#i do imagine this as a place in game where a player could reach and set him free with visions he gives them in game

[karekuat]

Call of the Witch

I did a short creative writing piece from the perspective of my Bloodborne OC. If you don't know much about Bloodborne lore it probably won't make much sense, but it follows my character from the Hamlet as he's sealed asleep.

I don't tend to write a lot, and I'm not like super confident in my writing but I'm okay with how it turned out so I figured I'd post it cuz why not

Headsup warning that this ofc involves some of my headcanons/interpretations of the Bloodborne Lore

I slumbered…

I watched them through their nightmares. It was the only place I could open my eyes. See, nightmares tend to mirror the reality, with the fine details only being slightly warped by fear and greed. I understood the world as it had progressed around me, and there was a deep burning inside my heart. 

It seemed sickening to me, that there was a clear double standard nobody living within the wretched city of Yharnam dared to confront. That the monsters they purged every night on the hunt were treated the same as the ones who live in hamlets far away. For them it was a disease, the mistake of filthy intemperance made manifest under the guise of faith, and for us it was a blessing, it brought abundance and life. And yet, in the eyes of the envious, our monsters were the same as theirs. 

Perhaps I am being too inconsiderate. 

Over the years I have watched the hunters evolve over generations, from scholars to priests, and I have only seen the same cycle of abuse as Yharnam matured into the hell it is today. The vilebloods, Kos rest their soul, struggle to keep their kind alive as they hide in the shadows. Their Queen lies eternally imprisoned. Yharnamites both poor and wealthy succumb to the illness, victims of the institution dedicated to their health. There are only a handful of souls who I’ve found carrying within them a sense of justice, who see with eyes unclouded by faith and fortune.

When I watch them, I smell smoke and gunpowder. I feel the fear of slow poison and the warmth of flames. Their monsters are their people. It reminds me of home. 

I called out…

For the first time in what felt like decades, the burning felt bright. I could almost feel my body again. There was a man amongst these smoke-scented hunters who’s mind felt balanced. He was not opposed to violence as a means of justice, not unlike the others, but he carried within him a sense of morality and soulful strength that was… Different.

I called to him. Gentle. He would not hear my voice in the way he’d think his own thoughts, he was not the first person I’d spoken to in this state. Others had perceived me like a song they’d never heard before, or the sound of rain during a clear day. He would not see me, but he would know my presence. I beckoned his thoughts when he was asleep, and I learned of him, of his family and desires. I learned his skill and his craftsmanship. 

While I’m sure he had felt offput the first few times I approached him in his dreams, as time went on it seemed almost as if he enjoyed my company during the resting hours. His mind would open to me every night in a welcoming effort to connect to my presence. I could exist comfortably in both his dreams and nightmares. He wouldn’t fight me. 

I need to wake up…

There was a lurking desperation I felt every time I sensed the moon rise. My existence in the waking world was that of darkness. My body was numb. I could not see nor use my voice. Sometimes, when I tried, I could hear the sound of rain and thunder in the hamlet outside. There was always the presence of two with me, but they were not comforting. They’d been appointed there to make sure I never woke up. 

In the beginning I had tried to beckon them in their dreams, but they’d quickly become aware of my efforts and had their allies develop new substances to keep me out. 

Those who used the substances sparingly did so because their hatred and fear outweighed their guilt. They had nightmares about me breaking loose. Waking from my forced slumber and killing them with their own sins. In their dying moments they’d watch me emerge from where they had kept me sedated: a dark cave blocked off by an intricately carved door, water flooding down into my cell. The cavern path led to the basement of a hamlet house that was boarded up from the inside. The only entrance was through a window on the second floor, and a trap laid in wait for any who dared to seek my prison.

I knew all of this because they knew all of this, and in those nightmares I would venture past the hamlet and return to Yharnam to bring vengeance to those responsible for the death of my people and Our Mother. 

It was the only time I felt peace… 

[luvgavii]

color me jealous - (pg8)

summary: jealous pedri featuring rúben mf dias ;) (model!reader)

dedicated to all the pedri girls <3

You were smiling at your phone while you sipped on the expensive champagne, replaying your Instagram story over and over again, the imagine you posted of the flowers your boyfriend sent to your dressing room before your modelling show never failing to spread a smile to your face. But of course, your happy moment had to be interrupted.

Turning on your heels, a strong scent of perfume met your nose as two arms wrapped tightly around you, the elder woman air kissing your cheeks.

“you were absolutely beautiful up there, y/n!” The lady, one of whom dresses you wore tonight spoke in an elegant voice yet thick accent you could only recognise as french.

“thank you! the dress was beautiful,” you smiled brightly, the woman giving your hands a squeeze, whispering another few rounds of praises before disappearing somewhere in the gallery to mingle with the rest of the stuck up, posh people. You knew you had to join them, but your thoughts were filled with one person only.

You looked around, your eyes scanning every table, every single corner of the big gallery for Pedri, yet you could not spot him anywhere.

A frown crept to your face, a thousand thoughts filling your mind.

‘did he leave early?’

‘why would he leave before coming up to you, kissing you and telling you he’s proud of you?’

���maybe he had a football emergency?’

‘football emergency this late?’

“I saw Pedri outside taking a phone call a few minutes ago,” the familiar voice of Rúben Dias came from behind you, making your eyes widen as you whipped your head around, meeting Rúben’s warm smile and eyes.

“Rú? What are you doing here?” You asked, a chuckle escaping your lips as you went in to hug the tall man.

Rúben laughed, wrapping his arms around you before speaking, “As if I’d miss out on seeing you on that runway,” his smile could almost reach his ears as he looked down at you.

While any other girl would absolutely melt under Rúben’s eyes, you always made sure to keep a respectful distance, first because you had Pedri who was your person in every possible way and second because you didn’t want to fuel into Rúben’s flirting too much. You were loving the attention, though.

“thank you! I appreciate it,” you smiled, you were happy to see him, the last time you two had hung out was a long time ago when you were modelling in England, but the Man City player always seemed to have some interest in you, even before you started going out with Pedri a few months ago.

You and Rúben have always been friendly, sure, he was always playful flirting with you, but whatever attraction you had felt for the portuguese has quickly disappeared when you met Pedri. As soon as Rúben had posted a picture of the two of you at the gala, arms wrapped around your shoulders as your hand rested on his chest, the fans and media went wild.

It didn’t take long for the fans to figure out where the location of the after party of your modelling agency took place, and while Pedri was on the phone with his manager, he couldn’t help the frown on his face when the fans a few feet away were chanting Rúben Dias’ name.

You met Pedri almost six months ago when your best friend insisted on going to a Barcelona game, and while you didn’t know much about football at the time, your interest was quickly growing when you saw the man who wore number 8. With the help of a friend of a friend, who happened to be married to one of the players, you stuck around long enough to meet them after the game and you and Pedri became inseparable ever since.

He was confused as to why in the world there were people holding Man City jerseys, chanting the name of another football player, until he checked Instagram and saw the photo that was now on every gossip page. People were speculating, asking if you and him had broken up so short after hard launching your relationship and Pedri hated that more than he liked to admit. He hated being in the spotlight with things like these but he hated even more the way Rúben fucking Dias held his arm around you.

Back inside, you were laughing at whatever Rúben had said, your head falling back and your nose scrunching in that adorable way Pedri always said he adores.

Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, your mind repeated over and over again.

Your eyes met across the room, his brown eyes softening when your gazes locked. His eyes hid some kind of harshness in them, and you could immediately tell that there was something bothering him, and that something happened to start with an ‘R’ and end with an ‘úben’.

While it was morally wrong to fuel Pedri’s jealousy, you couldn’t help yourself and keeping your boyfriend on his toes wouldn’t hurt.

Your palm pressed against Rúben’s bicep as you leaned up to whisper something in his ear, Pedri’s eye twitching while he watched from afar, wondering what the hell you could’ve said that got Rúben smiling so brightly. He clenched the glass of whiskey harder in his hands until his knuckles turned white and for a second Pedri considered calling Gavi to help him commit murder, knowing his best friend would definitely help dig away the body.

“you’re really trying to tick Pedri off, huh?” Rúben laughed, making you chuckle and making Pedri picture his murder in graphic detail.

“he’s really sweet, I like it when he gets a bit rough and jealous sometimes,” you laughed, shaking your head at Rúben, your eyes meeting the familiar chocolate brown orbs.

“what, like, throw you to the wall rough?” Rúben raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help the smile that spread to his lips.

“no, not like that,” you laughed knowing you were not about to discuss your sex life with Rúben, at the after party of your show.

“mi amor?” you heard the soft, familiar voice calling out for you, both you and Rúben turning to see Pedri.

He looked almost sad, and you couldn’t help the pain in your chest when you saw that disappointed glimmer in your boyfriend’s eyes which was probably because you barely got to see him after the show. The quicky in your dressing room before hitting the runway was good tho.

“can I talk to you for a second?” Pedri dragged his voice, his eyes falling from Rúben to you, not caring how rude the other football player might consider him, “alone.”

You nodded and bid Rúben goodbye, thanking him for coming. Pedri was still a golden retriever, so even if he was slightly pissed off because you paid so much attention to Rúben, he still shook his hand.

“looking forward to that friendly,” Rúben said with a slight tease in his voice, making Pedri clench his jaw, he barely recognized himself, he was never this jealous.

“I’m looking forward to rearranging your jaw—“ Pedri muttered under his breath as you and him walked away, his words caused you to laugh and hit his shoulder.

“can you not? he was nice to you,” you chuckled, stopping in a secluded spot in the gallery.

“by flirting with you all night? damn, we have different definitions for ‘nice’,” Pedri huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

Jealousy, rage and so much love and affection was in them. No matter how much you annoyed him, Pedri never seemed to be able to lash out at you and that was the greenest flag you could think of.

“you did that on purpose didn’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when you smiled cheekily, your arms wrapping around his waist and your chin resting on his chest, “you’re so annoying,” Pedri mumbled when he realised all that overly friendly stuff with Rúben was an act.

“you love meee,” you chuckled, laughing at Pedri’s narrowed eyes, knowing he was either plotting your murder or thinking of how to get you back.

His lips curled into a grin, his nose rubbing against yours as he spoke against your lips, “too much, mi estrella.”

[sc0tters]

Dreams Awakened | Jack Hughes

summary: when Jack gets caught in the midst of your dreams, it’s only fair he helps you.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v, oral (fem receiving!), swearing.

word count: 2.67k

authors note: this was meant to be the soft sex for jacks birthday (before we get to something real big) but I got busy and sprained my ankle so this is shorter than I wanted but here it is and better late than ever really!

All he wanted was you.

Before Jack didn’t mind when the team was sent on their long roadtrips, he never understood why it mattered so much to the married players as they’d complain. Jack consistently enjoyed the time away from the city as it felt like a break.

But now it all changed for him once he met you, the girl next door all bright eyed for her change of scenery which was meant to be a big fuck you to your past friends who thought you couldn’t do it. Your new beginnings quickly led to you ending up in Jacks bed a few times before you both agreed to make it official and within six months of that when your lease was set to soon expire, Jack offered up a permanent place at his.

From that moment on he knew all too well why his teammates hated those long roadies, being away from you for that long felt like torture. And now after doing it for two and a half years he swore it never got easier, yet the arrivals home seemed to get more sweet. This time they came back directly after the Dallas game and even as the clock on his phone showed 02:34 Jack still hoped that you were awake so he could talk to you.

It wasn’t that he had anything on his mind, he just missed the way he could see you in person. But that idea was quickly tarnished when he noticed that all but the light in your bedroom was off. The crack under the door revealed the glow of the bulb, making the boy drop his bag in excitement.

Even as he let the door burst open you didn’t move a muscle, in fact, you had fallen asleep on his side clutching his pillow as you lay with your ass in the air and only his shirt and a pair of panties on. He couldn’t help but crack a grin at the sight, you looked perfect as you lay there and Jack was ready to push his desires away. You knew all too well about how he wanted to fuck his girl in her sleep once just to feel it, and you gave him the green light to do it whenever he wanted because you figured it’d be a good time for you.

With your blessings he still found himself reaching for your blanket as he felt sick. You were meant to be his sweet girl, not someone he could just use like a toy to fulfil his needs “Jack.” Your moan made him freeze with a blanket in his arms ready to cover you up.

You wriggled your hips and as your eyes were still shut. He quickly realised that you were in the midst of a wet dream as your fingers gripped at the sheet beneath you.

Jack felt his jaw soften as his lips turned to a smirk “my horny little girl huh?” He muttered to himself as he ran his fingers over the edge of your panties looking at the table where your vibrator sat.

You always got horny at the ends of his road trips when the phone sex would no longer cut it and you were left imagining what he would do to you. Like him, you hated the long roadtrips because no matter how hard you tried, your fingers were no match for his.

As Jack felt his suit bottoms grow tight against his cock he loosened the button of his shirt “wanna be-good girl.” Your words came out gurgled as your lips formed a pout “fuck baby.” Jack let out a grunt as he let the vibrator sit between his fingers.

The gummy material was something he wasn’t unfamiliar with as the hot pink toy ended up in your relationship as a joke when he said you’d need a friend, and has since never left. He turned it onto the lowest setting looking back to make sure you were still asleep before he pressed it against your clit.

The fabric of your panties were quick to grow soaked at the fact that he had left those on you “ah.” You moaned arching your back further to give him an even better view as his shirt rose up on your body.

It was a sight Jack was never going to get tired of as he made the vibrator’s speed increase “mhm.” You let out a whimper as Jack swore he was now caught when your head went deeper into the pillow, but still you were asleep.

He watched on for another minute before you began to babble on about how you were close “please.” You whined finally making him pull away from you. Even as you were sleeping the pleasure dissipated from between your legs making you pout in disappointment.

Jack smiled at the sight letting his tongue coat his lips in wetness as he placed the vibrator onto the table. He let his hands grace over the waistband of your panties before he stealthily pulled them down. Still you remained sound asleep and now he even had the sight of how wet you were in front of him.

The soft purrs left your lips as he rubbed your ass “can’t believe I always let you go for so long.” He grumbled to himself as he shifted his legs trying to find a comfortable place to be sat in that moment.

He found himself sat on the mattress as he blew cool air against your cunt “mhm.” You mumbled driving your hips closer to him “always such a needy little cunt.” He cooed licking up a stripe against your cunt.

It made you moan as he froze looking up at you “you’re such a pretty fucking girl.” Jack explained as he used his hands to spread your ass cheeks so that he could taste you properly.

The hockey player enjoyed the taste treating you like his last meal as he lapped at your cunt like a starved man “Jack.” Your moans seemed deeper as his tongue sucked at your clit.

Your eyes blinked open adjusting to the light around you “hi pretty girl.” Jack cooed causing your head to lift from the pillow as you looked at him.

He smirked thrusting his fingers into your core as he leaned over you so that he could get to your neck “fuck.” You whimpered feeing his lips nip at your skin “was thinking about you all damn week.” Jack confessed as he kissed your jaw.

You gripped at the sheets beneath you “missed you.” You confessed letting your voice break as you clenched around his fingers “couldn’t get this fucking sight out of my mind.” The hockey player explained as he let his hand slap your ass.

The action made you moan as you jumped feeling his thumb circle your clit “make me cum.” You pleaded wriggling your ass against him “that’s the first fucking thing you ask for when I’m home huh?” Jack laughed as he shook his head increasingly the speed of his fingers as he curled them into the gummy walls of your cunt.

Jack’s cock throbbed as he watched you spread your legs further “honestly think we should put you in my suitcase.” He confessed as he inserted another finger into your cunt “can’t help missing this needy cunt.” The boy added as he sped up his pace, making sure that he got every spot of your walls including your gspot.

He was grateful for the fact that Luke had moved out as your door was now able to be wide open, yet still you kept your hand over your mouth “doll you wanna cum then I better fucking hear ya beg for it.” He grunted feeling his cock grow uncomfortable in his pants “please baby.” You pleaded seeing his eyes stare into yours.

His silence served as a reminder to the fact that you hadn’t done nearly enough to convince him “missed you so much Jacky.” Your eyes filled with tears as your legs began to shake “just wanna make a mess on your fingers so I.” You cut yourself off as you moaned feeling your toes curl.

Jack let his free hand go under your shirt now letting his weight go dangerously close to sitting on top of you “so you what?” He taunted you as he smirked letting you feel the way his lips curved upwards against your skin “can fuck your cock.” That was all enough for him as he swore he could have cum on the spot.

He kissed your ear as your moans echoed in his ears bouncing off of the walls “let me finish ya off then huh princess?” Jack mumbled giving you the green light to cum.

The both of you loved getting the chance to be this close as it felt like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in years “don’t stop Jack.” You begged letting your head drop to the pillow as you clenched around his fingers.

Your eyes screwed shut as white dots scattered over your vision when you got your first proper orgasm in over a week “there we go pretty girl.” He cooed brushing his fingers through your hair as you came down from your high.

A flurry of whimpers flew from your lips as you felt his fingers release from your cunt, causing your release to ooze down your slit “fuck Jacky.” Your words were soft as you let out a cough smiling as you looked up at him.

He was quick to roll you over, letting the space between your legs get taken up by him “missed ya.” Jack confessed as he kissed your lips.

The moment was soft as your hands cupped his cheeks letting your hands rub over his skin “why don’t we get you out of this?” Sure Jack loved the way his clothes looked on you, but in that moment he wanted you in as little as possible.

As cooler air came around you, a whine slipped from your lips as the both of you were now sat up straight “you’re too clothed.” You grumbled making him laugh as he sat back on his feet “think you should help me then.” He joked letting that same smirk come back to his lips as you began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

It was clear you were desperate as his clothes quickly formed a pile on the ground “god I’ve missed this.” Jack groaned ripping open the wrapper to his condom as he watched your eyes light up “seems like you have too.” As he rolled the condom over his cock he couldn’t help but kiss your lips.

You lay back down with a stupid grin lacing your face “think I should go nice and slow-” Jack loved teasing you when you were overly eager “I know you didn’t just wake me up without fucking me.” You grumbled propping yourself up by your elbows.

If this was any other day he would have laughed, but in that moment he just wanted you to ruin you “fucking hell.” You both groaned feeling him bottom you out.

His forehead pressed against yours as he gave you the chance to adjust to his size, always having the same effect on you that he had the first time around “please move.” You whimpered trying to move your hips to create some kind of friction “look at you all needy again.” Jack taunted bringing your legs closer to him as he brought them over his shoulders.

The movement made you squeal feeling Jack peck at your lips. It was what you loved most with him as he found the way to make you feel like you were playfully in love “missed this cunt.” He confessed as he began thrusting his hips as he wanted to feel every inch of you again.

You whimpered in agreement “kept on thinking bout you.” You babbled on as the bed creaked beneath you “wanted your cock so bad.” You clenched around him remembering how needy you felt seeing him get into a few fights on screen.

He let his hand crawl up your skin “don’t think I ever wanna leave you again.” Jack announced as he watched his chain drop to your chin “already told Neeks I’d fucking murder him if he made me leave ya tomorrow.” The boy added as you lifted your lips up to kiss him swearing that this had to be a dream.

His cock continued to push deeper into your gummy walls as you clenched around him “you carry on doing that and I’m not going last.” Jack warned dropping his head to your breasts.

The coil in your stomach tightened as his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking at the sensitive bud trying to bring forth your second orgasm before he came like an excited teenage boy. His message to himself was always that you had to come first, and that was no different tonight.

You had one hand gripping at your sheets and the other at his hair wanting him to stay there “please don’t stop.” You begged feeling your legs begin to shake.

He brought his lips up looking at you to see you staring back in awe, as the sight of broken saliva trailing from his lips made you squirm “wanna milk your cock.” You whined letting moans echo off of the walls.

It made him throb against your walls “wish I could make a mess.” Both of you weren’t ready for kids but still he couldn’t deny his desires to mark you up like some little whore.

You moaned letting the thought crowed your mind “please baby.” You nodded letting your fingers slide between your bodies to attack your clit.

But Jack was all that much quicker as he slapped your hand away looking back up at you “it’s gonna be me that makes you cum.” He explained with a scoff feeling his jaw tighten “please Jacky.” Your lips were swollen from how you chewed at it and your pupils were blown.

The sight alone was enough to make him nod as he let his fingers strum at your clit like he was playing a guitar “go on baby.” He cooed moving closer to you as skin slapped together when he kissed you.

It was enough to silence your moans as you came feeling the coil snap in your stomach quickly triggering on his orgasm “oh my god.” Your chest heaved as you caught your breath making him laugh “it’s just me princess.” He grinned as you scoffed going to argue with him when he pulled out of you.

Your eyelids grew heavy as he watched you lay on his side of the bed “really did miss you.” Jack confessed as he softly kissed your lips wanting to still feel you.

He watched you grin as he rubbed his thumb over your cheek “you want a bath, shower or bed?” The hockey player asked not wanting to care that it was well beyond a suitable time to be awake anymore.

You chewed at the inside of your cheek “you gonna put my bath bomb in?” Your voice was soft as he nodded “and those bath salts you like so much.”

After the late night that the two of you had, it was no surprise that all you wanted was to sleep in. Craving Jacks warmth as you were practically falling onto his side edging closer to him.

But that only lasted so long as your eyes stirred open hearing the sound of knocking at your door “baby should I get it?” Jack asked hearing the knocks get louder.

Your groans deterred him from it, ultimately making him laugh “if you even think about it I will murder you Hughes.” You warned pulling him in closer with you.

From the other side of the door stood John and Dawson “why do you think that Nico told us Jack wanted to see us?”

[thatdeadaquarius]

Topic: Genshin impact.

au: Sagau.

idea: So what if you had the powers of every character you played as in every game you played and then get isekaid into genshin impact with imposter au. I imagine it goes smth like

Zhongli: “I will have order!”

reader, Who played Roblox as someone who lagged the game (explanation: I’m pretty sure ping is also how time works in games. If you can control the flow of ping you can control the flow of time in games.): “ZA WARUDO!”

Heyyy!! Thanks for waiting for the reply/response from my slow ass :0

So they did clarify what they meant/expand so imma just copy paste that here!

“k now I remember. So basically imma write it here since it’s easier: Basically you don’t have to (but you can) transform into the character that has those set of powers but if you do those powers are enhanced.”

