice drink or two. Perfect.

George casually made his way over, hands in his pockets, wearing that trademark grin.

—Congrats, mate. P2’s no joke, and behind Danny? That’s a fucking dream finish for McLaren.— George clapped Lando on the shoulder, grin wide.

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his damp curls. —Yeah, feels pretty unreal, not gonna lie. Could’ve had P1, though.—

—Always the competitive one, huh?— George teased, rocking back on his heels. He let the conversation flow naturally—didn’t want to spook him too soon. —So, celebrating tonight?—

—Maybe. Gotta see what the team’s up to first.— Lando’s gaze flicked somewhere over George’s shoulder, already restless.

George took the opening, tilting his head slightly. —Speaking of celebrating... Heard Amelie’s been having a time of her life lately. Cabo, right?—

The shift was instant. Lando’s smile tightened, his shoulders tensed just enough for George to notice. Jackpot.

—Dunno. Haven’t talked to her.— Lando’s voice was clipped, but George had known him long enough to recognize the crack beneath the indifference.

George raised an eyebrow, fighting the smirk threatening to creep onto his face. Oh, this was good.

—Haven’t talked to her?— He echoed, feigning innocence. —That’s weird. You guys used to be like, inseparable. Always in each other’s business, making the rest of us feel like third wheels.—

Lando’s jaw clenched for a second before he forced out a laugh, shaking his head. —Not really.—

George tilted his head. —Come on, mate. You expect me to believe that?—

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab his phone but stopped himself. Interesting.

—People grow apart,— Lando muttered, looking anywhere but at George.

That was bullshit.

George knew bullshit when he heard it.

—So you’re telling me you just... what? Woke up one day and decided to cut her out of your life?— He narrowed his eyes. —Nah. Doesn’t sound like you, mate. You’re many things, but you’re not cold like that.—

Lando’s lips pressed into a thin line. His patience was thinning, George could tell.

—It’s not that simple.—

Bingo.

—So something did happen.— George leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. —Look, I don’t need the whole sob story. Just give me the highlights. Did you fuck up, or did she?—

Lando exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening again.

Silence.

George watched him carefully. Lando was debating something—probably whether or not to tell him to fuck off.

Finally, Lando let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. —I don’t know, mate. Maybe we both did.—

George’s curiosity skyrocketed. He was getting somewhere now.

—You ever think about fixing it?— he asked, voice more genuine now.

Lando’s entire body went rigid, and for a second, George thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then...

—Not everything is fixable, George.—

The way he said it, the sharp edge to his voice, made George pause. There was something deeper there—something messy.

But before George could push further, Lando sighed, shaking his head. His expression shifted, something more guarded settling in.

—Besides, you know, I have a girlfriend now.— His tone was flat, passive-aggressive.

Oh.

George let out a low whistle, rocking back on his heels. That was a loaded fucking statement.

—Right. Luisinha,— he said, watching Lando closely. —Good girl. Pretty, too.—

Lando just hummed in response, but he looked distracted.

And just like that, George had all the confirmation he needed.

Whatever had happened between Lando and Amelie, it hadn’t been small. It wasn’t just a falling out. It was something bigger, something that still clawed at Lando even now.

George didn’t know what, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

For now, though, he decided to back off.

—Well, mate, enjoy the win.— George clapped him on the back again, his grin returning. —I’ll be around if you ever decide to spill your guts. Just saying.—

Lando rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

George found Charles and Alex near the paddock exit, both leaning against a barrier like a couple of kids waiting for gossip to drop from the sky.

—Well?— Charles asked the second George approached, his eyes wide with anticipation.

—Did you get anything?— Alex added, practically bouncing on his heels.

George stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting the suspense hang in the air just to mess with them.

—Relax, you nosy fuckers.— He smirked, enjoying the moment. —But yeah, something definitely happened.—

—Knew it!— Charles clapped his hands together. —What did he say?—

—Not much, but you should’ve seen his face when I mentioned Amelie. Went from “yay, P2” to “shit, my life’s a mess” in two seconds flat.—

Alex whistled low, exchanging a look with Charles. —So they did fall out, huh?—

—Yeah, but he didn’t spill the details. Just said, “Maybe we both fucked up” and threw in the whole I have a girlfriend now line like that explains everything,— George added with a shrug.

—Ouch.— Charles winced, rubbing the back of his neck. —That sounds... complicated.—

—No shit. I tried suggesting they talk it out, but he practically bit my head off. So yeah, I’d say they’re not sending each other Christmas cards anytime soon.—

—Well, that explains why Amelie hasn’t been around.— Alex sighed, exchanging a glance with Charles. —I kinda hoped they’d work it out, you know? They were—well, are—good together.—

—Yeah, well, something tells me this isn’t one of those “happily ever after” stories.— George adjusted the strap of his bag and took a step back. —But hey, never say never. People surprise you.—

With that, he waved them off and disappeared down the paddock, already wondering how long it would take before someone—probably Charles—tried poking the bear again.