Sun: Reader (”you”/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, Light Imposter AU (as in, NOT Yandere/Dark), mild crossover elements bc Shapeshifter Shenanigans™️

Stars: bro idek

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, genshin typical mild violence, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

so fair warning,, ive never seen jojo bizarre, but i appreciate i come off well-read/watched? LMAO

so im just gonna kinda,, guess? like just cycle thru diff. random media, and im hoping both me and you reading this will have a fun time (as this is a little challenge, but i like it so ill give it a shot, dont kno if its a good one but- 😅)

so to set the scene, of how u got to this point, ykno of running like ur life (maybe?) depends on u running around different teyvat countries,

u thought it was weird everyone knew a little too much about you?? (ofc theyve heard u during gaming, they know u the same way we all know Markiplier, get it?)

then a bunch of NPCs/Vision users/Archons?? were REALLY invested in talking to you, which freaked u out even more

and by the time you saw Zhongli, yknow, just the oldest god in game, making a fast-walk towards you, ykno the retired god who didnt move an inch when an old water god attacked Liyue for a test, is now hurrying to you???

ur logically get so fucking scared sm shits abt to go down, u just start running

it isnt until ur reaching for a ledge and some webbing shoots out of ur arm (from a glitchy little spot on ur arm, where it could be coming out of ur skin, but sometimes its a blue and red bracelet)

it latched onto the nearest building, and thats how u find out u can grapple ur way, literally Spiderman style, out of the harbor

and bro, idk if it would be fun, or confusing and stressful, or maybe both?? to just find out u can use any video game power from any game youve played before as you go running from countries bc for some freaky reason they know too much abt you/are pursuing you-

dUDE- they had small statues of you in like every little section of their cities

u head to Mondstadt and as Venti comes screaming and flying at you (in excitement, but ur freaked), u go to hold a hand up and suddenly ur holding a heavy stone tablet that unleashes some holographic yellow chains that freeze him in place-?? why is this familiar-

oh my god u have the sheikah slate from Breath of the Wild,

and as ur booking it out of there, u manage to get ahold of a sword, and u know exactly how to use it to knock back favonius knights trying to stop you (they are concerned for their god who is just unleashing random powers on ppl, pls let Grandmaster Jean just talk to you Your Majesty-!!)

by the time you teleport ur way to Inazuma, (bc u still have this worlds access to ur player/traveler’s powers), ur trying to find a nice place to stay for a little bit

at least in that sweet spot of the Raiden not noticing/finding you, while things cool down on the main continent, before moving on,

and u get some tools to help fashion just a little shelter, bc u dont have any money/mora rn, and ur able to literally build a house???

a mailbox pops up and thanks you for renting with Tom Nook???? As in Animal Crossing-

and rlly if the BOTW/slate thing didnt clue u into video game powers, then this definitely would tbh lmao

right as u see Yae Miko circling ur house, with an armful of books? ..is she planning to thru them at you??, u get the hell out of dodge before her favorite god can follow along

(she knows ur prefrences in books and got authors/trends to start so youd have plenty to read, and she was making sure it was ur house before politely dropping them off! how was she to know thatd spook their favorite God, Ei?!)

u get to Sumeru and think ur safe, hiding in an abandoned forest watcher outpost (1 person treehouse rlly) when Nahida shows up in ur dreams,

and u just,

walk out of the dream, into reality, and possess a nearby ruin guard so u can sleep in peace, bc she cant access a robot,

that one baffled u as you re-possessed ur own body before realizing-

Five Nights at Freddy’s. 💀

U cant do that forever, so u try Fontaine, hoping Neuvillette/Furina wont rlly give af abt you, plus theyre the latest region, so maybe they have the least exposure to whatever the other archons didnt like abt you??

u get there and are immediately summoned to court, and right as the mekas show up to escort you, jfc they have a mecha army

(meanwhile, theyre thinking, yknow. high profile guest/our god of gods. ofc we need state of the art mekas to escort them, its only polite-)

meanwhile ur cape has now become wings, and a mask covers ur face as you glide and fly ur way over the city in an attempt to get to where u assume Snezhnaya is

it doesnt occur to you the game until ur running out of stamnia and catch ur reflection in the waters of fontaine, Sky: Children of the Light

u hope the Tsaritsa’s dislike for other gods/Celestia doesnt extend to ur otherworldly presence so ur just hoping for the best atp tbh

tbh youd forget what all powers you have, and the absolute chaos ur causing urself as u try to desperately rememeber what games youve played thru ur entire life is NOT helping to reduce confusion when u randomly wake up with elf ears (legend of zelda/botw) or get dragged into another ruin machine when u fall asleep/faint/do smth u guess mimics death lmao- (fnaf) 💀

…

(meanwhile the Tsaritsa does get wind ur coming this way, and just, makes the people have a parade/festival to celebrate you coming,

she did also have to get Pierro/Captaino to physically restrain some of them from going ahead to meet/escort you to the palace, she’d heard how the others scared u off, and was, ironically, hoping the warm welcome would clear things up)

☆

well that was, something. 😃🫠

sorry lil car, that was such a fun idea idk if i did it justice!! i thought itd be too op to include every media youve consumed ever, so i kept it to video games, (which, could u cheat the system if youve played smash bros??)

i hope it was at least a decent read, and sorry im half asleep so i was not v funny this time around, but, again, hope u got smth out of it 😭

</3

on another note, im having my wisdom teeth surgery this friday, send whatever u got my way, prayers, blessings, good vibes, ill take anything im nervous 🙃

have a good week guys!

Safe Travels Lil Car,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

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If ur tag doesnt work, pls check ur settings to see if ur a "searchable blog"!! Its not the same as the Ai selling data thing.

[sunny44]

Heyy! Can I request a lando imagine with a volleyball player s/o??

-🐧 anon

Thank you for the request, I’m not sure I did what you wanted but I did my best.

Even though I didn’t like it 😅

The last game

Pairing: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: none.

Summary: Lando goes to your final game.

The court was pulsating with the energy of the fans. The stands were filled with people wearing Y/n’s team colors, wishing for her team’s victory. In the midst of the crowd, I managed to find a discreet spot, away from curious eyes.

I didn’t want to be noticed, not today.

Today was her day, and I didn’t want to steal the spotlight from her and the other girl’s.

I sat in the front rows with her family, watching Y/n intently as she warmed up in the middle of the court. My heart was racing, blending with the crowd’s pulse.

I knew how important this game was for her and how much she had trained and dedicated herself to get there.

As the minutes passed, I allowed myself to get lost in my thoughts, reminiscing about the moments we shared together, the highs and lows, the victories and defeats.

Because even though they were different sports, they were still so similar.

Everything is based on the same thing, winning or losing.

But this game was different, this game represented everything she had worked so hard to achieve.

When the referee’s whistle echoed through the court, I found myself immersed in the heat of the competition. The players ran across the court, each point contested with fervor, and I could feel the tension in the air.

As the game progressed, I realized how determined Y/n was.

Her movements were precise, her concentration unwavering. She was in her element, playing with passion and determination.

As the scoreboard neared the end, the tension in the gym reached its peak. Every point contested was crucial, every move would decide the fate of the game.

And then, finally, the decisive moment arrived.

With the final serve, Y/n boldly launched the ball into the air. Silence fell over the court, everyone holding their breath. And then, with a deafening roar, the ball found the ground on the opposite side of the court.

Practically the entire place erupted in celebration, and her family and I stood up, cheering and celebrating.

It was then that her father called me to go down to the court where she was, and after hugging her family, she ran to me because I was further away.

“You’re amazing, my love.” I hugged her and kissed her.

“Thank you, Lan. But I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t mind, you kiss me and hug me all sweaty and covered in champagne.” She smiles and holds my face, kissing me again.

“I’m so happy we won, but it’s still kind of unbelievable.” She smiles excitedly. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“I’ll always be here for you, Y/n. You were amazing throughout the game.”

“Thank you.” She kisses me again. “My dad wanted to go out to celebrate, but besides the fact that it’s freezing outside, I’m too tired. What do you think about going home to eat burgers in bed?”

“I think it’s a great idea.” I hold her face and leave a kiss on her forehead.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower and change before we leave.”

I waited near the exit with a beanie, and over it, the hood of my sweatshirt so that no one would see me, and thankfully it worked. I felt her holding my hand and we headed towards my car.

“Are you serious about driving a McLaren? Weren’t you trying to be discreet?” She laughs.

“Well, it was either the McLaren or the Lamborghini.” She laughed, rolled her eyes, and then we went home.

Bonus scene!

Landonorris instagram stories

“Today was my baby’s last game of the season and guess what? She won!!!!”

[bokutosbabe]

I have no idea if this is where asks are sent but I am CRAVING some Oikawa or Ushijima figs rn 😍 OR EVEN DAICHI IM DESPERATE ID EAT UP ANYTHING YOU WRITE I BEG

AHAHA YOU FOUND THE PERFECT PLACE TO COME i love literally ALL of these characters but i chose to do ushijima since i’ve been wanting to write for him😻 i can always do the others if you want!!

Greatest in the League

a/n — i def put my own spin on this so i’m so sorry if it’s not exactly what you imagined😭🫶🏼 also made reader gn since a gender wasn’t specified . ALSO YES I MADE USHIJIMA OBLIVIOUS HE LITERALLY THOUGHT HINATA WAS GRIPPING ONTO BRAZIL BC HE WAS ON THE “OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD”

content — ushijima x gn! reader, ushijima and reader are married , fluff, set in time skip (at the olympics actually), secret relationship, honestly not much to talk abt, i think that’s it- lmk if i missed anything!

synopsis — Ushijima Wakatoshi, wing spiker and outside hitter for the Olympic men’s volleyball team, has a secret. Something only two people in the entire world know of, including him.

✿.｡.“ where’s the trophy? ”.｡.✿

one point.

one point was all that separated Japans men’s volleyball team from the champion title. a singular point that rested on Japans side of the net. Ushijima watched as the other team served

one. komori’s perfect receive- no one expected any less

two. atsumu’s terrifyingly beautiful set, every spiker they had running for the ball.

three. straight to ushijima wakatoshi.

the ball smacked against his palm, and boom. The other team had no time to even react as the wing spiker all but slammed the ball onto the other side of the court.

23-25

“AND JAPAN TAKES IT ALL!!” the announcers could be heard from the booth they were seated in. While the other team had shuffled off the court, the japan’s team was celebrating- many arms thrown around Ushijima, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

where were you?

The paparazzi had flooded the court, taking pictures of all the players while the giant trophy of the world’s best team was brought out, and yet ushijima needed to see you first.

“good job wakatoshi!” the males ears caught the three words, turning around as he heard your voice- spotting you standing at the railing that separated the many onlookers from the court.

“hey ushiwaka we need to take a pic with the trophy- hey where are you going?” he heard hoshiumi’s voice loud and clear, but his focus was on a familiar face in the crowd—yours. Without a second thought, he pushed through the throng of reporters and fans, his powerful strides carrying him swiftly toward you.

if there was one thing you hadn’t expected from ushijima after all the years of being together, it was this. you watched in awe as he came running over, the determined look on his face softening the moment he reached you. He didn’t say a word, simply enveloping you in a tight hug, causing many eyes and cameras to be turned towards the both of you.

After getting married two years ago the two of you had decided to keep your life out of the public eye, i mean- ushijima wouldn’t want his beautiful partner to get bombarded with all the questions that were sure to come their way, but as of right now he couldn’t care less.

ushijima wakatoshi was not a man of words, much rather showing his feelings through actions, so that he did. the star player leaned down before pressing a kiss to your lips, the camera flashes going off in the split second the two of your lips were connected.

“what’s with the photos?” he asked you as his hands rested on your waist.

ushijima wakatoshi was not a man of words, so when he had a post game interview with many bombarding questions about the person he had kissed, he’d decided actions would speak louder than words.

let’s just say, twitter and all news articles were buzzing about the outside hitters showing his left ring finger being adorned with a silver wedding band during the interviews.

✿.｡.“ he just comes running over to me ”.｡.✿

it’s super short and i actually hate it. i’m so sorry it took this long😭

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[ladymarycrawley]

Forbidden but delightful - Mason Mount

Request: I actually had a imagine request for Mason Mount…where the reader works for him and they’ve always been fond of one another and one day she comes in wearing a guys jumper, it doesn’t fit her properly and it smells like a man. So Mason feels himself becoming jealous, when in reality it’s just her brothers jumper that she ended up wearing because she fell asleep at his babysitting his kids + @anon that asked me sth based on Mase's Nike shooting that got out out in august/september

Warning: none

Tag list: @prideofpd , @johnstonesfc , @chelsealover , @masonxomount , @masterclassbaby

(gif credits to @bracedes)

A thing Mason promised himself he would have never done in his life was falling in love with someone that worked for him or that simply happened to cross his path for business reasons: he knew it would have been unprofessional but, most of all, he feared he would have ended up as the wronged party.

Another thing he knew deep down his heart was that promises are sometimes meant to be broken and the aforementioned one was one of those.

Since Y/N took on the role of his personal stylist she became the ever so present object of his thoughts as she charmed him since day one, when that shy smile of hers made him blush and ask for more, more moments of him in her company. 

He knew she had something special but didn't know what that was, he only knew it was something that made him feel relaxed, at peace with the world around him. It was as if she held an aura of calmness that was never enough for him as his engaged lifestyle required a lot of it.

Needless to say they got along instantly and, as he was one of the most appreciated footballers on the planet, she soon became one of the most envied women for spending so much time with him. That time they would spend together wasn’t related to fashion matters only but quickly spread to their spare time too: after their work for a magazine, Mason invited her over to his house to celebrate their first job together.

In the meanwhile, on her part, a small sentence he said to her like “I’d like you to always feel at ease when you’re around me, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want to but I’d like you to be totally yourself” was what made her like him as soon as his brother Lewis introduced him to her. What he expressed was quite an easy concept not to be taken for granted as a lot of famous people would likely treat their employees as servants, making their business life miserable but that wasn't his case.

Everyone loved Mason for being a down to earth guy, a family guy that always had the most beautiful smile painted across his lips and that smile was the second thing that made her weak to her knees: it could light up a dark room faster than artificial light and warm her heart at the same speed.

The second time it was her turn so she asked him to join her in going to a club in the centre of Manchester. It was just the prelude of their game of looks, subtle and unintended touches, sweet words. All of that happened without them even realising it as it felt so spontaneous, so right.

The crucial moment in their professional as well as personal career was when the Red Devils player was asked to feature in the next Nike Underwear campaign as one of their latest posterboys.

“That’s huge, I can't believe it” She kept on saying in disbelief as he was in a delighted mood too. That was probably the biggest job she got until then and they were both buzzing.

“I’m sure all the girlies will love me even more after this shooting” You joked, alluding to the shirtless pictures of Mason that would soon reach every corner of planet Earth through the worldwide coverage they would have had.

He blushed a little and chuckled. “Yep and they’ll probably hate you a little too cause you’re stealing their place”

“Me?? I’m just doing what I’ve been hired for and just got you the biggest shooting to date”

“Yeah but don’t flatter yourself sweetheart”

Sweetheart? Y/N would have never thought of hearing that nickname coming from his mouth and above all, addressed to her. The shade of bright pink that painted her cheeks after that exchange of words, matched her geranium skirt and that combination didn’t go unnoticed to her client who smirked, quite pleased with what his sentence ignited in her.

They both gave each other knowing looks, a look that made Mason’s heart beat faster and Y/N’s legs shake.

The stylist cleared her throat with a fit of coughing before looking at the time on her phone screen, deciding it was time for her to go home before things would have gone out of your hands.

“Are you already going home?”

“Yes, I have erm - a friend over for dinner, yeah” She nodded as if she was trying to convince herself to buy her own lie. 

“Do I know her? Oh wait, is it your best friend?” The Englishman didn’t really care about her guest, he only wanted to spend a couple more minutes with her and make sure she wasn’t seeing any guy he would have to compete with.

“No no, you don’t know her…” She said dismissively, putting her bag on her shoulder.

“Is this mysterious friend a guy you haven’t told me about?” He said, crossing his hands and trying to sound as chilled as possible.

“Please! Not interested in any guy right now” Yeah, in any guy that wasn’t called Mason Mount. “Really have to go now, my house is a mess and she will be there in less than an hour… see you tomorrow, Mount, don’t be late cause we’ll check your Nike’s outfits out!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t…have fun tonight”

“Yep…thanks”

They almost whispered their goodbyes with a hint of sadness and delusion in their voices, as though neither of them wanted to leave each other nor wanted the other one to be left alone but the positions they were in forbid any kind of romantic relationship: it would have been too complicated and too risky.

The very risky thing though was the task she had to undertake the next day: some Nike people met Mason and Y/N at the sportswear brand’s headquarter in London and shared a quick chat to get to know each other better, before skipping to the part where they would explain the shooting they had in mind for Mason to be featured in.

She gulped the moment they showed them the underwear models they could have chosen among.

Y/N’s mind soon got crowded with not safe for work images, as the sight of the Manchester United player’s toned body covered only in a pair of tight boxers, smiling at her began getting more and more vivid.

She shook her head when the Mason in her mind bit on his lower lip and seductively brought his hands to his sides to take off the tiny piece of clothing covering his lower body.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Oh yes, yes I’m so excited for this you have no idea” She laughed.

The people working with them smiled and left the room to do God’s knew what, leaving her and Mason alone.

He chuckled, lowering himself to her level so that his lips were close to her ear and whispered “Bet you’re more aroused than excited for this job”

You widen your eyes and hit him on the shoulder.

“I’m fully focused on my work, wasn’t thinking about anything vile”

“Even if you’re thinking about it that would be nothing wrong with it…I won’t tell anyone about your secret crush for me”

“Stop it! How old are you? 15??”

Mason giggled and swiftly pecked her cheek. “I love it when you get annoyed at me”

If someone would have seen that scene they would have thought they were a couple, a cute couple but sadly it wasn’t the truth and maybe would have never been…

Y/N arrived at work the day of the Nike shooting some minutes late and she entered the venue out of breath.

“Hi! Sorry everyone, stuck in traffic and it was horrible” She justified herself panting. What she just said was a white lie because she had nothing to do with London’s traffic: the night before her elder brother asked her to babysit his children because he had planned a night out with his wife and forgot to call someone to look after those two rascals that spent all the night shouting and running around the house.

She tried to say no when he asked her that favour, as she had a big day coming on but he said he really needed her help.

So she fell asleep on the sofa, after battling to put her nephews to bed, waking up just in time to go back home in a rush, begging her brother to give her a lift, and put on some knee-high boots that would have complimented that oversized grey jumper she borrowed from him to fight the coldness of the night.

Mason raised his eyebrows when he saw her, recognising immediately what she was wearing was a man’s jumper.

She styled it as if it was a dress and she looked so hot in his eyes but couldn’t stop thinking she must have spent the night with some man, that’s the reason why she was late.

The shooting went as planned: Mason looked genuinely flawless and sexy in that underwear, smiling at the camera and she kept on biting her lips as she couldn’t help thirsting over him as he looked nothing but hot ... that infatuation for him would have been the death of her.

She thanked that one person that asked for a little break because she needed a giant cup of coffee and some fresh air.

“You look good” Those were the first words she said to Mason that day.

“You too”

“No way, I look hideous as I’ve barely slept and arrived late on what’s the most important day in my career” She blurted annoyed at that, something unforgivable from her point of view.

The footballer started biting on his nails as he was clearly nervous and maybe needed some fresh air as well as she did.

“This…” The strong smell that tickled his nostrils interrupted him “...this smell, where does it come from?”

“Oh I think it’s my jumper” Y/N admitted shyly, referring to the garment that looked huge on her.

What Mason noticed made her blush, as if he caught her red-handed while doing something inappropriate and he glanced at her sideways, as if that inappropriate thing she did disappointed him somehow.

“It still smells like him...” She said under her breath but he still heard her and couldn’t help but widen his eyes in shock: in his head they’re perfect together, smiling and laughing every day, even subtly flirting so he thought she was single and he could go on courting her but now she’s wearing another man’s clothes? The poor man was confused to say the least.

“You told me you weren’t interested in any man…”

“And I’m not”

He raised his head and smiled quite relieved with the real explanation behind all of that.

“So why are you wearing another man’s jumper?”

“Oh god Mase, are you jealous?? This is my brother’s. He asked me to babysit his kids last night and took this because I was cold and in a rush so it was literally the first decent thing I’ve found”

“Oh well…I was ready to mock you for your walk of shame actually”

“No dear, you’re dying for me to tell you I haven't slept with anyone last night and now you’re joking only because you didn’t get angry” You giggled, offering him a cup of hot coffee.

“Can I take you out tonight?”

“Mason I- I don’t think that’d be a good idea, I mean we’re working together”

“I know that but I’ll do my best to keep things separated, I promise” He gave you puppy eyes, making you giggle.

“If you wanna try…”

“You don’t wanna try?”

Of course she wanted to, she'd been dying too…and she'd been dying to know what his lips tasted of too: she quickly glanced around to make sure all the people involved in the shooting were still out and unexpectedly kissed him, the coffee flavour on his lips mixing with her nude lipstick.

“Now go on posing, nothing happened!”

Nothing could swipe Mason’s smirk off his face as he brushed his thumb over his lips that now tasted like her.

“Yeah...nothing happened”

Mixing work and private life wasn’t something they were willing to do but sometimes breaking the rules has that forbidden charm that brings to one’s soul the highest of delights and that’s a risk worth taking.

[vidalinav]

Home is Where the Heart is

Summary: Post acosf fic from a very long time ago. Nesta leaves the house basically.

22k words and I posted it all on here.

I'm going to edit this later... so if there are errors ignore them for now. It was a long fic.

~

There is a storm raging outside her window and a cloud of darkness settles upon the city. Most have been called inside, blocking off their windows and doors, while the wind whips and rages its whirring music. Residents pray to their gods, the priestesses pray to the Mother, and Nesta sits by the window reading a book about storms. She hums a violent nursery rhyme as it rains.   

It’s the only thing she can do since she’s not unused to being inside. She’s already combed through the rooms the House reveals for her today.  

Mere hours ago, it opens a door to a room filled with plants. The walls are glassy, the air’s strangely wet and Nesta needs only a moment to decide it’s not her favorite room she’s seen.  

When she closes the door, the House eagerly opens another.   

The floor, in this room, is colored like a chess board. Nesta spends hours here entertained, where massive pieces move to counter her pawn to e4. The House is a skilled player, she finds, and it doesn’t let her win easily. Nesta must think about each move before she makes them. She begins to picture battlefields where the ash squares meet the cherry oak. Her queen moves across the board as if she conquered the land and Nesta imagines herself as that queen triumphant. A crown on her head, an army at her back, but the pure strength of her intellect winning against her foe.   

Even so, Nesta spends the rest of the day winning as equally as she loses. 

There is no rain to contend to, then. No aching limbs from thundering storms. In fact, the sky in the morning looks as if birds sing somewhere in the trees below even if Nesta can’t hear their sweet song.   

But in the evening, when Nesta can neither remember what time it is nor how many games they’ve played, when the House says enough is enough, the door opens wide when she insists on another game and Nesta can see shadows blooming in the hall.   

The door moves back and forth as if the House wants to wave her forward. Fine, she thinks, even as she crosses her arms.  

She can hear distant rumbling and wonders if the mountain’s purring. Some lazy cat that has decided to lounge as much as it listens. But Nesta knows the House to be more of a nursemaid than a cat, and she thinks on the book the House leaves her in the private library this morning. The tea might have gone cold, but the book is just getting good and so Nesta weaves through the halls to the only other place that offers dreams beyond her wildest imagination. 

She’s always liked this place. The expansive shelves that reach to the ceiling in a dark, smoky wood. The windows that peak through, overlooking Velaris.   

It’s one of the only rooms that hasn’t changed, say for a few more armchairs in a warm cream, big enough that when they first appeared Cassian and her could both sit in one without a fuss and still be tucked between the arms. He’d read as she read, and occasionally she would catch him looking at her, feel his hand tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Nesta would lean into him and all the while, the window let them know that there was a city out there—dazzling lights and quite possibly music—but all Nesta wanted was him.   

All Nesta ever wants is him.   

Now the city drips, the color bleeding into beads of rain that race down the window. The chair seems too large for her alone, and so she lies across it, her knees bending off the arm. The quiet thrumming rain that hits the window reminds her of a rhyme she’d heard as a child. Something about floods and starvation if she really thinks about it. Nesta can barely remember the words now, but the tune sits in her mouth like a canary caught in her throat. It’s not the only bird that flutters in her lungs—her stomach.   

Sometimes Nesta thinks she almost has too much to say and one day she’ll open her mouth only to hear tittering bird calls because she can’t say it in words. Not that she has anyone around her now to whistle to.   

But she has the House at least... 

And Nesta remembers that as a steaming cup of tea appears on the table to her side—to replace the one that disappears as if it has never been there at all. Nesta sinks into the chair with lullabies and bird calls in her ears.  She flicks at the pages of her book, where a strong male with wings meets a woman without.  

Nesta can only sigh.   

But before she can get too lost in her text, a heavy voice calls out her name. “Nesta!”  

At the sound, she feels herself ready to fling herself out of the room, run to him as he bursts through the door. She isn’t expecting him home this early. He must have flown all this way.  

Nesta can hear her name again and she tells herself to calm down. Even now she can hear her grandmother’s voice. That's no way a lady should behave. But her grandmother didn’t know love... or mating bonds... or how to be a comfort to someone else’s existence, and Nesta doesn’t care what that old witch would think.   

She feels herself moving at the thought, the anticipation clinging to her skin like his sopping wet clothes. They’ll drip on her pretty blue rug.  

Nesta frowns at the pool that begins to puddle around him because it’s not Cassian who bursts in beams, but Azriel whose hair and clothes are soaked. 

A towel appears on the table beside him, in what Nesta assumes is the House reaching out a huffing hand, saying here... stop leaking all over my floors. She watches as the House stacks up another one. Two and then three, still Azriel doesn’t reach out for one. 

A fourth appears on the table.   

Nesta sinks into the pale cream chair.   

“Where have you been?” He implores, his voice raging and light. She almost feels like a child being scolded for the way he looks at her, all anger in those hazel eyes. Not the ones she wants to see.  

She wonders briefly if they’re actually friends for the discomfort settles in her stomach at the look. It angers her enough that she merely flips a page of her book, reading the first line.  

He grasped her neck, pulling her closer as he tugged her mouth to his lips.   

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”   

Nesta glances back to him as nonchalant as she can make herself. His voice, however, makes her want to stand up straight, lift her chin, and glare. “Where else would I be?”  

Azriel’s frown deepens, irritation filling the lines between his brows. “You were here?” 

Nesta gives him a look that must say obviously, but Azriel tilts his head as if he doesn’t understand.   

“I sent my shadows searching for you. I went around this mountain. I was afraid you were climbing down the stairs. I almost sent out a search party!” Azriel huffs, winded. His face is a blooming red—an unnatural color that makes her wonder if she’s ever seen him so irate. Nesta supposes she hasn’t seen him at all. He’s been gone for three weeks.   

She doesn’t have the heart to ask if it’s because of her.   

“Why would you do that?” Nesta asks. 

“Why? Because I couldn’t find you!” Azriel places his hand between his brows, taking a breath. “There’s a storm coming in. The entire city has spent all day boarding up their windows, gathering food—�� 

“Is everyone okay?” Nesta interrupts. She feels her chest start to thrum with worry. For her sisters. For the residents... For Cassian who’s miles away. “Feyre? Elain?” 

“They’re fine. Worried about you, but that’s to be— 

“And Cassian?” 

Nesta can feel her heart beating fast as she says his name.   

“The storm is going to barely miss him.”   

Nesta lets out a breath, nodding as she takes inventory of names. If Cassian is okay, Emerie is okay. If Feyre is okay, Nyx is okay. Elain is fine. If Nesta is safe in the mountain, so is Gwyn, so are the priestess. Everyone accounted for. Everyone safe.   

Azriel takes a step towards her chair, his wings flapping away the water. Nesta looks to the carpet. He’s going to leave mud on the wool if he keeps at it. His boots are caked in it. The carpet already notes dark stains.   

“Where were you? Feyre says she’s been trying to reach you. Rhys tried—I barely made it back before they were screaming in my ear. Rhys tried to come... The House wouldn’t let him in.”   

Nesta wants to ask why Rhys of all people would go to such lengths, but she knows the answer to that already. Perhaps that’s why Azriel stands here now. Not for her sake, but for her sisters—whichever one. Both, maybe. She has seldom heard about them inquiring about her before. In fact, when Cassian is gone, the house is silent.   

Maybe they do it for Cassian, too, so they can tell him she’s fine when he asks. Out of all powers she’s gained and lost, Nesta’s most bitter about that one—that she can’t speak to him whenever she wants. That she can’t hear his voice interrupting her thoughts, her dreams.   

“I was exploring,” she says simply and Azriel takes a step closer. She thinks he might sit at the table at the center of the room that makes the library seem like one of those colleges Nesta read about when she was young. A foreboding place reserved for the studious and the elite to study under the dim lamps as the voices of a thousand books whispered their secrets. Azriel looks like a scholar in this room, and he will fit even more in the shadowed corners of each bookshelf, roaming through the stacks.   

Nesta may be a reader, but she’s never been so studious, and she never sits at that table aiming to uncover all the enigmas of the universe that are twisted in riddles. She hasn’t deemed any subject important enough to sit there--none that fascinates her to do more than just collect knowledge in dust.   

“I went to the library, too,” Nesta adds as an afterthought. Not this one of course, but the one below. The one that gives her purpose. “Your shadows couldn’t find me?”   

Azriel shrugs, an act that should look casual, but almost looks concerned. Nesta wonders what about her is so concerning.   

“It's been a long week,” he dismisses.   

“Where did you go?” She asks.  

Azriel doesn’t answer, instead he offers up his own question.  Nesta pauses at the words—the tone. “Have you been here by yourself?” 

Nesta doesn’t answer that either.   

“You’ve been gone for a long time,” she remarks.   

“You didn’t want to go with him?” He inquires. His shadows stand at attention, swarming around her and Nesta pokes at one absentmindedly. They don’t scare her. In fact, they remind her of shadowed pups, and she gently weaves her hand through the tendrils as if it were soft fur. The shadows dance at her feet.   

Azriel taps his foot from her lack of answer and Nesta wants to scoff at his impatience.   

It’s not like she hasn’t been alone before, though maybe he knows well enough what happened before that he assumes she’ll show up one day inebriated, hurtling headfirst towards the city because she never could keep her balance on the stairs. 

Yes, Cassian is away, but she’s fine.   

She’s fine with the fact that there is no one to winnow him back as per usual. She's fine with the fact that half a month has gone by and she’s not even sure when he’ll appear. She’s fine that Mor is gone to Vallahan, and he is gone to who-knows-where, and Feyre and Rhys are busy with the baby. She’s fine that even when Cassian returns, he will inevitably leave as he has done eight times before.   

It is his job of course.   

Azriel’s shadows pool on the ground like a puddle of water, and bubble back up to her hand. They wish to entertain and distract her. Like the house, she supposes.   

“Where do your shadows come from?” she asks curiously.   

Azriel pauses at that, frowning at her question. Nesta just pokes another as they weave in and out of her fingers. They’re like the House’s heart, she thinks. Alive, but in a way that they shouldn’t be... at least to those who’ve not found comfort in their shadows.   

“You’re evasive.” 

Nesta huffs. “I don’t hear you answering my questions.”   

“And tricky.”   

Nesta rolls her eyes and watches Azriel move towards the door. She’s almost ashamed to say that her stomach twists at the image of him leaving. He just got back...  

Maybe she’s not entertaining enough for him. 

Screw him then.   

But Azriel turns at the last moment towards a bookcase and Nesta cranes her neck to see. He meanders behind the dark wood, sticking his hand behind until he hums his satisfaction, and like a work of magic, he pulls a bottle out of the shadows. “You won’t believe how many bottles I’ve hidden throughout the years.” 

“Of wine?” Nesta eyes the sloshing liquid.   

Azriel nods, smirking. “When you live with enough people who take your things, you learn to be creative about hiding places.”   

Unconsciously, Nesta thinks of Elain.   

When they had nothing but a few dresses and some boots, she would always find her little sister stealing them. Why do you get all the good things, she’d say. Good things? Nesta would screech. These are the only things I own.   

“Do you want some?” he asks, grasping at a glass that appears on that studious table. He pours the deep burgundy and Nesta can imagine the smell already. Her stomach twists and guilt bubbles up her chest.   

“I think the house will just take it away from me.”   

“Then tell the House to look somewhere else.”   

He nods towards the chair at the table, and Nesta never imagines the table for wine tasting. It almost seems blasphemous to be drunk in a library. Still, she goes to it, grasps the glass in her hands and swirls the sweet red.   

“It’s old,” Azriel remarks, as if it might offer some explanation.   

“Human old? Or Fae old?”   

“Amren old.” 

Nesta hums her satisfaction, but she doesn’t take a sip. She only smells the fragrant bouquet. Azriel takes a swish of his own until the entire glass is empty.   

“I won it in a card game. The male nearly cried when I took it.”   

“And you decided today you’d open it?”   

“It’s tradition,” he shrugs. “When there’s a storm you drink.”   

Azriel refills his glass and Nesta sets her own on the table. It doesn’t switch to water and Nesta wonders if the House is indeed turning a blind eye. “Sounds made-up.”   

“It is.” Azriel raises his glass. “How about a new tradition Nesta?”   

It takes a moment for her to reach out her own, and when she does Azriel clinks it against his. He nods his head towards the drink, and she does drink, though she only takes a tiny sip.   

“Where did you go?” She asks again, “You were gone before Cassian left this time.”   

“Here and there.”   

“You didn't...” Nesta can’t help her cheeks warming and Azriel gives her a curious look. She supposes it isn’t like her to be bashful. “You didn’t leave because of us, did you?”   

He chuckles and Nesta nearly races to cover her flushed cheeks with her hand. She is not a shy person by any means, and heaven knows they’re not secretive about their affection. Still, she’s horrified of the thought of being loud enough that Azriel is forced to move out.   

“No. It’s not because of you and Cassian.” Azriel rolls his eyes and Nesta grimacing, wishing the floor would split below her and swallow her mortification. “You’ll be happy to know that I don’t hear anything. No whispers, no conversations, no noise… of any kind.”   

His eyes are bright with humor and Nesta scoffs the embarrassment away, anger roaring up her chest at the feeling.  “Not good for Cassian then,” She dismisses with a shake of her head. “If he screams bloody murder one day, no one will be able to hear him.”   

“You’d never hurt him.”   

Azriel says it like he knows, but Nesta’s not so convinced. She tilts her head, like a sloshing red in a bottle. “How are you so sure?” 

“Because I know you.”   

He thinks he does anyways. Nesta has her doubts. She’s not even sure they’re really friends and Azriel thinks he knows her?   

She takes a big gulp of her wine, and Azriel watches as she sets the glass down. He passes no judgmental looks her way as he refills her glass. Some part of her, the most rational, fearful part of her, thinks he must want her drunk... or loose lipped where wine slips past her defenses. Why should she ever trust a spy?  

“It’s quiet here,” Azriel remarks, looking to those studiously tall bookshelves standing about the room like giants. “Do you ever get lonely?”   

Yes.   

“No,” Nesta answers casually. She takes a sip of her drink as Azriel squints. A slight movement that she tracks like a hunter. 

She feels more like the prey—has always felt a little too easily caught.  

But Nesta has never been hunted for long without snapping her teeth and Azriel should know that by now. She taps her nails against the glass as if she’s summoning storms and Azriel looks to the Velaris skyline where it rains and rains and rains.  

“There’s an old saying that a day that storms is a good day for gambling.”  

Nesta huffs a laugh. “Do they now? And what do you have that I want, Shadow Singer?” 

Azriel raises a brow, and he pulls out a deck of cards seemingly out of thin air. “The real question you should be asking, Nesta Archeron, is what do you have to lose?” 

~ 

She has lost count on how many books she’s read this month, but she is only a quarter through the A’s. A for subject, she finds, not title or author and Nesta wades her way through alphabet soup for it is a chaotic system. No wonder Gwyn is always running around this place. 

A book labeled The History of Monsterre, for example, is not housed in a section for History or a section dedicated to the countries of the continent. It is not even organized alphabetically in T, H, or M. It is placed where the rest of A’s live. A for Ancient History, because the kingdom had been founded during the rule of the Ancient fae or at least that’s what Clotho tells her when she asks what exactly is considered ancient when fae live into their thousands.  

“Isn’t ancient a subjective term?” 

She watches as the priestess’s pen swishes swirling letters. The High Lords have deemed it ancient, so it is ancient history. 

“But doesn’t ancient imply that it is not relevant to today? Montessere is a country that still exists.”  

Clotho sighs and crosses her arms as she so often does to Nesta’s protests. The history contained in that book does not. 

“It does not exist?” Nesta loudly implores. “Then is every book that has some reference of ancient fae going to be housed in ancient history? Five thousand years will pass and soon everyone is ancient fae and the library only has one section? I mean how does anyone find anything if they are looking for abstract concepts?”   

The priestess merely raises an impatient brow and points to the large book that turns a swift page when another priestess asks where to find The Literary Works of Dio Djembe.   

Probably not in the D’s, Nesta grumbles. Maybe not even under a category for subjects pertaining to literature, because Nesta knows there is no such thing.  

It is all categorized there and if you need help locating a book, please consult the Table of Contents.  

Nesta rolls her eyes as she sees that the “Table of Contents” is merely a table with a book titled Contents, clearly not shelved with the C’s… maybe the O’s for organizational systems, she thinks. L for lists.  

She’ll just have to guess her way through, never mind that her goal to finish all the books in the first section means that she can learn anything from architecture to abandonment issues. Abstracts and abnormalities. Accessorizing wool during the winter. Acronym accommodations in library systems.  

She supposes she can forget the goal altogether and spend some time with Gwyn instead, but when Nesta searches for her friend, the priestess is flushed with anxiety. Another subject she can look forward to in the A’s.  

“Do you want to eat lunch together?” She asks, even so.  

“Cassian’s still not back?” Gwyn grabs a book on the shelf as she asks, crossing out something on the paper she carries. The fine script looks almost as neat as Clotho’s and Nesta can tell it has Merrill written all over it. 

Nesta swallows down the annoyed remark, ignoring the mention of her mate. “I thought Merrill might have let you off early since her project ended last week?”  

Gwyn groans, “She’s decided that she’s now going to research the unexplainable disappearances of the creatures on the island.”  

Nesta leans against a shelf as Gwyn shuffles through the stacks. How she can remember where every book is Nesta will never know. “What for?” 

“Why does Merrill research anything?” Gwyn shrugs, “I personally think she has a fetish for seeing me run across this library—gets a sweet thrill out of it.”  

“Fetish?” Nesta can’t help the sweet upturn of her lips. “That’s a new word.”  

Gwyn rolls her eyes, sighing as she says, “Don’t laugh. You and Emerie gave me that book.”  

Nesta snorts at her friend’s face turns a pretty shade of pink. “It’s the book that keeps on giving.” 

“Yeah, well it’s giving me nightmares.”  

“Liar, you like that book.” 

Gwyn raises her chin, shrugging dismissively. “It’s… funny I guess.”  

Nesta laughs outright at that, and the blooming shade of red on Gwyn's face almost matches her hair.  

“Okay, fine it’s not the worst book I’ve ever read. It’s got… some substance.”  

“Substance coming out of certain somethings. Sure.”  

“Aren’t you supposed to be shelving?” Gwyn asks, giving her a sidelong glance.  

Nesta tries to hold her laugh, raising a brow at the change of subject. “I was asking about lunch.”  

She’s already instructed the House on what she’d like it to prepare today. For lunch, she suggests a couple of sandwiches and a few cakes. Chocolate for her and a cheesecake for Gwyn, which she knows is her favorite.  

But Gwyn shakes her head, grasping a book from the shelf as she sighs. One more off the list. “How about tomorrow maybe? Or the next day? I’m not sure.” The look she gives her friend is a somber one, and Nesta resists the feel of that heavy weight. Her shoulders already feel like sinking and her body seems to shake from how forcibly she tries to keep it from moving. “I want to, I’m just...”  

Busy.  

Nesta understands even if Gwyn doesn’t say the word. Gwyn is busy with duties and Nesta shelves books that she doesn’t really have to shelve.  

“I have to get back” the priestess says cautiously and Nesta gives her a reassuring smile. The one that says no hard feelings. “See you later?”  

“Of course,” Nesta agrees, raising a hand in farewell.  

With the absence of her friend, her sweet swishing robes no longer gliding across the floor, the level is quiet once more. Only the books keep her company. They might ramble printed words on their pages, but Nesta can seldom hear them speak or joke or laugh... A pity, she thinks.  

Nesta sighs her dismay, but when she looks over to the table, a feast fit for a picnic is spread out before her.  

Nesta smiles somberly, thanking the house for coming once more to her aid, hoping that the contents are enough to fill that burdening hunger that’s made a home in the pit of her stomach. 

~ 

One card. Two Card. Three Card. Four. Nesta sets the fifth where it lays gently as the floor of two others. Triangles are the strongest structure for building she reads, and this tower already houses two levels.  

She stares at a half-finished pyramid of playing cards with all the focus of a person building the tallest structure in the world. At the height of 233 feet, she knows, the tallest structure is a statue of the Mother carved out in sandstone located in Lakovash, a city outside of Rask. It takes two hundred years to carve out the rock, but Nesta is not so ambitious, and she does not wield the cards like clay, instead she eyes the structure. Do not fall.   

To lay them right is to complete her task. A solid structure that resists tension on all sides.  

What she wouldn’t give to be so unyielding. To push but never crash. To bear the heavy weight of its structure without fault.  

But playing cards are not so easy to wield, and when the lightning flashes Nesta jumps at the sound. The two cards she holds bend in her hands, and Nesta closes her eyes, trying to breathe through that frustration.  

She could yell. No one would hear her, and the sound would get captured with the wet, clapping thunder, but Nesta only looks down at the table, scoffing at the strength of triangles.  

All the cards have fallen, scattered along the wood in hearts and spades.  

Nesta curses the rain, the sky, stupid Velaris weather that keeps changing in temperamental tides. The window is large, and she sees the glittering fae lights get lost in the waterfall downpour, the view blurring until she can’t see a thing.  

She is tired of being stuck in this place.  

It’s a thought that strikes her like a flash of lightning.  

She is tired of being stuck in this place, but it’s raining hard. Nesta sighs, collecting the deck until she can feel their weight in her hand.  

She misses Cassian. He’s gone and all the sky has done is rain.  

She will wait for him until it stops.  

Nesta will build the cards again.  

She will build it again and this time it will resist collapse as triangles should.  

And when it stops raining, Nesta will go outside, and she’ll look for triangles in structures. In all those buildings drowning in a city below, she’ll look for strength.  

~ 

The House is a mothering hen, and her wounds don’t seem to heal quick enough as she stares at the blistering rouge that tells her she shouldn’t be climbing stairs when the rain is pouring. Her ankle is swollen, and no amount of ice has taken the sharp pain away. It throbs a sweet reminder.  

Dumb, it says. You’re dumb for leaving during a storm.  

Nesta pays no mind. She simply sighs as she eyes her book on the dining room table. She wonders if the House might move it for her or punish her for leaving when she decided she wouldn’t.  

But the House is not cruel even if it’s pushy and perturbed, and it knows her far too well. It knows that she’ll slump in her chair, until she gets irritated enough to reach out for the book. What trouble might she get into, if it doesn’t move it for her? How much pain will it cause?   

Rain would have never stopped her anyways.   

So, when Nesta begins to shift, her lips already set in a fine wince, the book vanishes from the table and appears in her lap.  

“Thank you, House,” she says when Nesta can’t help the satisfied grin. “I always knew you took my side on things.”  

“Are you talking to yourself again?”  

Nesta jumps at the sound of his voice, as she always does because she can never hear him sneaking through the House. She mutters her complaints, flipping to the page in her book where’d she’d set a torn piece of paper.  

She spares a glance to Azriel, answering haughtily, “I thought you’d be at the estate.”  

But Azriel never answers her queries or her questions, and Nesta watches as he sits at the expansive dining table. He doesn’t ask why she has a reading chair here, but it should be obvious... Nesta has a reading chair everywhere, and there’s no one here to tell her it isn’t proper décor. If she had it her way, every wall would be filled to the brim with books and every room would be a library of itself.  

A roast chicken appears on a plate for him. The House takes care of its guests, of course, but Azriel waves it away with a cautious thanks to the walls.  

He pulls up a chair right beside her instead. “What happened to your ankle?”  

“I tripped,” she said without a thought, shrugging as if that might play off the pain. Trust Azriel to zero in on her stupidity.  

“On the stairs?”  

“Running through the halls,” Nesta lies. Azriel’s gaze shifts to her wet hair, and Nesta wrinkles her nose in distaste. “No one likes a busybody.”  

Azriel doesn’t even give her a hint of a smile. Instead, he puffs up like she’s seen Cassian do on occasion, when she’s particularly stubborn and he won’t give into her whims.  

“You need to ice it,” he says. “Stay off it. At least until morning. Can you move it? Did you have someone check to see if it’s broken?”  

Nesta snorts. “Unless the House is also a doctor—which would not be surprising in the least—no. No one has checked on it.” Nesta looks to her foot and silently chastises the bitter thing for slipping across a step and putting her in this predicament in the first place. “Doubt it’s broken.” 

“Have you ever broken anything?”  

“Have you ever fallen down the stairs?” Nesta raises a brow, at his uncompromising will. “Exactly.”  