Because if there was one thing George knew for sure, it was that this wasn’t the end of the Lando-and-Amelie saga. Not by a long shot.

[mugloversonly]

Christmas Pie

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: DESSERT @steddiemas prompt: EGGNOG, BAKING wc: 989 rating: G CW: NA summary: Steve is back in Hawkins, missing Eddie. But at least he has Wayne to keep him company. ao3

Steve sighed as knocked on Wayne’s door. Last week went by too quickly and now he was back home, waiting for Eddie.

“Steve! Come in.” Wayne smiled as he opened the door, waving him inside. “I just finished the eggnog. Eddie hates it, so the only time I can drink it in peace is during these few weeks. You aint gonna complain are ya?” He asked good-naturedly. Steve huffed a laugh.

“No, I actually like eggnog.” He knocked the snow off his boots before he tucked them into the corner. “Don’t tell Eddie I said that.”

“You’re secret’s safe with me.” Wayne chuckled. The two men made their way to the kitchen, one of the reasons Steve was here today was to learn how to make Eddie’s favorite Christmas dessert. But when he walked in, he was extremely confused.

“What are these?” He asked. Wayne pat him on the shoulder.

“Cranberries. Ed’s favorite is Cranberry Lemon Christmas pie. Granny Munson’s recipe.” Wayne stepped into the kitchen and waved Steve forward.

“Huh, for some reason I assumed it would be something sweeter.” Steve chuckled. Eddie had a sweet tooth like nobody’s business, so he thought it was a fair assumption. The two men washed their hands and began prepping the pie. As they worked they talked; this was one of only a handful of times Steve has talked to Wayne without Eddie present.

“What was Eddie like as a kid?” Steve asked as they kneaded the pie dough.

“Rambunctious as all get out. He’d get into all kinds of trouble.” Wayne laughed. “I remember this one time, his mama stormed into the trailer after church. Now, we was just at church together, mind. So, in the ten minutes we’d been separated, Eddie tore his new dress playing in the dirt with the other boys. I laughed and said ‘I told y’all to buy the kid some church pants.’��� Steve paused his hands.

“A dress? But Eddie’s...Eddie.” Steve said confused. Wayne gave him a calculated look..

“Eddie didn’t have the words to explain that he wasn’t a girl, at least not that young. Now, I had some idea, but his parents were surprised as all get out.” Wayne said softly. “It’s why he lived with me.”

“You had some idea?” Steve asked. Was Wayne like Eddie?”

“When I was sent to Nam, I met a man. We was close, so close in fact that it could have gotten us kicked out of service.” Wayne raised his eyebrows at Steve. “But when we came back, he wanted to end it between us. Said, that he wasn’t all that truthful.” Wayne smiled. “Said he wasn’t really a man named Sean, but a woman named Sheila. Said she was sorry for making me think she was a man, but she couldn’t pretend to be Sean anymore.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, pie forgotten for the moment.

“Ask Eddie to tell you about his spitfire Aunt Sheila some time.” Wayne smiled fondly. “She died from cancer a while back. That orange stuff hurt a lot of people.” Wayne sighed. “I woulda married that girl, if the law looked past what a person looked like.” Steve thought about that for a moment.

“Did you know before Eddie told you?” Steve asked.

“Sheila did. Said she recognized similar behaviors from her childhood to Ed’s just..in reverse.” Wayne tried his best to explain. “She was the first person he told. Then me. Then his parents.”

“What did they do?” Steve asked when Wayne didn’t seem to continue.

“Not good things Steve. Like I said, there’s a reason Eddie finished growing up with me.” Wayne said, a certain finality in his voice. Steve took the hint and went back to safer topics.

It was after the pies were cooling that Eddie finally called. “Hey, Eds. How are you?” Steve asked when it was his turn, he let Wayne go first; partially because that was his son, but also because Steve didn’t want a timeline on his call with Eddie.

“I’m alright. Miss you, sweetheart.” Eddie sighed. Steve could hear him getting comfortable in the hotel bed.

“I miss you, too. But I learned how to make your favorite pie!” Steve said enthused. But instead of a happy reaction, Eddie groaned.

“Was it cranberry lemon?” He asked apprehensively.

“Yes?” He responded confused. Eddie sighed, resigned to his fate.

“I told Granny I liked it one time as a kid because she was old and I thought she was dying. Turns out she wasn’t I just didn’t know what old people looked like. Then she made it every year ‘specially for me, so I was stuck eating that pie every year while I hated it. I thought when she died the pie would die with her, but nope, here Wayne is making it nearly fifteen years later.” He paused for effect.