Azriel, though despite her words, is already moving towards the door. Nesta frowns at his retreating steps. “I’m getting a healer,” he calls.  

“I don’t need a healer.” 

“And you didn’t need to be doing whatever you were doing to hurt your ankle.”  

Nesta huffs, rolling her eyes as the tone of his voice and once more she thinks back on how Azriel’s become utterly irritating ever since her and Cassian's bond became official. Maybe even before then when he first started helping them train.  

It’s that orderly tone of his voice, that I’m older and know better tone of his voice.  

“You don’t have to care for me, just because Cassian’s not here!”  

Azriel stops in his way, giving her a look filled with audacity. “Are you going to get Madja, yourself?”  

Nesta wrinkles her nose in disgust at that female’s name and that must be enough of an answer, since Azriel marches towards the door in the way of his.  

“You’d think you were going to war,” Nesta grumbles under her breath, but she calls out before he can reach the door.  

“It will heal by itself,” she calls to him, “besides the House doesn’t like visitors.” Nesta shrugs, smirking lightly at the grumpy lines that creased his forehead. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be let back in.”   

As if by a summoning, a great chime rings. Nesta’s only just discovered means that there’s someone at the door. She’s tested it with Gwyn one day—it doesn’t matter if they knock or if they twist the knob. If a presence is there, a great bell rings.  

Nesta has yet to find where the sound comes from.  

“I’ll get it,” Azriel says in a rush.  

“It’s my house,” Nesta scoffs. “I’ll get it.”  

In truth, she can already feel the excitement building. Maybe Cassian has come home early, she thinks. Nesta stands in a rush intent on running to him. Who cares about a twisted ankle? Who cares if Azriel will see? Her mate has been gone for far too long and her heart lurches out of her chest at just the thought of him.  

“Nesta,” Azriel warns. “You stand on that ankle and you're going to make it worse. Didn’t we teach you this in training?”  

“Who cares about training? We haven’t trained in weeks!” Nesta doesn’t look back at him as she moves past him, and through the halls. Her ankle does hurt, but it means little to her. Her body is filled with glee. She can barely suppress her grin.  

That is...  

Until she races up the stairs to the upper most level, and the door swings open for her view.  

It’s only Feyre and the babe.  

Nesta tries to hold back her sigh.  

“What are you doing here?” She asks.  

Feyre raises a brow, “well hello to you too.”  

She shifts to one foot, posing in that I’m tired of you way. That motherly disappointed look of someone much older and wiser. As if, Feyre is wiser. “You’ve been ignoring me. I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Nesta.” 

Nesta rolls her eyes at the tone. She can’t help it. Being lectured in her own home. “I’m here,” she shrugs, a little too much aggravation in her voice. “Where else would I be?” 

“Are you going to invite me inside?” 

Nesta wants to say no, but instead the door opens widely.  

~ 

The midnight red velvet reminds her of playing cards. The utter calamity of a spilled deck. She runs her hand down the front and even if it’s one of the prettiest dresses she owns, Nesta hates the feel of it. The soft velvet scratches against her skin.  

The thunder shouts but Nesta doesn’t flinch. It only aggravates her. The others jump and look to the windows, because it’s not just four of them now, it’s six. The yellow begins to bloom in the sky, cracks like broken glass leaking out light. How temperamental the sky seems to be today.   

“Elain stayed behind… well, she’s with Nuala and Cerridwen if you want to know.” Nesta doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop Feyre from speaking. “She says she wants to save whatever plant she can. The storms have wiped out so many.”  

Velaris has had an unusual amount of storms this season. The people are calling it strange, she hears. Amren calls it an omen.  

She sits at the head of the table, a knife in her hands that cuts through the steak as easy as butter. The tender meat leaks out blood. Cassian always jokes that she might as well be eating it raw, that perhaps she has developed a blood drinking habit. Nesta tells him that if she wanted it tough, she would sooner eat rocks. Cassian, as different as he is from her, likes his steak like cement. Gods forbid, it even has a little pink.  

She cuts it into tiny pieces. Another thing that Cassian notes. He cuts and eats a piece, cuts and eats a piece. Nesta cuts the entire thing before she takes even one bite. It’s strange how much she remembers when he’s gone.  

Nesta looks around the table, but her sister opts for a stew instead and the House obliges. Nyx has a bowl of smashed peas. A green so putrid she almost feels sorry for the babe, but as Rhys spoons the food into his mouth, Nyx eats without a fuss.  

“Are your dinners always like this?” Mor remarks, taking in the grand centerpieces and the candles that float in clear water. The linens that are pressed into crisp triangles. The napkins in the shape of swans.  

“Like what?”  

Mor looks to Azriel and Nesta catches the look as Mor grimaces to her friend. Nesta has the sudden urge to spill her water in her lap, the glass knocked over by accident…  

But she’d never be so petty.  

“It’s just so formal.” 

“The House likes to entertain,” Nesta answers, taking a sip from her glass and once more she wishes it was wine. Wishes for wine or… Cassian. But neither are here.  

“And yet you never invite anyone over,” voices Amren, who picks at her lamb as if it might bleat back at her.  

Seemingly by the words, the thunder crashes, the mountain shaking the chandelier. Nesta pays no mind as the lights begin to flicker, the clinking of crystals reminding her of rain. Nyx cries and the others reach for their glasses that shake with the sound.  

Nesta only continues cutting her steak.  

~ 

After dinner, the bulk of them stand around the table as if waiting for her word, but Nesta doesn’t care what they do, she only wants them to leave her alone. She misses the quiet solitude, the House bringing her a cup of tea as she reads another book. She’s still working on the A section of the library, but the House gifts her a new book. One of its favorites, she assumes at how excited the House seems. It makes her a reading corner out of pillows and brings her a cup of steaming milk sweetened with honey. It’s been too good to set down, but she’s only made it to the middle.  

Nesta grabs the book again and makes her way to the library. She’ll let them decide what they want to do in her house. She doesn’t care.  

But her sister seems to take her action as a cue to follow her.  

Nesta grits her teeth.  

“How have you been?” Feyre asks, making chittering small talk. Her voice is bright in a way that scratches at her skin and she can feel a twinge in her head from an ache beginning to form.  

Will this night never end?  

“I mean with Cassian being away and all.”  

“Same as always.”  

“What do you while he’s away?” 

Nesta shrugs, “what I always do.”  

She knows Feyre won’t be happy with that response and Nesta debates whether she should give a more definitive answer, if only to save herself the trouble later.  

Feyre blinks at that, hiking up Nyx who falls slightly at her waist. He’s gotten bigger. Nearly in his seventh month. His eyes are the same blue as theirs, but his hair is as dark as his father’s. As dark as Cassian’s. An Illyrian trait, maybe, because most of the Illyrians she knows have pitch black hair. Nesta wonders if her children will also have their father’s hair, the rich golden hue of his skin, maybe his eyes too. She wonders how much of them will seem like her at all.  

“He’s been gone a lot lately,” Feyre says, her voice light.  

It sounds like casual chit-chat, but the more Feyre stammers for another sentence, her feet shuffling through the halls, Nesta thinks the words sound increasingly different. He’s been gone a lot lately reads like what have you done? Did you have a fight? Is he tired of you?  

Nesta wonders the same often enough; she can’t hold it against her sister for thinking it, too. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Nesta thinks that absence makes the stomach grow sick.  

He’s sick of her.  

Cassian goes back to Illyria—to Windhaven—stays without a thought, because she is too much for more than a few days. There is nothing about her that can be stomached for that long.  

“He’s been—what—gone for two weeks now? And he was gone before that.”  

And before that. And before that. On and off.  

It’s his job of course. She can’t expect to give it up when he commands a legion. She can’t expect him to train her when he also must train the Illyrians. Warriors already prepared for wars that Nesta doesn’t even want to think of, even though she knows one is lurking outside her door—an unwelcomed guest prepared to knock, to move in, to stay.  

“He’ll be back soon,” she says, walking into the brightly lit library. The sight of the books is a sigh of relief.  

“How soon?”  

“Soon enough,” Nesta says, eyeing what the House has done. The House already prepares her space. There’s a corner waiting for her. A blanket of wool dyed in burgundy. A steaming cup of what smells like tea. Her book already opened to her page.  

“Why don’t you go with him?” Feyre asks as the others settle in the room. Nesta wishes her sister wouldn’t ask these questions in front of them. They avoid her gaze, but they look like they want to know also why she stays.  

Nesta ignores them.  

“There are games in the closet,” she answers, pointing to a corner, where a door suddenly appears in the wall. “The kitchen is now on the fourth floor, but if you need anything, just ask the House. It will show you to your rooms when you’re ready.”  

Feyre opens her mouth to speak, but Nesta goes to her reading corner and picks up that book. Her back is rigid and there is nothing comfortable about the way she sinks in the chair. She wishes the back was taller, so they couldn’t see her from behind—wishes it was sturdier, so she didn’t have to try to sit straight.  

She grips the bindings as if it might keep her still. Nesta can feel them resume behind her, their voices hushed as if courteous of the fact that they’re in a library. She can hear Nyx’s baby babbles and Nesta holds onto that sound, holds onto it too, to keep her grounded.  

But the words float in the blank spaces in her book and no amount of reading will make them disappear from her mind.  

Why don’t you go with him?  

Because I can’t leave.  

“Why don’t you want to go then?” Feyre asks, sidling up to the chair across from her. Her sister makes a great show of moving the chair closer as if their conversation can remain intimate between the two of them—as if to show Nesta will be having this conversation whether she likes it or not.  

It comes as no surprise that Feyre doesn’t leave her alone. It seems that saving one’s life and a proclamation of love is all it takes for her little sister to hold on tightly to her leg no matter how much she tries to shake her off.  

Nesta purses her lips as she turns a page. “It’s rude to interrupt someone while they’re reading.”  

Feyre only stares, waiting for her answer. When Nesta doesn’t even glance her way, Feyre sighs. That deep sigh Nesta knows well. “I don’t understand; I thought things were going good with you two. Are you two... well?”  

Are we well?  

“We’re fine,” she grits out.  

“Are you fighting?”  

“Not that I’m aware of.”  

 “Then, what is it? You two were inseparable and now...”  

Now, he works, Nesta thinks. Now he works and she’s fine, and no one cares about the girl in the tower who causes no problems. Who cares about a person who’s healed? What type of warrior cares about a princess already saved?  

“I thought you wanted me in this house.” She says spitefully, hoping that it will hit that part of her sister that always seems to feel guilty about something. Leave me alone, she thinks. “You wanted me in this house and now you’re complaining that I’m not leaving.”  

“That is not why we put you in this House.” 

Feyre crosses her arms as stubborn as her, and Nesta thinks she might get up and leave, go to the other part of the House where she doesn’t have to see her any longer, but Feyre doesn’t leave. Nesta again can’t shake her off, so she waves a dismissive hand.  

“Regardless,” she remarks, her own guilt welling up in her chest, “I’m here now. What are you complaining about?”  

“It’s quiet here,” Feyre says, “That’s why I ask.”  

Nesta tries not to remark that it was quiet until her and her gaggle of family showed up at her door.   

But it is quiet. She can hear her thoughts run circles in her head. Even the symphonia doesn’t drown it out.  

“I was thinking that I might… visit you more often… if you’re free. If you will have me.”  

Nesta only keeps her expression straight, her limbs aching and tired from standing so still.    

“Do whatever you’d like.”  

~ 

Nesta can’t sleep. She shifts in her bed, moving to Cassian’s side that doesn’t smell like him anymore. She’s begun to wonder if it ever did at all.  

Perhaps, she’s being dramatic, but that’s what a lack of sleep does. She can barely rest with all those thoughts racing in her mind.  

So Nesta paces, and she moves, and she thinks on a harp and it’s notorious first string. Light movements and leaping. What of its final string? What of eons and space and time?  

But where would she go, who would she be, why would she leave when everything she has is right here? What stories would they tell about her, she wonders. The girl who made the mountain come to life disappears without a trace. What would Cassian say?  

It’s seems inconsequential to think of those things, but she wonders... what would Cassian feel? Somehow, she can imagine him relieved, but most times, in her dreams, he doesn’t even notice she’s gone and Nesta’s left pondering why she ever waits for a male who doesn’t care. 

But Cassian does care, he’s just away.  

He’s just away and the sky still weeps and Nesta tries to listen to voices that are still awake and rumbling, but the House is silent.  

It’s only her that hasn’t learned to sleep through things. Try as she might.  

She thinks of Feyre’s words.  

Why don’t you want to go? 

“Who’s going to take care of the house?” she says to the night.  

But the house hasn’t felt like a house when he's gone, and guilt racks her stomach at the thought. This place... leave the place that has loved her better than often she could love herself—loved her better than anyone, really.  

But Nesta doesn’t want to speak of it. Let them think what they must and she will continue climbing those stairs. She can already taste the sweat on her skin like wine on her lips.  

Take it from me. Take it from me. Take it from me.  

Take one more thing away from me, I dare you.  

Nesta can’t help but imagine her house of cards falling, decorating the table with ruby, onyx, and quartz. Lovely shades of catastrophe that will inevitably fall once more when she starts again. 

She doesn’t even realize she has left the room, but she walks through the house in her white slip of a dress.  

The door opens and the House reveals another room.  

It is made up of walls. White, bright walls.  

There is padding on the floor and along the walls and that is all. When the door closes all that is left is a blinding lack of color. She wades to the center, plopping into cotton as if she is floating through clouds.  

Clouds or... something else. The shade of white reminds her of teeth. Blinding and bighting where she sits at the center.  

But it’s better than sleeping out there.  

~ 

“Have you seen Nesta?” 

A rumble of commotion disturbs her from sleep, and yet when she wakes there is nothing but a peak of sunshine. Here, in this room, there is nothing but sunshine.  

There are no white walls, no suffocating brightness that cushions the dark parts of her soul that claw and rip. Underneath her there is only hardwood and her hands smooth over the surface as if willing the room to look as it did, where all her straight jacket dreams dreamed no more.  

A voice drips in concern, “She’s not in her room. I’ve looked everywhere.” 

But evidently not here, Nesta thinks. Thought may not be fair. She is unsure what the house makes this door look like. If it blends into the wall as sure as any paint or picture.   

She supposes she must make herself known. “I’m here,” she speaks with an open door.   

“You slept on the floor?” Feyre asks as she peers into her space.  

“No, I slept—” But she turns and the room is empty and there’s no way to explain what the house has conjured. Hardwood on the floor and walls of cream. A simple empty room that was something else if they managed to leave her alone.  

Her head aches and she clenches her eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach.  

Why can’t they leave her alone?  

“Are you okay? Do you want to get you some medicine? Nesta, stop walking.”  

“Stop asking questions!” She says, irritation leaking from her voice.   

“It feels like someone died in here,” Amren notes, rubbing at her arms at the chill in the house.  

“Nesta?”  

And it’s his voice.  

Sweet familiarity.  

Cassian looks at her and she breaths a sigh of relief.   

He goes to her quickly, his hands going to her face, but she reaches for his torso. Nesta wants to be engulfed by him and his scent. The only one who truly belongs to her.  

He tucks her in his arms, kissing her on the forehead. “You, okay?” 

“I’m fine.”  

“What is everyone doing here?” 

Nesta shakes her head, “There was a storm yesterday.” As an afterthought, she looks him over, his wings, “Did you fly through the storm?” 

He grins at her perusal and settles his arm around her and her head is tucked to his chest.  

“I am honestly better than the last two weeks.”  

“Were the camps bad?” 

She hopes he says yes.  

Nesta almost wants to hear it, so she can say that he should stay home.  

“How was your weeks without me?” 

“They were—” 

“Cassian! You’re back.” Rhys calls, sleepiness settling on his frame.  

“Cassian, it’s good to see you!” Mor announces excitedly. “Did you fly through the rain?”  

“It already seems to be letting up,” He says going to the window and flicking at the curtains. Indeed, the clouds part and sun begins peaking thorugh the clouds.  

The others look to her, but Nesta doesn’t care about what they’re thinking.  

“I don’t remember it raining this much last year,” Mor notes.  

“Almost like someone’s unhappy with us,” Amren remarks, blinking up at her and raising a brow, but Nesta only looks to Cassian. There’s very little that can irritate her now that he’s home. Her mate. Her love.  

Still, she can hear whispered words in the back of her mind replay itself like her favorite song.  

He’s only obligated to love you. He’s not obligated to stay. 

~ 

“The others invited us to Sevenda’s for dinner,” Cassian calls from their bedroom. Nesta doesn’t say a thing. Instead, she sits in the bathtub and sinks into the water as it comes up to her chin. “I know you don’t like going out to the city, but I thought it might be a good idea. To get it over with, you know?”  

Nesta doesn’t know, and she refuses to focus on the words. Instead, she breathes deeply, and contemplates the bath. She hated it once, and now it offers her solace. Rose petals and lavender float in the water—light green from the herbs the House puts in. It smells like a concoction of tea, but it does nothing to dim the roaring in her chest as Nesta folds her knees up, picking off the flowers that stick to her wet skin.  

Why are they hogging you, she wants to ask. You just got back.  

“I figure if we get it out of the way now, we’ll have the next week all to ourselves.” 

Nesta mulls that phrase over.  

The next week? 

She knows the bath is supposed to relax her when the House draws it in the morning, but the calm heat only reminds her that there’s irritation thrumming through her chest. It feels good against her ankle though, that’s still red and swollen. Nesta tries to hide it from them—Cassian… and Feyre, but both find out soon enough when the House offers her ice and salve.  

It seems that the House only sometimes listens to her wants.  

It hasn’t gone away—the wound. Her family, yes, but not before her youngest sister makes a great fuss about calling the healer. Nothing about that female brings Nesta relief, though, and so she puts up a great fight about having Madja visit. Cassian, too, argues and Azriel, helpfully, chimes in that it has been three days and the wound should already be gone.   

It’s better, she says, pretending as she’s done days prior that it brings her no pain. Good as new.  

But it’s not good or new, and this news from Cassian is not good or new. She should expect it by now. The inevitability of his absence.  

You’re never there when I need you.  

“What do you think?” He speaks. His voice is louder as he makes his way, and she can feel the plop of a kiss on her head. He unclips her hair, taking great care to comb his fingers through her scalp. Nesta leans her head back, but she doesn’t relax as he picks up a comb and starts brushing her hair. He wants to take care of her, it seems, for he has not stopped touching her.  

If he really cared... he’d stay.   

“Are you leaving again?” She asks.  

Cassian doesn’t answer, instead he looks at her from above where she tilts her head back. He kisses her lips, and it’s an odd feeling, being kissed upside down. It’s not unwelcomed… just odd. But as he pulls away, Nesta wants to tug him into the bath with her, soak him in like the scent of lavender.  

“You missed me?” 

“Why do you say?”  

“Because I missed you,” he says, leaning into her and kissing her neck, biting at the soft skin there. “Every day, I missed you.”  

“But not enough to stay.”  

Her voice drips with bitterness… she can hear that plain as day and she clenches her fist, holding out for his biting remark.  

It never comes, instead she hears that bell like whisper. 

“Come with me.”  

Nesta is surprised by the words. He’s never really suggested it and the idea almost seems too late. She thinks of one thousand and one replies. Of course, I will. Why haven’t you asked sooner? I’ve only ever wanted to be near you. But Nesta thinks they sound like someone else, so she refrains.  

“What time are we meeting the others?” She says instead, distracting herself by picking up the soap at her side. It’s white as milk and makes her skin luxuriously soft. Cassian always runs his hands down her arms, her legs, her face after she uses it. He tells her that if the House ever runs out of it, he’ll go searching the whole of Prythrian for more.  

It’s strange... The memory of him seems more comforting now.  

Cassian pulls his hands away, and the warmth of his body grows cold as does the water of the bath. Maybe he’ll leave her this time for good, she thinks, decide it’s not worth the pain it takes to keep her. But Nesta feels something soft wrap around her shoulders, and she turns just as he gestures for her to stand.  

When the warm towel is fully wrapped around her, Cassian lifts her into his arms to pull her from the tub. He cradles her to him as he walks to their bed, and she doesn’t care that she’s still not dry and she’ll probably get their sheets wet. Nesta can’t care about anything but that he’s holding her.  

Cassian kisses the side of her head as he sits on the heavy cushion, and Nesta listens to his heartbeat. She hears that expression as clearly as music. I love you. I love you. Beat after beat.  

Don’t let go, she wants to tell him.  

Don’t let go, the canary sings.  

“You’re leaving again,” Nesta mumbles into his chest. A confirmation. An inevitable truth.  

“It’s my job,” he replies simply, and she sinks further into his arms.   

He smells of fresh air and Nesta wonders how he can keep that scent even after flying. He smells of fresh air and pine. All things that reach towards the sky—space—the stars. All things that are free and unencumbered. Nesta wonders if she smells like the house. All the walls and empty spaces waiting to be filled.  

“You can come with me,” Cassian encourages once more, and his voice seems to reach for her, yearns to pull her out of depths. 

Nesta shakes her head. “You know I can’t.”  

Cassian doesn’t ask her why. Maybe he thinks it’s a lost cause… she’s a lost cause.  

But he holds her. He holds her until she’s dry, holds her as his stomach rumbles, holds her even when the shadows crawl up the walls and blend into evening. Still Cassian holds her and all the while she can hear twittering bird calls from a window that is open to a city below.   

Whistles instead of words.  

~  

The other half of the battle is deciding if her house is a prison or a home.  

It’s hard to tell when she awakens and there’s tea on her bedside table. Steaming and hot. Cassian is no longer at her side, no longer pressing himself closer where she can wrap her arms around his torso and tuck her head to his chest... but there’s tea and Nesta wraps her hands around the base of the cup and sniffs the heady scent of mint instead of pine and snow. She lets the tea comfort her as she drinks, ignoring the bite of pain on her tongue. She will drink until she is filled with it, until she is warm to her toes.  

He will be gone for three days this time, and the thought comforts her, because when Cassian returns, he will stay for a week. A week of him to chase away the days without.  

Still, three days seem endless and Nesta fills the time rifling through each room. The House likes to entertain her, she finds, and it opens more doors for her to discover. There is a drawing room that holds only the bluest of things. Blue walls. Blue sofas. Blue pillows. Nesta makes a note to store the few Rhys has gifted her in this room where the ultramarine hides the tedium of these days in its shade.  

The House opens another when she had flitted through each closet, each cabinet, each drawer. Nesta wonders how the house never runs out of ideas. Surely, she’s never been this creative. But sure enough, behind the next door the floor lowers into a pool of crystal-clear water, the floors speckled in opal hues.  

Her mother always dreamt she’d live in a castle and Nesta imagines the kind built from sand. She is not on the beach, the shore crashing and going, but soon enough the pool starts bubbling and kicking up waves. She can smell the sea as she dips in a toe.  

She is alone, Nesta knows, so she can strip off her clothes and enter the water or swim in the cotton fabric—a nice summer dress that she feels pretty in when she slips it on this morning. Nesta opts for keeping the clothes on because she wants to know what it feels like on her skin. It floats in the water, ballooning around her and Nesta pats it down to see what it might do. It only floats back around her like she imagines one of those fish might—one she’s read about in a book about the Summer Court.  

These creatures move by beating their combs rhythmically to push themselves forward. Though many species can be hard to find, they can be easily seen during the eleventh through the third month when the warm tropical waters of the Summer Court shores have cooled. Residents are often seen paddling on the shores of the Lagoona, where the night allows onlookers to see pulsating light in rainbow colors.  

As the words form in her mind, light begins to pool at the bottom, fae lights or another, changing its hues. Red to green to blue. Blue to green to red and back again until Nesta feels as though she is in Summer too.  

But Nesta remembers the cushioned room, the one that disappears back to hardwood.  

Like the others, this room doesn’t have windows and she is glad for that because she doesn’t know how she might feel if she could hear the tittering sound of birds or the city alight with song. She sighs as the pool begins to sink into hickory.   

Nesta is not in Summer.  

Nesta has never been to the sea.  

~ 

It takes her nearly three hours to make it down the mountain by stairs and it must be the most inconvenient part of living in the House. Never mind that its height used to make her want to puke, her thoughts running wild about how she could fall at any moment. It’s not even that her legs will inevitably hurt when she reaches the bottom, and more so when she climbs back up again. No, it’s the amount time it takes to walk down each step as she holds onto the twisted railing. She hopes that she won’t slide all the way down, but who really knows—who will really find her if she does?  

All Nesta knows is that she won’t twist her ankle again and that she promises as she carefully takes a step lower. It’s not raining today or at least not yet. The storm clouds gather in the sky, but they have yet to release their racking sobs that might drown the city in its sorrow and wash her out to sea.  

The last time, the stairs were painted in waterfall rains and this time there is no rain. There is no lightning followed by its angry roars. She will not crash and fall like a tumbling tree, with its bitter bruises and its twisted, gnarled limbs.  

For now, the sky only waits and watches as she climbs down and down.  

But she can hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, anticipates the sound. Six seconds and she think she’ll see the flash of something cosmic in the sky. Six seconds more and she’ll hear the crash like symbols.  

Nesta urges her feet to move faster, grips the rail and slides her hand down the metal, until she is practically leaping. The city is below, with all its lights and grandeur. The city will catch her, she thinks. So, Nesta runs faster, fumbling down as she reaches the bottom.  

The last step feels like a reckoning, and a rumble of thunder sounds from above. Her feet pound against the cement, and she doesn’t know where she goes, but her body knows the way. She feels the tug of something pull her to it. A knot tied to her heart and squeezing.  

She rounds the corners, taking up the city streets that wind around and around like those twisting, tumbling stairs, taking the backstreets where the familiar fae lights illuminate her path. She feels her chest pound to the chaotic symphony of the heavens and the houses turn to brick and mortar. Burnished apartment buildings stand tall over closing shops, but they’re not the ones she’s looking for. And when Nesta turns the corner, she’s there.  

The apartment is there, too.  

Its horrid yellow awnings and its chipped white paint. Nesta smiles—laughs as she sees it. Something maniacal and loud.  

It stands.  

It has not fallen. It is not newly rebuilt or closed for construction. It looks the same. Untouchably similar to the apartment she once knew. Nesta barely breathes as she takes it all in.  

The lightning rips through the sky, multiple strikes. One for every wound. One for every lie. The light weaves together and Nesta imagines roots. Nesta imagines the apartment falling then, split in the middle or cut off at the trunk, but it does not fall. It does not burn. It does not make honest people out of them.  

Nesta hears a crash and the buildings rattle with the sound. The apartment looms over her as the light flashes, and the rain begins to pour. It is a wide mouth. The windows are teeth. The door is a bottomless stomach. The porch is a flickering tongue and Nesta swears she sees it smiling as if she had Made that house, too. She can almost hear its voice. 

I still stand, it speaks, and so do you.  

Nesta runs.  

The building laughs. She can hear it in the thunder, in the swallowing rain.  

So do you.  

Nesta sprints.  

So do you.  

Nesta climbs stairs of waterfall rains.  

So. Do. You.   

~ 

Later when Nesta is up on the mountain, safely ensconced in walls and rock, happily drying by the fire, she remembers that place.  

Cassian gets home late, and she hears him opening the door, but it’s harder to make herself excited to see him. She pretends to be busily reading a book, engrossed in words that pass her by like heavy brick houses and winding streets as she runs.  

She thinks of the apartment standing erect in the city. Not like a fallen deck of cards that splay pretty reds and whites and blacks. That tower has already been torn apart and the cards lay softly on the table because they can't make it past the first rumble and strike.  

He walks to her, methodically, by routine, and he kisses her temple like usual.  

But Cassian must notice how quiet she seems, because he picks her up from her cream-colored couch, and he sets her on top of him in a way she’s familiar with—how she likes. 

“Do you want to go to the city tomorrow?” He asks and she thinks of a mouth taking shape in her mind. Her once-maybe never was home chomping its windowed teeth.  

Nesta says yes, but what she really means is that she wants to go home. She thinks of the words to say, rehearses them over and over. They sit on the tip of her tongue.  

But she does not say them.  

Nesta is home.  

~ 

“Where are we going?” she asks as they walk through the city. People greet them as they pass, and Nesta wonders if they know what she’s done. Never mind who she is, Nesta wants to know what they see. What title accompanies her when she walks? Arrogant queen. Haughty witch. Sister of the High Lady. A lady and her lord.  

Hero, drunk, or saint?  

I am Nesta Archeron, she wants to tell them—anyone who asks. I am Nesta and no one and nobody else.  

But she is barely even Nesta some days, and so no amount of smiling will convince them that it isn’t a grimace. She nods politely instead, while Cassian laughs a boisterous roar. He has no problem living with people.  

“I’ll take two, please,” he says to the fae at the stall, whose stand proudly displays two hundred vibrant colors. A flag for his country, though she doesn’t recognize which one. A sign that is written in childish font. In crayon, she thinks… happy crayon by happy little hands.  

The fae eyes her as she gleans. “My children made that sign years ago,” he shrugs with a smile on his face. “They’re older now but I can’t seem to part with it.”  

“It’s a nice sign,” she responds politely. The fae seems proud of her acknowledgment.  

Cassian seems proud that she speaks to the fae and Nesta remembers that look. Nesta has seen that look before. When he’s surprised that she’s polite. When he’s surprised that she’s not mean. When he’s surprised that she can blend in as easily as them.  

The male hands her a stick of cotton candy and she rips away the clouded pink. It’s sweet on her bitter tongue. Cassian carries a bag of popcorn, red and white stripes covering the outside, and in his other hand is an apple. Ruby and glaringly bright. All the colors make her think of the last romance she reads.  

A date, she remembers, is something that the characters do to get to know each other. Usually before love has had a chance to embed itself so deeply in their sternums. Love is a worm wiggling through the core of an apple as it feasts. Cassian takes a great big bite.  

But Nesta already knows Cassian and love has already had its fill. He’s her mate after all. Her one and only. Her forever. Her home. But... what does she really know?  

Who is he really if he’s never there?   

The day is warm, and the sun shines brightly and Nesta doesn’t know who Cassian is. 

It seems sinful somehow to already love him.  

When he’s done with the apple, he takes up her hand and soon enough they’re walking through a quieter part of the city. Shops turn into parks and streets wind through tall, sturdy homes. They pass street signs and bulletin boards and the sweet song of birds chirping in trees.  

This is a place you abhor, they sing. Because she does. Only resentment fills her lungs when she breathes in fresh air. This is not what her mother imagined when she dreamt of castles. This is not what Nesta yearns for when she peers out windows.  

Nevertheless, this is somewhere she should be. Nesta knows it in her heart of hearts. A dainty cottage with the love of her life. Children laughing in the yard. To be surrounded by boisterous life. Loud enough that’ll seep into her skin, stuff cotton in her mouth, silence her when she inevitably tries to speak.  

This place is quiet in a way the House isn’t.  

This place is somewhere she can live and not speak to animacy.  

“Where are we going?” Nesta asks. She resists the urge to tug her hand out of his and run the other way. She knows her way back to the House.  

Cassian hums, leading her forward and Nesta is greeted with stone and grey brick.  

A female, all blonde sunshine and praise, sweeps down the porch, offering them her hand. “Aren’t you two the loveliest couple I’ve ever seen?”  

“Barbs, this is my mate, Nesta.”  

Cassian gestures towards her and she wonders if he's proud of that fact. She wouldn’t be.  

"She’s gorgeous just as you said.”  

Nesta shirks back at the tone of her voice. High pitched and squealing.  

“There’s no one in the house, just as we’ve discussed. So, you two can look to your hearts content!” The female, Barbs, waves her hand to the melancholic thing. A two-story painted grey. She almost seems proud of that, too.  

Cassian tugs on her hand and Nesta moves through that open doorway. Right into its mouth.  

“Well look around! Look around!” The fae calls, smiling with her teeth. It reminds her of a drawing she’s seen in a book in the library.  

The book is called Serrasalmidae. It is housed with the A’s... For Aquatic, she learns.  

It has no author as many of the books in the library don’t. Too old, maybe, or perhaps names don’t matter at the time. Sometimes there are symbols pasted in the inward corners of the cover page and Nesta thinks that might be a name, but she has yet to learn the language of stamps and dyes. Some identity in pigmented hues. She looks for it, too, in this one but finds none.  

Inside the dark burgundy cover, however, is a detailed account of the discovery of a species of fish. They reside in a lake somewhere near the borders of Scythia, where the wall has once split the land. A team of traders happen upon it while traveling the Golden Road—a route that’s said to weave through the human and fae lands when the wall stopped all trade. It used cracks—weaknesses in the magical foundation—where creatures were said to be able to squeeze through… or at least that’s the rumor.  

All these traders find is a system of rivers that connect at a large, murky lake.  

Thinking that the water’s safe, two of the tradesmen go in, fishing. They use a technique, Nesta remembers, referred to as noodling. She thinks she’ll suggest it when Cassian comes home—an activity that he might like as well as her—but when she turns the page, Nesta thinks better of it. 

The male dips his hand in for that catch and... the author describes the scream.  

His hand is chewed upon. There are bite marks up his wrist and it seems the ruckus the two males make trying to get out of the water, the fear that the serrasalmidae must smell, brings out a swarm.  

Barbs’ grin reminds her of the serrasalmidae.  

Nesta imagines sharp points in lieu of pearly whites. There must be more of her waiting behind each closet door, she thinks. If she opens one, she might lose a hand.  

“Please, please. Look through everything.” Barbs reaches for the closet, swinging it wide open, “See, how much storage!” 

Nesta turns to Cassian, but he only gives her a small grimace—a look reserved only for her—a funny sort of look to say he’s as frightened as much as she is by the female who smiles with her teeth.  

When Barbs turns her back, Cassian chomps down mockingly. Nesta pretends to laugh, even as she feels breathless and strange.  

“This house is suited for a growing family, like yourselves,” she remarks cheerily, “unless of course you’d rather a bigger house. I have some of those available too!”  

She already lives in a house, Nesta wants to say, but Cassian squeezes her hand. “We’re just looking at our options.” 

Options.  

Nesta looks to Cassian, and she swears he can feel her shaking from where their hands meet. Permanently entwined. A comfort... if she wasn’t already bursting at the seams.  

We have a home, her scowl seems to say.  

Cassian’s gaze softens, and he squeezes her palm.  

You are my home, his look answers. 

“New mates are always so proficient! Any chance Velaris will be hearing some exciting news soon?” The female pauses as if waiting for one of them to jump for joy, raise banners, yell across rooftops.  

Nesta shirks back, wishing to see another one of those closets. Hand, be damned.  

Cassian answers for them, “We’re taking our time.”  

Barbs winks, though Nesta can see the disappointment practically seep into her eyes. It doesn’t deter the female from smiling, though. Oh no. “Well, I wouldn’t wait too long. This house has only been on the market for a few days, and I suspect we’ll have a lot of offers.”  

Barbs leads them to the backyard where an oak tree sways from gentle winds. It’s large enough for a treehouse, Nesta thinks. A treehouse or a swing tied to a branch. It would be a golden life for a child.  

“As you’ve seen, this house has four bedrooms. A beau-tiful, large master suite. Two and half baths. The neighborhood is quiet, safe... and it's located by one of the best schools in town. It’s a real steal for a couple like you.” The female clasps her hands together, getting teary eyed. “Oh, I do hope you put in an offer. You too would be lovely addition to this neighborhood.”  

Nesta opens her mouth, ready to tell the female to go sell this nonsense to someone else. But Cassian beats her to it. “Can you give us a minute?”  

Barbs smiles impossibly wider. “Of course! I'll be waiting in the kitchen right over there if you need anything—anything at all.”  

Nesta needs nothing from her.  

When she’s gone, Nesta doesn’t speak first even if her lips yearn to open as wide as that female’s grin. She thinks she might say something awful if she does.  

“Do you like this house?” Cassian asks.  

“Do you like the house?” Nesta roars, “I wasn’t aware you wanted to buy another one. Is this for your other family then?”  

Cassian sighs and Nesta tries not to shirk back at the sound. Everyone is always sighing when she's near. As if she’s tiring.  

Tire of me, then.  

“We live in the House,” she says like a well-known rhyme.  

“We can live anywhere.”  

Anywhere. As in, here, where this house is quiet and quaint and… normal. There is nothing unique about it. There are four rooms and two and a half bathrooms, and a beautiful yard with an oak tree in the back. It’s a family home. One that they can grow into and Nesta can see it. She can imagine the boy with wings that will be the spitting image of his father. She can imagine the girl who will have all the fire of her mother. Both will have her eyes and their father’s laugh. She will want to hear them laugh—smile when they do.  

But Nesta shakes that picture away as Cassian gestures for her.  

That life was never meant for her. How does he not know this already?  

“I don’t want to live here,” Nesta hisses, stepping out into the sun.  

~ 

Nesta doesn’t know why she does it, but she slams the door when they make it back to the House of Wind. Cassian isn’t far behind, following her as he watches her kick off her shoes and head straight for the private library.  

She topples onto the armchair, taking up the entirety of the space—every space that can be covered by her small frame and her lilac-colored dress, because she doesn’t need him to take up room.   

Nesta grabs the book she’d left on the table and opens it to a page—any page, she doesn’t care.  

“You’re upset,” Cassian states as if he doesn’t already know.  

“No,” she says, but they both know she’s lying.  

“It's just a house, Nesta.”  

“It’s my life, Cassian!” This time she roars it. She can’t keep it in. If the House has a heart, then her lungs have a chimney, and smoke is pouring out of mouth. Fire rages in her gut and he doesn’t know that he’s feeding the flames. He wants to burn her, wants the whole house to crumble to ash.  

Cassian shuffles and Nesta thinks of matches. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says as if she should care. As if she should cater to him because he’ll be gone for who knows how long this time.  

“Go then.”  

But Cassian doesn’t listen. Cassian pulls up a seat, and he places his hands gently where she grasps the book open. He lowers them to her lap, and Nesta wants him to touch her even now. Even when she feels the bitterness sweet on her tongue like a poison, she gladly swallows.  

“When I get back, I’m going to take some time off and I want us to have some time together.” Cassian tucks her hair behind her pointed ear, “If you aren’t busy that it.”  

She untucks it from him. “You know I’m not.”  

Cassian frowns at the words, and she knows what he’s thinking—it's what they’re all thinking. Nesta who has nothing. Nesta who does nothing. Nesta who feels nothing.  

“I'm happy here,” she says, but it sounds too empty. Unconvincing. Like she’s trying too hard.  

“I’m not good at knowing what you need.” She can feel his hand graze her hand with his thumb. “But I know something is... off.” 

“I don’t like you leaving so often.”  

“I have to. I’m a soldier, Nesta.”   

I’m a soldier, too, she wants to say. But that’s not true. Nesta doesn’t know what she is. She cannot be wife if her husband isn’t there. Not a mother because she has no children. Not a lady because she holds no court. Not a soldier if she’s not willing to lose her life or her soul.  

She is a toppled deck of cards. Empty rooms waiting to be filled. A house she can’t leave.   

What is she but wasted wishes on frivolous dreams? 

“I’m worried every time I leave you,” he admits. It’s only a whisper of words, but she hears them clearly. Her eyes sting and his are a burning, brash red.   

“What for?” She asks cruelly, “That I’ll go to a bar and drown myself while you’re away. I’m allowed to. Remember? If I make it down the stairs, I might even deserve it.”  

“You don’t have to live here,” he pleads.   

“Where else will I go?”  

Who else will I be?  

“You can go anywhere.”  

You are magic made flesh.  

Cassian shakes his head and takes her hand and Nesta wants to pull it away, but he clenches it tight in his own. “You get... quieter every time I come back.” 

You don't leave the house, she sees in that look. The silent words are a question Nesta won't claim are true or false. Say it with words if you want to know, she thinks. If she doesn't hear them, they don’t exist.  

“I’m fine.”  

She can tell she’s infuriating him. His nostrils flare and he looks like he might sigh but thinks better of displaying that impatience. Get tired of me, she thinks.  

Tire of me, so that I might be free.  

Nesta doesn’t know where that thought comes from, but she swallows it down. Her eyes stinging on their own. Nesta blinks it away, but the thought aches and it screams.  

Would she be free? If Cassian no longer loved her, would she be free?  

Say it, she demands, say it so it may be so.    

“I am trying to right a wrong. To do right by you.”   

“I am not a wrong you can fix whenever you feel the need,” she gasps, her eyes stinging and bleeding and bright. “You are not even here most days.”  

“Then go with me.”  

“I can’t!”  

“Nothing you throw at me will make me stop loving you, Nesta.” Cassian pleads as if that is the problem all along. She is pushing him away, he thinks, but what has been doing but holding out her arms. “I’m here to stay.”  

“Go,” she croaks.  

“I can’t.”  

“Just leave me here,” she begs and angry tears stream down her face. Nesta doesn’t mean to cry. She isn’t even sure sadness is what sits there, thrumming in her chest, yet it leaks out of her eyes. One moment of blue skies and a second later, there is only grey, and it pours and it’s heavy and it drowns. 

“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and she can feel the wetness on her skin, where he places his head on her hands, kissing them. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving and expecting you to be okay. I’m sorry that you love this house, when you can’t leave.”  

“The House loves me.” 

“I love you. I love you more than anything. Anyone.”  

“But you left me here,” she says. Nesta shakes her head, willing the blasted, cumbersome tears to stop falling, “You don’t leave things you love.”  

And she’s right.  

Cassian stares at her for a long moment, a rain cloud parked over his expression until she only sees resigned contemplation. A resolve that seems to defy all logic. “Then I’m staying here with you... I’m staying. If you won’t come with me, then I’m staying, and we’ll live in this house, and I won’t take you from here. But I’m not going to let you become a ghost in your home, Nesta.”  

Nesta wonders what book she’ll find ghosts in as she wipes fists across her eyes. Is she a ghost, like those faint spirits? Does she float through these shelves, pale and ghastly?  

Or does she haunt those who live here? Vengeful and terrifying.  

Trapped.  

But this house is not a trap. This house is a home, and she made the House come to life. So Nesta shakes her head and his words away, for she knows she can't be dead.  

She is only ever empty...  

Nothing to fill her but cobwebs and sunlight.   

So Nesta raises her shoulder, opening her book once more and sitting in that chair that fit the two of them better. “Do what you want,” she mocks casually, “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all this time?”  

~ 

Nesta sits on that training field above the house, so high she can see the vastness of the sky and nothing down below, and for some reason it doesn’t rain.  

She thinks it should be, but the sky is blue... and it’s odd to see the world so calm when it had been raging for days—for months now. There are no clouds. It’s just blue... like the sea she’s never been to. One she can just about swim in, if she’d been born lucky enough to have wings.  

But if she’s magic made flesh and the only thing she does is float through walls, hoping someone will hear her when she rages, what would she do with wings?  

Is she even that creative?  

Nesta reaches up and there’s nothing she can grasp. The wind doesn’t mock her for trying and there’s nothing really punishing about it, so it doesn’t feel foolish to reach, but still... there’s embarrassment.  

It sits in her chest and it fills her with disgust, but the judgment isn’t coming from the sky looking down at her. There is nothing particularly animate about it. No mouth to deceive, no eyes to glare, no tongue to swipe a taste, no throat to swallow.  

It’s just blue.  

It’s not even easy to drown in for she cannot reach high enough, and yet when she reaches up, she feels too young.  

Nesta has to wonder if the strange emotions are not because of Cassian.  

Perhaps it’s because he leaves this morning. He promises, with a soft peck to her lips and run of his hands down her cheeks, that he’ll be back before sundown, and he’ll be here to stay. And he’d been gentle with her in a way she almost forgot.  

He’d been gentle all last evening, too, even after all that’d been said.   

This morning he cooks her breakfast, kissing her forehead when she looks at the dish as if not understanding why he’s being so nice, and he repeats what he says in the evening when they lie in their enormous bed never quite getting too close.  

I love you. I love you. I love you.  

I love you so much.  

So yes, Nesta reaches, and she feels too young and too naïve and a little stupid.  

What are you even reaching for, she thinks. What could you achieve by raising your hand up into the air as if you can capture a cloud in your fingertips?  

Such frivolous dreams...  

She reaches up and expects nothing, but the wind gently swipes across her hand as if shaking it hello. For everything is alive if she dreams it... and Nesta wonders if Cassian will become a ghost, too.   

Trapped... like she is.  

Because she is a ghost, isn’t she? What is a spirit but what was once alive? She’d never thought of herself as such, yet it keeps turning in her mind over and over and she’s not supposed to feel like this.  

I love you, he says.  

but you’re a ghost, she hears.  

“I’m a ghost,” Nesta says, and it hurts to say aloud. The words sound something like propaganda and betrayal and naivety. Foolishness for she’s about to be tricked again, even if she’s gotten her way.  

But she’s not certain how she’s been tricked, when the sky is so blue, and the anger isn’t spitting fire in her lungs. So Nesta lays back on the tile of an unused training field and says the only other words she can voice without choking.  

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she repeats and in the depths of a lonely room with no walls and a fathomless sky, if Nesta only says the words to herself, so be it.  

~ 

The bookshelves are lined up like dominoes and they might fall if one tips over. Nesta never does finish the A’s.  