Steve burst into laughter. “Why not just tell him?”

“He’ll be mad he wasted so many years making it. Promise me you’ll take that to the grave Harrington!” Eddie groused down the phone. He thought about dragging it out, but Steve remembered how happy Wayne was and couldn’t do it.

“Alright, alright. I won’t tell him.” Steve held his hands up as if Eddie could see him. “It’s late, I should let you get some sleep.” He whispered.

“Still want to move to LA. Stevie?” Eddie asked like he does every night.

“Yeah, see you at Christmas?” Steve asked hopefully.

“See you at Christmas.” Eddie promised.

As he laid in Eddie’s bed, he closed his eyes, imagined himself in LA. A band husband, a small business owner, with an amazing house, a kid or two they adopted, some pets. He saw the two of them with a rock solid foundation that wouldn’t have been possible if Steve moved in at the beginning of their relationship. The ability to be individuals was freeing.

He hated he’d have to admit Robin was right.

tags

@katyawriteswhump

buy me a coffee

[certainty2witch]

For Crocodad theory, imagine if the way everyone finds out isn't either of them admitting it. It's Sengoku being mad after the events of Marineford and deciding to hand over declassified info on the revolutionary army, collected by Cypher Pole, which proves that Crocodile is Luffy's birth parent, to Big News Morgan. Imagine everyone has just started their two years of training when they pick up the daily newspaper and right on the cover is confirmation that Crocodile is Luffy's parent.

Since you mentioned the revolutionary army, I suppose you’re talking about my revolutionary crocodile au, even if you talked about Marineford.

And i take some time for adding a bit of lore for my au because is important:

(Answer for anon’s ask after the ‼️‼️‼️)

Crocodile was never evil and with so he never did something wrong in Alabasta. But, he’s still a warlord, and a fake pirate, because he’s a revolutionary undercover.

But let’s say that the marines discovered Crocodile is a revolutionary and that’s a way for putting him in impel down?

Iva obliviously, since is there too, save him and bring him at level 5.5, they both wait for the right moment for escaping (imagine Croc being uncomfortable around all that extravagant people, he doesn’t like loud people, and Iva likes to torment him because they think Croc miss Dragon and Croc says he doesn’t.

Is the truth btw he just wanna run into Dragon’s arms and kissing him).

And with so, Impel down arc happens, but Croc is always with Iva instead of being locked at level 6. His reaction to his son almost dead is pretty devastating, just imagine that… I mentioned in a recent post that they have a deep and special bond when Luffy was little. With older Luffy this keep existing!

So Marineford is pretty the same with Doflamingo bothering him (lmao, sorry babe your love is busy with the world’s worst criminal, he’s not a single man), with him protecting Ace (this time for Luffy and only for him💕) and other canon stuff.

And he suffers seeing his son losing his sense after his brother’s death. He obliviously protect him and Jinbe from Akainu (in every au he always saves him in that scene *sigh* good daddy).

So after Marineford he and Luffy separate, and he finally reunite with Dragon.

‼️‼️‼️

And now about the ask.

But first i add little warning.

Cw //mention of gender dysphoria!

Somehow Sengoku knows and decides to reveal everything (my god you should just close that trap sometimes, stupid marine) I honestly can’t imagine why he would know something like that, maybe due to Garp? (Close that trap too!!) because yep Garp knows Croc is trans and Luffy’s other dad.

Crocodile never liked the idea of people knowing his secret: him being Luffy’s other parent. He knows in that world people like him are seeing in a bad way and if others will discover he isn’t cis, my god I’m sure people will keep misgendering him… and he would hate that. I imagine his past full of transphobic people, keep using wrong pronouns with him and forcing him to just be like “Mother Nature made him”… you know useless things like this. So well he grow up frustrated and angry, Iva was his light, the revolutionary army were his light. Even after hrt, Crocodile felt the oppression of not being cis (mostly when he got pregnant of Luffy). But in this Au, he with the support of others started to feeling more and more comfortable just being himself. He’s not cis? Who cares!

But if people will discover he is Luffy’s dad too and with so, the father that gave birth to him, i like to imagine him asking his friends (and love) some support. He is more comfortable being trans, but something like that is hard to handle anyway, because nobody asked for his consent! If that was his secret, and he wanted to keep that hidden, well there’s a reason.

I hope I explained everything at least in a decent way, feel free to ask for some more if you are curious or to ask something else in the ask box.

And correct me or tell me to change something, if you think is inappropriate please.

For a dear anon that i still didn’t answer, if you are seeing this, just know that your idea inspired me. I will draw what you said, because I know what to draw hehe but i need time because i have other art first 🙏🏻