“Do you think you’ll ever leave this place?” she asks.  

Gwyn’s smile is a sure thing. Beautiful and bright and at peace with a decision Nesta doesn’t even want to discuss. “I will.”  

Nesta can only count on one hand when she’s ever been sure of anything. Laying across Cassian’s body made her sure. Giving her powers away to Feyre took away the guilt. Screaming at the top of her lungs for Elain gave her purpose. Accepting the mate bond made her nauseous, but at the end it calmed her more than she could comprehend.  

Gwyn clears her throat, setting the book back into its slot.  

“You’re leaving,” she says, and it isn’t a question.  

Nesta doesn’t know what to say. So, she moves to the railing, peers below to level seven where the House greets her in inky darkness.  

Gwyn lets out a breath and Nesta thinks of the desperate gasp of air someone takes when they’re drowning. “You knew this day was coming... Someday we all have to leave.”  

Nesta shrugs noncommittedly, “I’m not a priestess.”  

“But you’re here for the same reason we are.”  

Because I make homes out of prisons.  

“I thought priestesses were allowed to stay here forever.” 

“The beautiful thing about forever is that it doesn’t last long.” Gwyn steps to the edge, gripping the railing as if she can keep it from falling and she shrugs as if she’s read all these books and she knows all these answers. There is nothing she doesn’t know here, in the depths of the library.  

Nesta shakes her head, the thought unbearable. Is nothing constant? Will nothing ever stand still? “But the library is a safe haven.”  

Why would anyone want to leave?   

“The library is bubble. It keeps us protected, because we think all the harm is outside. But you know what I learned? The torment is in here.” Gwyn beats at her chest, “and it’s not going to go away. Nesta, you survived. You lived. I lived. Forever will not be forever for us.”  

“I used to think that was a horrible thing,” Nesta shakes her head. “Survival, I mean... I hurt so many people.”  

“They hurt you, too,” Gwyn says, giving her a somber smile. “You’ve been screaming without a saying word, haven't you?”  

“How do you know?”  

“I’m surrounded by books, and you walk around with open pages.” Gwyn shrugs, but hums to herself as if thinking better. “I know you Nesta. How can I notice? I know I’ve said that we’re the rock in which the surf crashes. But even the rock changes. Even the sea.” 

“I feel like I’m drowning,” Nesta admits, suddenly feeling small... and guilty for the House had shown her its pain, too. “I keep trying to fight, to stay above water, but I’m drowning.”  

“Maybe... it’s time to stop fighting.”  

Nesta scrunches up her brows, as if not having to fight seems blasphemous.  

“Hear me out,” Gwyn says diplomatically. “The thing about drowning is that the more we struggle, the more we fight, the more the tide pulls us down. We get water in our lungs, and we choke on it. We get weak... but the sea isn’t trying to kill us. The sea does what seas do. Float. Stop fighting and float.”  

Gwyn reaches a handout to the darkness, unafraid of its depths. Its fury. No wonder they’d become friends, after all. “You said you met the heart of the House, that the House showed you all its darkness.”  

“It was unwanted,” Nesta says as nonchalantly as she can. She drifts her hands through the shadows, and she can feel it thrum, the little tendrils like a hand that clasps her own.  

Friend. Companion. Home.  

That is what the House is to her.  

Gwyn lays a hand on the railing, and the movement is soft. Gentle as she says, “but do you like living here?”  

“I love every part of this house.”  

All its cold hallways, all its empty rooms, the soft echoing lament of loneliness that follows her with every door opened and every door closed. She has to love it all. It helped her when no one else would.  

“But if the House had no heart,” Gwyn shrugs, “if it was just a house... would you like it here?”  

Nesta scrunches her brows at the question. She can feel her heart thump in her chest as if it wishes to escape. “Of course! I—” 

“Why?” Gwyn goads.  

“Because it has a library... It overlooks the city." Nesta can feel the unspoken words sit in her chest, and they crawl up her throat, “It takes care of me.” 

“The heart takes care of you... with the power you gave it.”  

Same thing, she thinks.  

Nesta shakes her head. She feels dizzy from all these words. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave it.”  

“But you want to,” Gwyn says and it’s not a question. Gwyn says the words like they’re true. Like she knows.  

“Yes,” Nesta admits. The word sounds like a gasp. Yes. “But I can’t.” 

“Why not?”  

“I made it come to life. Shouldn’t I be responsible for it?” 

Even as she says the words, Nesta knows that’s not the reason. Responsibility has never been something she grasps like an outstretched hand and Gwyn knows her too well to believe her.  

“What are you afraid might happen if you leave? That it’ll be lonely? It has us. All the priestesses are here. You’ve seen them talk to the shadows.”  

All manners of truth sit in her throat and still she can’t say it. So Nesta says the simple version, “it loves me.”  

Gwyn smiles softly. So soft it hurts to look at her. “But I love you... and I want you to do what you feel is right. I won’t resent you if you go.” 

“Why not?”  

“Because you don’t have to give up even a tiny ounce of who you are or what makes you happy, Nesta. You don’t have to do that for the people you love.” 

“But that’s what I do. I don’t know how to show it any other way.”  

Suffering is love. Enduring suffering is love.  

When she laid on Cassian’s body, when she laid on Feyre’s. When she dug her own grave to make her mother happy. When she used that soil to help Elain plant gardens. When she stayed at the bottom so her friends could climb.  

“Nesta... We don’t have to become martyrs for the people we love, and the people who love us won’t ask us to do that.” 

But she thinks of them all. Feyre and Elain and Cassian and Gwyn and Emerie and the House. All of them people she’d live and die for. All of them she owes.  

“It loves me,” Nesta repeats, and the words sound like a broken record. The symphonia that keeps replaying the same songs.  

“I love you.”  

“It loved me when I was unlovable.” 

“You’re not unlovable,” she sings and Nesta hears the words like the pop of a soap bubble. A rumbling, bottle of champagne. Gwyn takes her in her arms, and Nesta lays her head on her friend’s shoulder. One of the only shoulders she’s ever been offered. “You have never been unlovable. Not in your entire life and it’s a shame that anyone’s ever made you feel so. You never will be.”  

In her friend’s arm, Nesta sniffles. She can feel the wetness on her lashes, and she blinks it away. But all things fall eventually... all things collapse.  

“I wish you could come with me,” Nesta says.  

“I’ll be out there before you know it. We’re fighters and we didn’t need a sword or a ribbon or a Rite to tell us that.” 

“What if it’s not like I imagined?”  

“It’s going to be nothing like you imagined.” Gwyn laughs and Nesta thinks of unencumbered blue skies, so wide and vast it should have been frightening. “Isn’t it wonderful?”  

Yes, she supposes it is.  

“I love you,” Nesta says, the gasping out of her lungs.  

Gwyn offers her a big, warm hug that speaks of possibilites.  

“I'm so proud of you.”  

~ 

It’s sunny when Nesta decides to leave.  

The sky is clear, and she sees the entire city below. All the stairs. All the people she used to be, the different faces she dawned like masks.  

She's not going to climb down them. She’s not going to climb back up.  

Nesta is through climbing mountains. 

But right now she’s sitting on top of one, and there should be some sort of reckoning, a clearer view... but Nesta’s seen enough of this view. She turns her back to it and squares her shoulders as she searches for Cassian through the house, the House opening doors leading the way.  

She finds him in the kitchen, where he’s been practically every day now, busying himself with cooking since he promises not to leave again for war or whatever it resembles now that the world has held its breath for so long.  

He must hear her, she knows, but he doesn’t turn back to look at her and Nesta needs no invitation. She wraps her arms around him from behind, his wings already raising to fit her between. Nesta holds onto his waist tightly, willing his body to give her strength and hoping that the House doesn’t feel betrayed.  

“I want to leave,” she gasps out, panting even if it’s like taking a breath for the first time. Cassian pauses his stirring and rests his large palms where they wrap around him so tightly. “I don’t want to go. I love this House so much but I’m not happy.”  

“I love the House,” she repeats. “I love you and Gwyn and Feyre and Elain and Nyx, but I love me too.”  

Cassian disentangles himself but as he peeks at her face, and there isn’t a moment he spares as  he merely wraps her once more in his arms—his wings, so close that they might as well have been hers. He runs his hands down her hair and Nesta can’t even feel ashamed for staining his shirt with the wetness of her face.  

How many tears can one person hold, she thinks. She hopes not so much more.  

“I am afraid,” she blurts. Doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t even know if she is trying to manipulate him or because it comes from a deep well in her chest that has not spoken but aches to rip and tear and roar.  

Today, it only whispers. I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid. I will never not be afraid.  

“I am too,” Cassian takes her face in his hands, “It’s scary to feel so much... but I have you and you have me. So, where do you want to go?”  

Nesta doesn’t know. She thinks about that city, and she thinks about the world. She thinks about her father and the world of books. It’s too large. She wants to go but it’s too large, and it will swallow her.  

“We have forever, you and I.” 

“I don’t want promises of forever. I want a now.”  

~ 

They pack very little. Just some clothes. Most everything belongs to the House anyways.  

“Are you ready?” Azriel asks. He’s there to winnow them or however he travels through shadows.  

But Nesta peers out of windows once more, gripping the curtains as if she is a child and she holds her mother’s hand.  

“I have to do something first,” she says, and she offers no explanation to Azriel or Cassian as she grabs the first container she sees.  

Nesta has practiced this she thinks.  

Running up and down stairs all the way to the seventh level—where darkness makes a home beneath books.  

“What am I?” She whispers to the dark. The only one who’d listened to her whistling song.  

You are magic made flesh.  

Nesta remembers Gwyn's words. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice an ounce of who you are. 

Why couldn’t she have it all, she wonders. She wades in the in between.  

You brought it to life, now make it move.  

Make it move, she hears. A soft voice like a reckoning. 

Make it move, make it tumble, make it crash.  

Chaos is something she fears, but her life is chaotic. Life is chaotic.   

The house is alive when it was just walls and rock. She made it live. She made it beat. She gave it a piece of her heart. All her ugly pieces, all her shadowed parts.  

“I’m leaving,” Nesta says to the darkness, “I’m leaving, and I might not return... I don’t think I want to return even if I can… but I might… I’m—I’m not sure.  

“You were unwanted and unloved, but you're wanted and loved by me. I won’t leave you behind. If you can’t go, I’ll come back.... but if you can go, I promise I’ll keep you--”  

Safe? The world was not safe.  

“I will love you to the best of my ability,” she says instead. “I will love you as you are, who you once were, and as you will be.”  

She sets the jar on the floor and wonders if it can contain all its heart.  

The shadow settles right in.  

When she closes the door, the house is as it always was. Red walls, and empty rooms waiting to be filled.  

~ 

~ 

~ 

“What do you think of it?” He asks, his feet shuffling against the hardwood. Cassian can’t help the nervous movement as he watches Nesta take everything in. It’s her eyes, he decides. He loves the brightness of them, the lur and temptation, but they see too clearly, scrutinize every wall. 

Cassian understands, though. He must. This is not her home. She is not familiar here. She clenches that jar, tucked in her arms like a well-behaved cat, and as Nesta holds it to her chest, he thinks about how small she looks. Queenly arrogance aside, he sometimes forgets she is not all raging limbs and war cries. Cassian wonders too if that doesn’t make him worthy of the trenches, as if he thought she was above such things as feelings.  

Nesta doesn’t say a word as she takes a step forward, running a hand along the cream-colored paint of the entry hall. It’s not nearly as modern as the House and not as open. The kitchen is to the right, closed off from the living room but with a view of the porch and the snow outside. He can cook and look back and see visitors coming in. He can clean and see the forest across...  but Nesta doesn’t cook... at least he doesn’t think so. He’s never seen her do it. And the House cleans. Cassian supposes she might not find any use for it at all.  

Through the kitchen, he can see the dining room table. Nesta takes note of it too, and Cassian watches for any shift of her expression. She merely looks across, her face stoic and unchanged.  

The house is smaller than the House of Wind and it doesn’t have nearly enough rooms for hosting large gatherings. Right now, it only has a small table fit for four. It’s in need of sanding and a fresh coat of varnish and Cassian makes a note of it. Even if Nesta chooses to throw it out and move in a new one that is more suited to her taste, it’s a good table, he thinks. It can be re-housed—go to another home where it’s well-loved. Cassian can make it loved... He can fix it into something usable.   

It’s a thought that doesn’t sit well with him and Cassian doesn't know why, but Nesta is moving to the living room before he can process where his mind has wandered.  

There is barely a couch...  

Well, there is one, but it's covered in a fine layer of dust and a cloth to keep it clean and protected. Cassian doesn’t remember who tells him to do that, but he follows their advice and has since never taken it off. Mostly, because he’s never here long enough to lounge on the cushion in front of a fire and leisurely kick back. This place is usually not where he wants to get home to.  

Cassian laughs, but it comes out nervous, and Nesta doesn’t turn towards him as she looks to the fireplace. "I’m building bookshelves to go on the walls. Or... we can put them somewhere else, but there will be bookshelves for all those romances of yours.”  

“And your war texts,” she adds. Cassian can’t tell what it means, the sound of her voice. It barely gives anything away, but he clears his throat and smiles, hopes that it somehow translates to his voice. She wants to live in a library, she once says. It’s always been a dream of hers, and there is no library like the House, so he will build her one. Cover every wall if she likes.  

“Yes, my war texts, too. We can mix them together and make a game of what we read for the night.”  

Her lips raise slightly as she turns to him, and Cassian can’t help but want to sigh in relief. “I’m positive I have more books than you, so the odds are in my favor.”  

“I think you’ll enjoy me reading your books.”  

Cassian takes a gentle step closer, but she clenches that blasted jar in her arms and he stops before he can sweep her to him. Still, he reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s fallen out of her braid and tucks it behind her ear. “I’ll leave notes for you to find, my personal anecdotes of course... highlight my favorite parts... mark the pages, we can try later.”  

Her eyes narrow and Cassian grins. “Dog ear my books and I’ll make you pay.” 

It’s that haughty look that has him tracing her lips with his thumb—has him leaning forward to close the distance that sits like miles between them. But Cassian can feel that jar hitting his stomach and he looks where the shadow moves in swirls. Some rabid beast in a cage.  

Cassian looks back to Nesta, her eyes a tepid bluish grey.  

There's a table for her to set the little beast down, next to that couch he is very eagerly awaiting to rip the sheet off, but Nesta doesn’t set it down.  

Nesta doesn’t want to set it down, he thinks. She merely tucks her hands across it and stares as if daring him to take it from her. He can hear her heart start to pound, and he hopes it is from the anticipation of their coupling and not because she thinks he will actually grab it from her.  

What male does she think he is?  

All males, he thinks, and Cassian chastises himself for forgetting as he so often does.  

It’s easy to forget when he’s not there for weeks and he seldom sees her shaking, her eyes wary without a cause, because some prick decided Nesta belonged to him... because another prick decided she was to be fae against her will... because some monster dragged her into the depths of still water. He feels the rage already beginning to bloom, his fists wanting to clench and pummel and hit, but Cassian leans down to place a kiss on her forehead. Today he will forget of past crimes suited for closed doors, a badly drawn picture, and some darts for him to throw despite his wish to maim.  

Today, he will not be jealous of a shadow that has given his love comfort.  

Still... it’s another reason Cassian marks down, for when he wants to remember why he belongs with the lowest of low. Reason number thirty-seven, because he forgets all things he should be remembering. Reason number thirty-eight, because he can’t love Nesta in any way that’s good enough.  

“Come on,” He calls softly, pointing his chin to the rest of the house, “my tour isn’t finished.”  

Nesta nods and as her shoulders relax, and Cassian brushes off the berating thought of himself that makes a home in his mind.  

“We don’t have to turn on the fireplace,” he says as an afterthought. “Yesterday, I brought down every blanket I could find. Stole them from every person I could think of, though Amren gave me a fight for hers. I swear she nearly chased me through the streets. Who knew there would be a wool shortage this year?” 

He chuckles casually, hoping that Nesta might chime in, but she only glances to the large windows at the back overlooking the other half of the forest.  

“The House can make it warm,” she remarks, looking to the snow that sprinkles down until it settles like billows of cotton.  

Softer, he thinks, I need to be softer.  

The problem is that Cassian doesn’t know how to be soft. It’s different, he knows, than being casual or funny, which he has mastered easily. It’s different than being serious, though he struggles with that still. It’s being loving, he imagines, but slower... Not a raging fire that burns without care, but a warmth that’s tamed to provide comfort.  

A bit less like himself, he ponders, because Nesta is a bit less like herself, too.  

Or maybe, she’s more like herself, he doesn’t know.  

He’s spent so much time thinking he’s wanted the old her back, the one with fire in her lungs and fresh vitriol on her tongue, that he never stops to consider that maybe this is who she is. Shy and soft and often uncomfortable... But Cassian has seen her with that outlandish courage, a voice that doesn’t shake, a chin raised so high he might have bowed right then and there, and he contemplates how both can exist in the same person.  

“When I bought this house, I bought it for the windows,” he explains, settling next to her and that jar tucked tightly in her arms. Cassian wonders if the reason she holds onto it is because it’s the only thing that’s familiar. “Never mind that it’s freezing here, and windows are probably not the best idea for the cold, I wanted to see outside.” 

“You don’t live here though.”  

“I wanted to be with you,” Cassian shrugs, “and before that I wanted to be near the others. It was too quiet here...” 

It is too quiet.  

Nesta is too quiet, too. She’s not usually like this. He figures the fact should make him feel privileged, that she shows him the most vulnerable parts of herself, but it only makes him feel scared because she still won’t look at him with the same willful ire.  

Say something. Yell at me. You’ll grow to like this house; he wants to remark.  

Like you grew into the other one? His mind replies.  

“Show me the rest of the house?” She suggests. 

Cassian obliges, distracting himself from his fear by leading her to a room tucked away by the staircase. It’s a smaller space. A sunroom he thinks they’re called, but before he shows her the rest, he turns toward her, stopping her in her tracks. Because this is the most important part, isn’t it?  

“I can fly you to Illyria if you want to visit Emerie,” but Cassian thinks about that, too. “But there’s also carriages that come through her every hour. We’re at the intersection between three cities and there’s a road nearby. It will lead you into the city or into Windhaven. Otherwise, it’s about an hour walk to Emerie.” 

“That’s quicker than the stairs.” 

Cassian shrugs a shoulder, “but if you’d prefer horses, we can get horses. There’s plenty of room to build a stable.”  

He trails off... He doesn’t even know if they’ll stay here for that long, but the idea of waiting seems... off. Every ounce of time is in their palms and it’s the only time they’re allotted.  

So he does, he takes her back downstairs, where the rooms are still mostly bare, “I thought you might like this place the best,  

“What about you? 

“You have shown me places where I could fit, but what about you? What space is yours?” 

“Whichever. I don’t care. I just want you.”  

“Do you--” Cassian nods encouraging towards her, “Do you have hobbies?”  

Ah. That’s another thing, Cassian forgets.  

It hasn’t been that long since they mated... not even that long since they acknowledged each other. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when he wakes up and she’s in his arms, he can’t possibly think of a time before when they didn’t love one another. But that’s not true... it’s an awful truth, but  

Talking to her, the way she makes him laugh loudly, makes him want to hold her so close, as loved as he is... she hasn’t been with him his whole life. Seems strange somehow. He’s comfortable with her. 

“I build things, but there’s a shed for that... “ 

“What else do you do?” 

It takes him a moment to think about it, “I like to cook sometimes. Ice fishing.”  

“Both of us live here.”  

“Yes.”  

“I would like both of us to live here.” And Cassian understands.  

“And I would like to dream small for a while. Enjoy this right here.”  

“There’s a basement, too. I made sure I made one for the House’s heart. It’s pretty empty, and pretty small, but I figured we could decorate it even and the House might like it. It's warm. The furnace is there in case you didn’t want the fire. But there’s a fireplace,” he points to the one in the living room, “and there’s one in our room upstairs. I can show you.”  

And he does he takes her upstairs, and he shows her their room. The cabin is a loft of a sort. The stairs lead up a singular room with another fireplace and a room for a small reading nook, there too or any hobby she picks up later. He’ll fill it with music, too, and he already can imagine the symphonia sitting on a table in the living room or up in that reading nook while the windows are open in the spring or shut tight in the winter, where the bumbling snow drifts on clouded grounds.  

“It’s mostly secluded. There isn’t another house for a few miles so this forested area is ours, and there’s some space if you want to have a stable later, or even we need to expand the House.”  

“Of course, this doesn’t have to be a permanent home,” he reminds himself, “it can be temporary—or a vacation home, something that we just come back to or... we don’t have to come back at all if you don’t want. It’s--it’s up to you.”  

Nesta smiles slightly, still clenching that jar taking a turn of the room.  

“Where would we get all the stuff?”  

“I’ll build our bed. I’m building bookshelves right now. They’re in the shed in the back. But if you want to buy some, we can have it winnowed from Velaris or there’s some Illyrian craftsman in a town a flight away. I thought you might like some cataglogues, so I got Emerie to get me some for you. They’re on the table downstairs.”  

But Nesta’s brows furrow.  

 So, Cassian continues. His mouth running beyond him.  

“I chose this place because I wanted to be reminded that at any moment I could leave and join the world again, where the forest was right across from me.” He peers out the window to the world beyond. “There are dangerous creatures in those woods, so I guess you can’t get too far if you don’t want to wield a sword, but you can step out into the sun and smell the pine all around you—”  

“Homes are not prisons,” she says.  

“That’s not what I meant. I mean that—”  

“You mean that the House was something I could never leave, and this house is something I am given a choice to leave if I want to. An apartment. A cabin. A house. The House of Wind. They’re all the same. I can leave anytime that I want to. I can leave without ever looking back. I can leave everything behind at a moment’s notice. I choose to be here. I chose to be in the House, and I chose to leave, and I choose to be here with you. Homes are not prisons that I am trapped in and... and poor Nesta, she doesn’t want to go outside. Poor Nesta, she has to climb stairs. I have climbed feats taller than 10,000 steps and I will do it again. Stop trying to sell on this house. I’m here aren’t I?”  

Cassian blinks, “Have you been waiting to say that?”  

“For weeks.”  

He smiles for he doesn’t know what else to do, when she seems so... relieved. He belongs to the lowest of low.  

~ 

Later that night, when the House is safely tucked in the basement and when they can feel the warmth of its life through the house, Cassian asks Nesta a question. “Are you as nervous as I am?” 

She only blinks up at him and tilts her head. Her hair is stark against the white of the pillow and she looks beautiful in nothing but her nightgown with her hair tucked between her head and the cushion. She always looks like magic, he thinks, and he wants to reach out a tuck her close but he can’t.  

He can’t when there’s a wedge between them that feels tangible. As if he can run his finger through it, a dark cloud as permeable as the night. “It feels different than being up in the House. I keep thinking at any moment I might combust.”  

“Why?” She asks, her voice a sweet song.  

Cassian shakes his head. “I just—I want you to like this house. I didn’t buy it thinking that I was going to have you here. I haven’t even lived in it for more than a few nights. I keep thinking you might say you hate it, or we’ll live here and it’ll turn out awful for us and we just wasted all that time.” 

Perhaps it’s this truth which swats the ugliness away—that sick feeling rumbling through his chest. Nesta crosses the threshold of his maybe-maybe nots, and it doesn’t seem to bother her as it did him when he wanted to reach for her. There’s nothing holding her back.  

He will always want her.  

Nesta reaches for him, tucks herself between his arm and lays her head on his chest. Cassian can smell the lavender of her hair and he breathes it in. He hopes this whole house smells like her.  

“When you were away it felt like time was slipping by. But now that you’re here… I think that time could pass me by, and I wouldn’t notice.”  

“I’m afraid,” he admits. It feels like a heavy weight on his chest and it doesn’t make him any freer my admitting it, it makes it well up inside until he swears it makes a knot in his lungs. He wants to clear it away but it feels like revealing something too intimate. Something too close to his soul.  

“Do you think the honeymoon phase is over then?” She says as she plays with his fingers.  

“I hope not. It ended so soon, otherwise.”  

Nesta peers up at him, raising a shoulder and smiling lightly.  

“I would be okay if it was over.” 

“Why?” He’s afraid of the answer.  

Nesta shrugs simply, her voice soft. “Because it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t love you less.”  

“I’m comfortable with you.”  

Nesta smiles, “It’s cold here.”  

He pauses as if it might be the first of many complaints, but Nesta doesn’t continue, only grasps him closer. Cassian doesn’t think they can be anymore entwined.  

“You’ll keep me warm?” She asks.  

He smiles, tucking her closer even still.   

“I’ll keep you warm,” Cassian promises.  

~

Fin

~

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @unhealthyfanobsession @simpingfornestaarcheron @talkfantasytome @sayosdreams

[alotofpockets]

The best | Mary Earps

Pairing: Mary Earps x Reader

Request: Where Mary gets her fifa best award

Woso masterlist | Words: 1K

-----

Today was a big day for your girlfriend, you were attending the FIFA Best Awards, where she was nominated for not one but two categories. Though before the award show started there she had a busy schedule, one you and her team followed along closely. 

This wasn’t your world at all, but you loved supporting Mary in everything she did. While you were admiring your girlfriend in her element, you were filming bits and pieces of behind the scenes footage. Mary loved creating TikTok’s out of events like this to show the world what it was like from her perspective, and you loved helping her film.

Currently you were at a photoshoot. Mary was repping her own brand, a white tee with her quote ‘Be unapologetically yourself.’ paired with a black suede tracksuit. The whole day the group of you moved around the large building, besides the event it was also a big media day. Interviews, games, photoshoots, anything you could imagine, it was a part of today.

In each interview, Mary spoke with so much passion. Her passion was one of the things you loved most about her. She had many interests, and stood for a lot of things. The way she used her platform for the better, speaking out about mental health, and inspiring people was always incredible to watch. 

After the final interviews were done, you all made it back to the hotel room where the stylist, and the hair and makeup crew were all waiting to glam both Mary and you up. You were getting dressed in the bathroom, while the team was working on getting Mary ready. 

Once you were in your outfit, you came back into the main room and were met with Mary. She was dressed in a beautiful dress that fit her body perfectly. You hadn’t realised you were staring with your mouth open until you heard Mary's smug voice saying, “Like what you see?” Her comment makes you snap out of it and chuckle. “Yes I do. You look stunning, baby.” You walk closer to admire the dress she was showing off. “You look pretty incredible yourself.” The stylist had picked your outfit to have a slight match with Mary’s dress, so red touches all throughout the fit. 

You took some pictures together before you headed to the final destination of the night, the award show. There were a lot of familiar faces in the audience, both players you had met through Mary, and ones you’ve idolised as a football fan yourself. The atmosphere was great, and everyone was incredibly supportive of the winners. 

When the Women’s World XI section of the night started, you were sitting on the edge of your seat. Mary reached for your hand and held it tight, as the announcement started, and she squeezed it even tighter when her name was called as the goalkeeper. She stood up with tears in her eyes, and hugged you first before making her way to the stage, as the rest of the winners were being named. 

The stage filled with the winning players, you watched proudly as your girlfriend admired the trophy in her hands. You knew how much this meant for her, and were so incredibly happy for her talent to be recognised by her fellow footballers.

Winning the goalkeeper position in the World XI made Mary think that she would not win the Best Women’s Goalkeeper award as well, because that would be too much. So, when her name was announced she was shocked. “You did it baby! I am so proud of you. Go, get up on that stage and accept the award.” She placed her hands on your cheeks and pressed a kiss onto your lips, before she made her way to the stage.

You watched your girlfriend accept her second award of the evening with a big smile on your face. In your eyes there was no one more deserving than her, of course you were biassed, but she has been playing incredibly well and deserved to be recognized for her hard work. 

Mary walked up the the microphone for her speech, and you already knew you weren’t going to be able to hear it without shedding a tear,

“I think I talk about a lot obviously that it’s not been the easiest journey to get here, so I would say that I definitely took the scenic route.” Mary chuckled to the crowd at her own joke. “I had to wait a long time for this kind of success, but I think looking back now, it all makes total sense. Everything that I went through, I mean, we’re all humans, we all have struggles, right?” She was met with hundreds of nodding faces in the crowd. “But it just made me feel so much more prepared for the challenges we face today. And to be able to enjoy these moments so much more and realise how pretty unbelievable they are and to never take a single day for granted. So, if you’re struggling and you’re going through hell, keep going. And it’s never too late to be exactly who you are.” 

Mary’s words, and the feelings behind them did indeed make you tear up. Your girlfriend’s journey hadn’t been easy, but she was paving the way for young girls aspiring to be just like her, as well as advocate for mental health. You couldn’t be more proud of her, to once again use her platform to talk about the tough moments, to let the world know it isn’t all just rose coloured.

After a long, and busy day you found yourself in the back of the car on the way back home. A sleeping Mary’s head laying on your shoulder, with two trophy cases laying in the trunk.  

-----

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[rainybubbles]

Silent- Gaz x plus size reader

Summary : Finding a way to relieve the stress of work in a DnD discord, Gaz meets Silent. A player whose microphone is always turned off, using chat only. Maybe he'll find a way to break the silence with them and finds why their mic is off…

(Sorry in advance, English is not my first language, so sorry if it's bad or OOC.)

-TW social anxiety.

-"What a quiet kid you've got there. I wish mine was as calm at home."

-"Oh, you know, they're pretty mature for their age."

-The laughter faded into distant murmurs as I glanced over at the other kids.

-Yelling, chasing, breaking a vase or two—my eyes couldn't look away from them.

-They seemed to inhabit a world entirely different from mine.

-A world where scraping by at month's end, nightly dinners, locking up the house, solo bus rides, laundry routines, and helping siblings with homework simply didn't exist.

-Because, after all, they were just eight years old.

- But so was I…

-So why didn't I have the right to have fun, yell, chat, ask for sweets, act immature, or doodle on walls?

- My hand reached out briefly, hoping for a connection, but my mom's glance quickly reminded me to stay put…

-Being silent seemed to be the key to earning praise and keeping peace.

-So, I stifled that urge, withdrawing into myself, standing alone behind her legs, engulfed in a heavy silence.

____________

"Silent, huh?"

-My gaze drifted slowly to the chat.

-"Yeah, dude, they're usually a regular on Thursdays. Never says a word, their mic's busted, can't afford to fix it," one of the guys responded.

-The tone carried a hint of disdain.

-I felt out of place.

-Yet, I stayed put, unable to leave the server.

-It was the only place where I felt I could express myself.

-Through words, carefully chosen, controlled, retyped, erased, and sculpted to bring a story to life—a space where my imagination, so often overlooked, could finally roam free.

-By chance, I'd become enamored with Dungeons and Dragons.

- The only snag, of course, was the void in my social life.

-So, like figuring out how long it takes to cook broccoli, I scoured the internet.

- Discord groups organized sessions. I panicked at the sound of mics, voices.

- What would they think of me? What should I say? What could I do? And then someone asked if my mic was broken.

- Ever since, I'd stayed that way, and the nickname Silent stuck.

"Hi Silent, then :) I'm Kyle aka Gaz."

-Usually, I ignored introductions.

- People interested me little, their characters were the interesting ones.

-However, Gaz hadn't spoken those words aloud.

- He had written them. It was stupid honestly, but few people wrote back to me, few people responded to me in writing.

-Everything was done orally.

-Suddenly, someone was on my turf, reaching out.

-The campaign proceeded as usual.

-My thoughts were focused on my actions, the dice rolls, and the resulting outcomes.

- Yet occasionally, I let my eyes wander over Gaz's profile.

________________

-"Hello guys, I don't know if I've played with some of you before or not. "

-"Don't worry, we accept everyone. The days are rarely fixed."

-Gaz was back. It was Friday. It was my favorite group, the game master Ylias really managed to transport you.

-"Well, I'll start then-"

-Ylias started rambling, I followed the story when I noticed a notification in the discord. My finger brushed it, and then ignored it.

-What would he think if I clicked now? that I'm a friendless attention-seeker? But if I wait, they'll think I don't care about the campaign?

-So I waited 5 minutes, trying to find the right balance between the two.

-"Hey, Silent. I missed a campaign without you, the others keep on rambling about their athletics, last time I even had a guy mimicking a goblin with his mic, I'm glad to see you back in text :) !!!"

-Pressure flooded over me. What should I reply? A heart? Thanks? Ignore it? Tell him he's nice too?

-"Thanks."

-Too cold, too short. I thought it wrong, I should delete it, rephrase it, add a smiley, make it warmer, he must think I'm a monster.

-"I think we should try opening the door, are you coming with me? I don’t feel like going into the forest with the rest of the team."

-Oh. Usually in campaigns, I go with the flow, I heal and stay in the background. I never-

-"You need a score of 13 for that, folks". Ylias said.

-"Come on, Silent, roll the dice." Gaz replied

-Nervously, my mouse hovered over the virtual dice. With a score of 15 showing, I heard Gaz's laughter.

-"I knew we had to do it! Let’s go, plus with your stealth, impossible to get spotted. "

-"We'll see about that." Ylias replied, laughing.

-And just like that, Gaz made me smile. It was probably one of the worst campaigns, but it was the first where I could finally choose my actions.

__________________________

-"Back again :) ?"

-" Yes."

-Dry, too dry.

-"I was waiting for you. "Gaz replied.

-" Why? "

-"I don’t want to play a campaign without you, you bring me luck."

-" I'm not sure about that. "

-"Yes. I tried a campaign with colleagues, we died blowing up. "

-"Probably because of your colleagues. "

-"Okay, maybe my colleague set fire to a mystery barrel. But it was their first campaign. "

-"You're recruiting? "

-"Introducing them. He's trying to quit smoking, and I thought DnD could occupy his free time."

-I stopped myself.

-Curiosity, imagination, everything overwhelmed me.

-What was it like to be close to colleagues like this, to freely discuss your passions, to laugh…

-"And then?"

-" It's not his thing, he's more into action. "

-"I see. "

-"It's not for everyone. "

-"Is it your thing? "

-"What? "

-"To let off steam? If your colleague needs it, so do you, right?"

-Stupid. Too personal a question. Invasive.

-"Yes. It allows me not to think, to be someone else."

-" Me too."

-" Plus, being an elf is great."

-" You say that because I am one."

-" Maybe. "

-"Thank you. "

-"For? "

-"Talking in chat. People usually ignore me outside of campaigns, they don't respond by text."

-" They ignore the sexiest elf?"

-" There's no image, you don't know what I look like"

-". Hm, exactly! I imagine your elf tall, muscular like the Rock, hair like Gordon Ramsay's, and maybe makeup like Ru Paul's."

-" I'm not sure about the result. "

-"Sexy."

-I snorted at my screen.

-"Ok."

-" How do you imagine me? "

-"Your wizard? "

-"Yes. "

-"With long hair, maybe dreadlocks, white eyes, and a smile. "

-"A smile?"

-" Your voice sounds soothing. "

-"Really? "

-"Yes, sorry, it's weird to say that, I shouldn't have."

-" No. No. I've never been told that, I was just surprised, that's all."

-" I see. "

-"So, a sexy elf and a smiling mage.

-"Sounds like the beginning of a weird porno."

-He responded with a meme.

_________________________

-"So, what do we decide, Silent? Honestly, I don't want to raid the goblin but the vampire to face, I'm sure the score will be high." Gaz asked through his mic

-"It's your choice, not mine."

-"they're right, Gaz, this one's all on you," Ylias said.

-"Can't I even ask for help?"

-"Score of 15 in insight to spot an ally." Ylias announced.

-Gaz scored a 10. No one addressed me throughout the campaign.

________________________

-"Back, Gaz?" someone said.

-Three weeks of radio silence.

-My mind had been looping, wondering if my refusal to break the rules had driven him to find a more interesting group, a more exciting duo.

-But there he stood, his username glowing green.

-"Yeah, I finally got some days off."

-"Good for you, man."

-"So spill, I see some new names and all!"

-Strangely, his voice had become grating to me. I didn't understand why, so before he could reach me, I disconnected.

- Alone in my apartment, I held my knees to my chest.

-Why am I reacting like this? He's entitled to a life, damn it.

-I fet like he...gave me up.

-Shit it's stupid.

-I didn't understand. I tried to calm myself, but the deafening silence of my apartment seemed to slowly engulf me, and before I knew it, I found myself in a new spiral of anxiety.

____________________________

-There were no campaigns. I just liked reading. Reading what had happened. Living vicariously, imagining their voices, their reactions.

-"hey :)"

-The off-campaign tab was blinking.

-He was addressing me, I knew it, I was the only one online with him.

-My thumb grazed the notification, but I ended up entering the chat.

-"hey."

The period was too harsh, too dry.

-"It's been a while! Something happened?"

-"Work." I answered.

-That's a lie.

- But lying is like oxygen, it's easy to come up with excuses to avoid others.

-But harder to let go of it to face the potential risks of social suffocation.

-"I know quite a bit, just got back from mine."

-"At 1 am?"

-"Yep."

-"Cook?"

"Soldier."

-A shiver ran through me. Uniforms had never been positive in my life.

- As the long seconds passed, I hesitated.

-"Not a fan?" Gaz asked.

-"You could say that."

-"Military family?"he asked.

-"yes."

-"I see."

-"Sorry, that's stupid."

-"No, I understand, I mean, we all have red flags." He said.

-"It's not a red flag."

-"You'd been quiet for 5 minutes."

-"With everyone." I answered.

-"Everyone?"

-"I'm not the best at socializing."

-"Really? Yet when you blew up a castle instead of talking to the princess in a campaign, it seemed normal to me." He joked.

-A laugh escaped.

-"And you?" he asked.

-"Me?"

-"Your job?"

-"Proofreader."

-"For books?"

-"Yes, I read, annotate, and correct."

-"No humans."

-"Exactly."

-"Would you like to add me? I'm not super comfortable with everyone seeing this."

-"Why?"

-Stupid. I should have accepted without questioning.

-"To prevent everyone from knowing the secrets of the sexiest elf on the discord."

-Always there to catch my blunders.

-I accepted it even though suddenly there was added pressure, what to say when there's a pause?

_____________

-"A dragon arrives and—"

-My eyes glanced at my notifications. Kyle was in the campaign but—

-"The narration is terrible, isn't it? The guy has been stuck on the dragon for thirty minutes while Théis killed it."

-He was writing to me. Like someone whispering in your ear during class.

-"Yes, Roxanne is a beginner, but she'll get there."

-"So kind."

-"Not really, one day I insulted a game master."

-"Oooh, a gangster among us?"

-"Never, besides, you'd arrest me, wouldn't you?"

-The ellipses seemed to linger.

-"I wouldn't mind."

-Oh.

-"I don't want to end up in a secret government cave."

-"Caves are old school, we have containers now."

-"I don't know if you're joking."

-"Classified."

-"Gaz…"

-"I'll keep the secret, I think you won't have a choice but to be arrested by me someday."

-"… it won't happen."

-"Why?"

-"I haven't committed any crimes."

-"Not even indecent exposure? I thought you were 45 years old and hiding in bushes naked."

-"For that, I'd have to leave my house."

-"Quite the homebody?"

-"You could say."

-"I'm the same, I don't like going out much."

-It's different. I didn't know what to add, so I let him continue the conversation.

-----------------------------

-"Still into your nerd stuff?"

-Gaz looked up at Soap.

-"It's not nerd stuff." Gaz said.

-"Dragon, princess, elf, discord all mixed together. It's nerd stuff. "Ghost replied

-"Dressing up as a skeleton at Hot Topic too, L.t."

-"Ooh, I wouldn't have liked that. "Soap laughed. "But seriously, don't you think about doing it for real? I mean, gathering around a table."

-"They think about it, but we all live in different parts of the world."

-But it would be amazing. Maybe he could even hear Silent's voice, see them…

-"Hm." Johnny said with a smirk

-"What?"

-"It sounds like you have someone in mind."

-"I don't have anyone in mind."

-"Not even an elf you get along with, Garrick?" Ghost retorted

-"I- we're a duo, it

-"It's different."

-"I mean it, we just get along."

-"So if you check discord in a military bar at 11 p.m., it's not to reply to him second by second?"

-"Shut up," Gaz said as the two laughed.

__________________________

-"You're not participating anymore?"

-I ignored his message.

-Three months.

-Three long months of descent, of confinement, of discomfort, of crises.

-Everything was too much.

-Crowds, outside, errands, people.

-My lungs constricted at the thought of meeting someone's gaze. My eyes avoided every contact. My lips were dry from lack of words.

-"I admit that campaigns suck without you," he had written.

-That was two weeks ago.

-"I refused to play with Théo, he wanted to take your place," he had sent.

-That was three months ago.

-"The office GIF."

-Three weeks.

-He… Gaz had never stopped.

-No matter the views, the winds, his boldness didn't stop.

-I was confused.

-Usually, people quit after a month.

-They had better things to do, and I understood. The burden of my social anxiety was mine and shouldn't inconvenience them.

-So why was Gaz standing there carrying this burden unknowingly? Coming back every day, bearing a heavier load…

-"hey."

-Three letters.

-Too short.

-Too dry.

-"Sorry." I continued.

-For what?

-I didn't deserve his forgiveness, I knew it.

-"Glad to see you're back :)" he replied.

-A tear rolled down my cheek.

-"thank you." I replied by text.

-For staying.

-For not asking questions.

-For welcoming me.

______________

-"Sorry, I was at the hospital, do you think I can join the campaign or not?" he had sent.

-My eyebrows raised.

-"No. Wait, you're just out of the hospital and your concern is DnD?"

-"I should really stay by my favorite elf's side."

-"Gaz, seriously, are you okay?"

-"Fractured ribs."

-"Ouch."

-"Broken arm."

-"Wait, what—"

-"And a bullet in the thigh."

-"Wtf."

-"But I'm fine."

-"No."

-"I assure you, I've had worse."

-"And???? You need to rest, not focus on rolling dice to defeat Mindflyers."

-"…but I have no distractions."

-"I'm here."

-"You're in the campaign."

-"No."

-"Wait, what—"

-"I- I saw you were absent so I didn't…join that one."

-"But you only play on that day."

-"I know. But it's not the same without you."

-I didn't know he was currently smiling like an idiot.

-"Thanks, Silent."

-"No worries. Besides, I was also coming out of the hospital."

-"WHAT?! Why didn't you start with that?!"

-"It's ridiculous."

-"No, are you okay?"

-"It's awkward."

-"Oh, serious awkward or-?"

-"No, I'm used to it. I- I took the tram and I couldn't handle it, the crowd was too big, I passed out inconveniencing a hundred people, embarrassing."

-"That's not embarrassing."

-"Yes, I made people late, Gaz."

-"And??? It was for your health."

-"No, I should've known I couldn't handle taking the tram. It's been two years since I couldn't do it, I shouldn't have tried again."

-"Two years?"

-Shit. I said too much.

-"Forget that."

-"Wait, no. You help distract me when I'm on base, I can listen to you in return :)! "

-"There's nothing to say, I don't handle social stuff, that's all."

-"So, your mic, that's it?"

-"Yes."

-"My sister has it too."

-"Has what?"

-"Social anxiety."

-"I see."

-"I know it's different for everyone, but don't give up. Honestly, it's a huge step, right? Taking the tram after two years. Surely you wouldn't succeed all at once, I mean it's like rolling a 20-sided die hoping for a 35."

-I snorted.

-"Nerd."

-"You're a nerd too, Silent."

-"yes, I- I just thought I could succeed, tell myself I could do it."

-"You did it."

-"I passed out."

-"So what? next time can't be worse."

-"Yes, if I have another one."

-"Then you'll have another one, I'm sure you'll manage. Look, I can even show you a tutorial."

-I furrowed my brows and saw a video. A man in an apartment, a cast on one arm, his face cut off from the frame.

-"Quick tutorial for falling on a tram. So lesson 1, stand next to a tall person. We want a good pillow when we fall, so tall people are perfect. Then manage the fall. Fall on the person, not forward. We want to avoid a bloody nose. Especially if there are vampires on the horizon." Gaz said in the video.

-He lay on the ground pretending to fall.

-"Step three, play dead to see sexy firefighters and avoid stares, and step 4 get taken home while flexing in the truck."

-I snorted.

-"Wow, thanks for the tutorial."

-"I know, I know. Passing out pro here."

-"Do you often fall on fridges?"

-"Hm, considering the build of my colleagues, you could say that."

-"Are they as tall and wide as a fridge?"

-"My L.T. yes. With Soap, we even thought he was an android, I mean it's not human to be that built."

-"You look fit too."

-"Oh, a compliment?"

-"Gaz, I-"

-"But yes, honestly, I try to do his routine but I think his genetics play a big part."

-"Shame, no Fridge Gaz then."

-"No, you'll have to settle for Normal Gaz."

-A smile slowly spread across my face.

-"Thanks for the video, it was funny."

-"You're welcome. Plus, if I can flex with my favorite elf."

-"I'm not an elf."

-"Nothing proves me wrong."

-"Gaaaaaazzzz"

____________________________

-"Who are you posing for? "

-"No one."

-" So shirtless, sunlight, flexed arms for no one? Damn, don't tell me it's for your mom. "

-"SOAP!"

-" I'm just asking, man."

-" It's for Silent. "

-"Oh, your magical voiceless elf."

-" It's not— "

-"Yes, yes, not a magical elf, I know, no need to give me another DnD lecture."

-Gaz sighed.

-His selfie was good.

-Shirtless, in the sand, sun rising.

-He looked good.

-But he was nervous.

-What if it was too much?

-After all, this little game of sending each other sunrises or sunsets had started by chance.

-Silent had told him the view was beautiful and sent him a sunset from their window.

-Gaz replied with one from Las Almas, and eventually whenever he went to a new country, he would send a photo.

-But now… maybe it was too much?

-Sending his face.

-Price would kill him.

-But he wanted to progress the relationship.

-Maybe his face could appeal to Silent, they would send him a voice note or even a selfie back?

-"Is this too much? "

-"Hm? "Soap asked confused.

-"This photo, is it too much? "

-"For a thirst trap?"

-" To say hello."

-" It depends on the hello. "

-"Hello as in "I'm showing you my face for the first time." "

-"Oh, maybe. I thought it was a "hello, did you sleep well because look what I could bring to your bed" kind of thing. …But if I received this photo, I'd be happy. "

-"Soap. "

-"I mean, man, you're handsome."

-" Soap. "

-"Plus, who would say no to your abs? "

-"No need to- you know what, I'll send it. "

-"Also, you—"

-Gaz ignored him and sent it.

-Damn, he hoped everything would be fine.

________________________

-Beautiful.

-Too beautiful.

-My eyes scanned that smile not knowing what to do.

- How could someone like that end up playing DnD?

-I closed the conversation.

-I am…. Out of his league.

-So much.

-I could barely bring myself to look at my mirror.

-I knew what I would see there.

- My rolls, my thighs, my stretch marks, my horrible hair, this disproportionate face.

-I'm not ugly.

- But I'm not…I'm not like him

-. I'm the second choice, I'm aware of that.

-I don't get free compliments.

- Nobody turns back to look at me. I'm just…there.

-And him.

- He seemed so radiant, so kind. Damn, I wasted his time.

__________________________

-"So? " Soap asked

-"It's been two weeks with no response."

-" Ouch. "

-"It's not— Sometimes it happens, I think they are doubting."

-" Doubting what? "

-"Themselves. They…before every message, they take 5 minutes to rewrite it, every syllable is thought out and then I send this out of nowhere, I didn't handle it well."

-" You couldn't have known, Kyle. "

-"Yes. YES, I could and I messed up. They told me about their anxiety and then I send them a half-naked photo when I've never even heard their voice. "

-"Try to talk to them then. hmph."

_____________________

-"hey."

-My eyes hesitated.

-"hey." I finally replied

-" For the selfie, I can explain. "

-"No, I- it's not your fault."

-" Yes, honestly, I screwed up" he texted back

-". No, I've been looping again. "

-"You- "

-"seeing you, it was…good, really, but too good." I answered.

-" Too good?"

-"I feel- Illegitimate to talk to you. "

-"what- "

-"You're so- beautiful, and smiling and nice, and the only thing I do is disappear for days and turn up out of the blue. I-"

-" And it's okay, we talked about it." he said.

-" But you deserve better as friends."

-" I decide what I deserve, Silent. And no one beats you. "

-"…I- I don't know what to say. "

-"Send me your sunset :) I haven't had mine."

-Damn. A tear rolled down and I took my phone and sent my sunset. How can someone be so adorable?

-"Perfect." he replied

_________________

-He had continued to send his face on the sunsets. It was stupid, but I waited every time he could and I rewatched them.

-However, it had been three months of silence. I wasn't worried, he was probably on a mission somewhere.

-By a stroke of courage, I had put my phone down to take a photo with the sunset.

-He wouldn't see it. I would delete it.

-But for a moment, I felt beautiful. The sunlight on me warmed me, my outfit was cute, my curves were beautiful.

-I sent it. I would delete it tomorrow. After all, Kyle had said it could last four months.

___________

-"Hey, everything alright, mate?"

-"They're amazing."

-"Lasswell or tony ? For Lasswell of course, why do you think her wife is—"

-"Look."

-Soap raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kyle's phone.

-"Oh, oh."

-Kyle couldn't tear his eyes away from his screen

-. During the mission return, he had picked up his phone and seen a notification. Clicking out of habit, he saw it.

-their smile, their hair, their body. My god.

-"Lucky bastard." Soap said.

-They were perfect. And their belly, their hips, everything was beautiful. Kyle had always preferred curvy people, it was a fact.

-Sure, he had imagined that silently they could be one, but the fact that it was true… It filled his heart with joy.

-"They… damn. "he murmured, zooming in on every detail.

-Mole or freckle, he observed every pixel.

_____________________

-"So the elf wasn't the only one sexy." he texted.

-I raised an eyebrow at the notification as I woke up.

-"Hm?"

-"The photo. "he replied.

-Oh fuck.

-"You saw it?"

-"Yes, I shouldn't have?"

-"I thought of deleting it before, I—"

-"Oh."

-"But did you like it?"

-"Yes. you— I— honestly, I can't stop looking at it. you look radiant."

-He was lying. -No?

-"And that outfit is amazing on you, really."

-It hugs everything, why… why is he complimenting that?

-Usually, people say "those jeans make you look thinner than you are" "you look better in loose clothes" "hide your rolls".

-"Thank you."

-" I have to admit I'm so relieved. I mean if you ended up being a 40-year-old, I wouldn't have been so confident I think."

-"Oh really, wrinkles and gray hair aren't your thing?"

-"No, I'm more into curves and people my age."

-"Damn, I was about to confess that I was 70 years old". I joked.

-"I can make exceptions, but only for elves."

-"I'm lucky then."

-"Very. I— I hope to have more, or occasionally."

-"Of?"

-"Photos of you, it's more beautiful than a sunset."

"-oh."

-A warmth spread to my cheeks, a smile settling in.

-"ok."

-"ok?"

-"Okay."

___________________

-"Do you think I'll hear your voice someday?"

-It was late, or early for him and late for me.

-"I don't know."

-showing my face in a photo…

-I could control that, take back the photo, delete it, edit it. But talking…

-Talking is taking up space.

-"I imagine it smooth."

-"My voice?"

-"Hm, like a stream, it rocks slowly."

-"I might have a smoker's voice."

-"That would suit you too."

-"Maybe one day then."

-"I'm looking forward to that."

_____________________

-Those were the last words sent from him.

-No more contact.

-His absence wasn't due to missions, he had confessed to me that he was off the day before.

-So he had decided to stop.

-I tried to find excuses, before accepting the reality of it.

-Days passed and I hoped he would come back.

-Maybe he was like me, needing time to recover.

-Maybe he was hurt.

-Everything was silent.

-When four months had finally passed, I understood.

-He had grown tired of the silence. I held back a sob and closed the discussion.

-A stab wound would have been better I think.

-To ease the constant pain and intense questions in my mind.

-What had I done wrong? Was I too much? Did I ask the wrong question? Should I have kept quiet?

-Everything was spinning and I finally closed the app. damn.

_____________________________

-My feet led me to the publishing house.

-Today I had to make the final corrections for Madame Lasswell before her vacation with her wife Kate.

-Hesitant, I knocked on her door.

-An "enter" was heard and I entered the already crowded room.

- A mustached man in a beanie, a masked man, a mullet, Kate, and Gaz were watching me.

-My eyes betrayed my surprise at his presence. What was he doing here? Why now? How should I react?

-"Y/n, sorry for the crowd. I guess you have it."

-"Yes ma'am."

-My voice barely above a whisper was usual for Jocelyn. I handed her the manuscripts.

-"We're going to drink at the bar downstairs, do you want to come?"

-Come? To a crowded place, surrounded by drunk people, constant noise, blinding lights with the icing on the cake being a guy who blew me off for the year?

-"No, I'm busy tonight, sorry."

-"No problem."

-Slowly my heels turned, I took the elevator but I heard footsteps. Kyle was with me.

-"I was on a mission."

-"hm."

-"I know I told you no, but he… there were quite a few problems and I had to leave, I didn't have time to warn you, it dragged on, Ghost broke my phone by sitting on it with his stupid hard ass, and we just got back from the airport actually. Lasswell, Kate finally— she works with us so that's why I'm here"

-A silence stretched, he took a breath.

-"you didn't have to explain… I mean after the word mission, I understood I was wrong."

-"I wanted to be clear."

-"I should have asked and sent you messages."

-"No, it's okay, it must have seemed suspicious. I ask for your voice, you say no, and I disappear. The conclusion was logical."

-"but it wasn't the right one."

-"It's okay, we're here, aren't we?"

-"yes."

-The elevator rang, the door opened. Hesitant, I watched him.

-"I love it." -"hm?"

-"your voice."

-"Oh."

-"I… you're really busy tonight or…"

-"No, I just don't like…"

-"The crowd."he guessed

-"Hm."

-"I— I can invite you for dinner? At my place, we'll grab takeout, no crowds, no one to see us."

-"That sounds like the pitch of a serial killer."

-He widened his eyes. I snorted.

-"Okay, you got me." he chuckled.

-" At your place sounds good. Better than a restaurant." I admitted.

-"Cool, so…"

-"Shall we go then, yes". I murmured as he finally released the elevator button and we stepped out of the elevator.

_________________

-At his place, everything was calm.

-Not me.

-How should I stand? Too close? Too far? What to talk about? And what if I'm boring in the end? What to order? Does he like seafood or is he allergic? My eyes focused on every detail and…

-Everything's fine.

-His hand on mine, he took the initiative for the restaurant to order, asking me my preferences, and we waited for the delivery guy.

-Slowly, he asked questions about my work. I mastered it.

-And slowly everything unfolded naturally.

-Sitting on his couch, his hand not letting go of mine, he drew circles with his thumb while talking.

-I liked that. In groups, I liked… listening.

-People like to talk about themselves and I like listening to that, not participating, and Gaz understood that in such an impressive way.

-Occasionally, he asked questions in return, gauging my desire to speak, I answered and this back and forth held until the food arrived.

-Maybe everything would turn out for the best.

-Standing in front of his door, I didn't know what to add to this evening.

-A not-so-stranger, three years of virtual chat and now I was unable to figure out the right goodbye on his doorstep.

-Hesitant, we observed each other.

-"I hope we'll do this again."

-"Yes. "I replied.

-He stepped forward.

-I remained still, his face close to mine. -Kiss? Cheek? Goodbye? Whisper? -Which action would he choose? -I wished for a dice to decide, a title, or a "Gaz approves".

-"May I?"

-Oh. -I nodded. -His hands on my hips, he placed a brief kiss on my lips. -"I'm glad we managed to break the silence." -"me too."

-Perhaps, after all, I wouldn't return to my solitary silence tonight. His hands guiding me back to his apartment and the door closing behind us.

-I could easily guess that a die had just been thrown for a long evening and we both seemed to have the right score.

If you want more my COD Masterlist

[oneforblu]

oikawa tooru: facing a world of geniuses  

i always wanted to write my thoughts about oikawa and i thought it would be perfect to do it in time for his 30th birthday!!!! he's one of my favorite characters ever and is exceptionally well-written. the main idea behind this post is that despite oikawa being skilled, he had to face the realization that there are players who are leagues above him. however, even when oikawa felt lost, he never gave up on his dreams. oikawa tooru was a player in a world full of geniuses and made it to the top of the world despite the challenges.

of course, we have to start with oikawa's ICONIC introduction! "the Great King". before we get into his story, we know he's an incredible player and kageyama's senpai. from the beginning, oikawa is a threat. he is introduced with his fangirls screaming, seeming "superficial," and very confident in himself. compared to the other characters we've seen in haikyuu, at this point, there was no one like him. it was obvious he was a fantastic player. however, we don't see his skills until the game between karasuno and aoba johsai.

it's such a simple phrase, but before every game, without fail, oikawa tells his team that he has faith in them, and in return, his team believes in him. unlike the setters we've met, oikawa is truly one of his own. he is known for his amazing skill and leadership and has been respected and praised; it's apparent that oikawa is leagues above many others. he is also able to bring out the best in his players. with oikawa as your setter, you have someone who will understand your strengths and weaknesses and give you the tosses you need to succeed. however, skill alone isn't enough for oikawa.

"it becomes clear that oikawa, while skilled, is not a natural"

despite being an amazing setter who has the ability to bring out 100% in every teammate, knows the ins and outs of his team, and is incredibly skilled, oikawa is not a genius. compared to ushijima and kageyama, oikawa is not a natural-born prodigy. this is when we are introduced to oikawa's inner conflict. no matter how great he is, the amount of time he spends dedicating himself to his craft, the long nights practicing by himself won't be able to make up for what a "genius" has to offer.

in middle school, oikawa's frustration hit an all-time high. after seeing the difference in skill between himself and ushijima, he is now on the same team as a young kageyama. he sees the difference in skill at every practice, watching kageyama learn a new skill in one day that took oikawa ages. it's clear that oikawa, who was praised for being incredibly skilled, is now face to face with a whole new world far from his reach.

oikawa finally snaps in this scene with young kageyama. all the thoughts and insecurities he has had to deal with, the unbearable fact that there may always be a gap between him and a select few, has been weighing on him for so long.

imagine you are praised for being so skilled, and here comes someone new who is not only catching up to you but has the potential to exceed you?

i think what makes oikawa so interesting is how relatable he can be to many people, including myself. there were times when i was praised for being talented, for getting great grades, and for doing something good, and then someone new came along who did everything I could do but even better. every person faces the frustration of seeing someone grow at a faster rate than you are. it doesn't necessarily come from a malicious place, but the thought of someone taking your spot and performing better than you ever could is painful to accept.

however, iwaizumi reminds oikawa that it isn't just him on the team. there are always six players on that court. oikawa uses this lesson to push forward, deciding that no matter what it takes, he will take his team to the finals.

although oikawa has moments where his insecurities run wild, he is one of the best players in haikyuu. from his killer serves, his incredible fast-paced thinking, his technique, and his ability to bring the best out of every single player. he can do it all.

however, all of this isn't enough against the second game between karasuno.

this conversation oikawa has with his idol, jose blanco, is not only fundamental to oikawa as a character but also a real-life lesson for many of us.

the reason why this conversation is shown at this moment is because kageyama makes a toss that causes karasuno to have their set and game point. while the members of aoba johsai wish they had some of kageyama's skill or some of his "guts," oikawa goes back to what jose blanco tells him.

you can wish you had someone's skill, talent, and smarts, but that idea will only be detrimental to your growth. while oikawa has always made it clear he detests geniuses, not once has he stopped and given up. he continues down this challenging path with his goal in sight with no intentions of ever walking away from volleyball.

accepting that there is more for you to do and that you haven't done everything you can to grow may be difficult for many, but once you make peace with that fact, there is a world of opportunity.

after this flashback, oikawa comes to the conclusion that everyone could have their talent bloom whether it be tomorrow, the day after, or when you're 30, but it won't ever happen if you don't believe in yourself. if you let yourself stay stuck in the idea that "so and so is better than me, i can't do it," you will never fully unlock your potential.

“talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish” 

there are many interpretations of this line, but i believe it means that talent will only show if you're willing to allow yourself to grow. the instincts that make you a better player will only happen through your sheer will and dedication.

oikawa has given so much of his time, energy, blood, sweat, and tears to volleyball in hopes of someday going to nationals. unfortunately, his goal never did come true, but this would only be the start of his amazing journey.

"nothing is over yet. not my volleyball career...or my "petty pride." never forget that."

it's one of the most memorable lines of the manga and one of my favorites. ushijima believes oikawa would have succeeded if he never went to aoba johsai, that because of his pride, oikawa never set foot at nationals.

however, none of that is true. oikawa made all the decisions because he believed they were best. he stayed at aoba johsai because he believed in his team. of course, there were many opportunities someone as skilled as oikawa could have taken, but he didn't, and he's more than okay with that

he isn't going to let anyone tell him that the choices he made were wrong. he won't let the realization of never making it to nationals tear him down. not only is oikawa a remarkable player physically, but his mental strength is something else entirely.

although pride is sometimes seen as something negative, oikawa's pride in himself drives him forward. his belief in his team, his dreams, and his own future or what makes him who he is. he isn't someone who will let others' thoughts and feelings sway him. oikawa will do what he believes is best for himself, and if that path is not the one to nationals, he can accept that.

oikawa will never give up on his dream no matter how many obstacles stand in his way. It doesn't matter if it's a team full of geniuses, a difficult teammate to work with, or his own insecurities; oikawa will never give up until he makes his mark on the world.

oikawa tooru in brazil has to be one of my favorite moments in the entire manga.

after not seeing him for so long, we finally see oikawa thriving in brazil with his teammates. now, he is playing for the argentina league as their setter, and all of his efforts to become a pro proved to be worth it.

seeing oikawa in the timeskip full of confidence and succeeding in his career made me so emotional. I relate to him in many ways, and to see someone succeed in such a remarkable way despite the challenges is extremely motivating.

oikawa moved across the world, leaving his friends and family behind in hopes of making his dreams come true. it was more than difficult, having to power through every obstacle with sheer willpower and skill. even though oikawa went through so many hardships, he loved the sport.

volleyball is something oikawa has loved since he was young. spending hours watching his idols play, learning how to play himself, and falling in love with being a setter. volleyball is everything to oikawa.

i think what makes oikawa's journey so impactful is that we see someone who presents himself to be full of confidence have his own insecurities and struggles, but he never let any of that stop him from giving up on volleyball.

seeing him in brazil, happy and thriving makes me so happy. the flashback to him as a kid, smiling and full of amazement, and then cutting back to him as an adult makes me so emotional.

oikawa's last words to hinata in brazil are a testament to his character.

what i love about this panel is that oikawa is telling us that he will beat everyone. he reminds us that we haven't seen the last of him yet.

oikawa tooru has been working for so long with the desire to beat every and anyone. he could have let himself stay with the same ideology he had in middle school, where he would never be able to be equal to a genius, and let that thought destroy him. but oikawa never gave up. he worked hard every day, honing his skills and growing as an individual to have this moment.

it is unbelievable that Oikawa, who was always full of immense talent and determination, is now at an entirely different level.

oikawa tooru may not be a genius, but he made his way to the olympics despite that.

this is the perfect ending for a character like oikawa. someone who, from the beginning, had a strong desire to defeat everyone and now steps onto the court where the world can see him at his best.

although it's never specifically stated who wins, i will always believe that oikawa tooru, took the world by storm and won the olympic gold. the man who wasn't a genius made it to the top of the game.

it makes me so happy to see him work so hard and have it all payoff. not only is the journey to becoming a professional player difficult, but as someone who had a hard time accepting his limitations, oikawa made his way to the world stage.

UPDATE:

there are colored versions of the manga going around, so I just HAD to add this iconic oikawa scene to this post.

I'm so proud of him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

reading and watching his journey is such a beautiful experience. oikawa is such a fantastic character who's so authentic and entertaining. he'll always be a character i can relate to and see as motivation.

i hope this was a fun/interesting read!! i always wanted to write something about oikawa so this was very fun for me to do. he's a character i will always love, and i hope this post showed how great of a character he is!

[tybalt-you-saucy-boi]

Let's talk about what Winner's Theory means for the next season of Life SMP, and what we could see depending on who wins Secret Life.

Disclaimer: I know this is just a theory and they don't actually base the new games off of the winners of the previous season, but that's the fun of theorizing.

Etho - Underselling himself, no longer the best at PVP, but with a long legacy of obliterating all competition in death games. Loyal to a fault to his team, with no expectations from them in return. A bit similar to how Scott plays in terms of his alliances, but more likely to be hostile towards others outside of his group. We could see another season similar to Double Life, with game-mechanic incentive to keep your teammates safe at all cost.

Cleo - Similar to Etho, but with a lot more arson. She's also loyal to her team, but if anyone crosses her they will be her biggest target, regardless of a previous alliance. You cannot betray Cleo without life altering consequences. You get one chance and then it's over. I would expect something that will be ruthless and unforgiving if you make the wrong move. Something that feels like stepping on eggshells.

Sidenote: Cleo is the only member of the Divorce Quartet without a win so far, and it would really tickle me if this was her season.

Joel - He's a leader, but also distant from his pack. Only one in his alliance to live outside their walls. First one on yellow. Started a cult. He's with them but he's also with himself. His game is vengeance, for Lizzie, for Jimmy, for Mumbo. His season will be brutal. It will start out brutal and it will end brutally. Players will be picking themselves up from the floor the minute they spawn in. Imagine a season where everyone starts in the Nether. That's Joel's revenge.

Bigb - You thought Cleo was gaslight? This man can pack some fire in his words. And what a season for it! His alliance is pretty much doomed, trying to pull themselves out of the wreckage, but he's got plans that go beyond Skizz and Tango. Right from the get-go with his first task he's marked as the odd one out. He gives out lies like they're candy, and not just for his own preservation, but for FUN. His winner's season will be built on chaos, not knowing where you stand among everyone else, and rewarded for tricking and betraying others. This will be the return of the Boogeyman.

Gem - Big risks, big rewards, bigger fury. The newest member of the series and defying all odds to earn her place in victory, in her season players will face challenges they've never seen before, but will be stronger beyond measure if they come out alive on the other end. Regardless of which life you're on, you'll have just as much chance of winning right up to the end, but the victor must be prepared to risk it all for their spot of glory. This will not be a season to shrink back from and make logical plans before acting. One must have quick feet.

Impulse - Almost the opposite of Gem, Impulse has taken his time, patience is his virtue. He's been so close to winning, but he'll know when the time is right to strike. He'll do whatever it takes, but it will be intentional and planned. I anticipate his season will be one with rough terrain, similar to the big rift in the middle of the Double Life map dividing everyone across a chasm. Reaching other players will be treacherous by foot, but ripe for planning elaborate traps and schemes to secure the win. Most certainly players will need to work hard for it.

Scar - Lone wolves roam free! He's been forced to work for himself alone this season, and so far he's reaped plenty rewards! The next season will give players a motive to work alone, and they will have to build themselves up using their own ingenuity and wits. Making yourself look like an underdog will be vital, stealing will be even more necessary, and the world will be ripe for monopolies. It's a real war out there, and you can't trust anyone.

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Millie Bright x Reader

Big Mouth

AN: Sparked from @wileys-russo’s comment on a previous fic ~ “Millie and her big mouth would most definitely out someone”

It was the 70th minute in the quarter final of the World Cup as the team were shuffling around preparing for a corner. England had been marked all evening and Columbia weren’t letting up anytime soon, you were in serious need of a new strategy and fast if you wanted to progress any further in the tournament. You were floating around in the box trying to break away from your marker whilst listening out for instructions from your captain, suddenly feeling hands on both your shoulders and being viscously shoved to the ground. You were in shock as the attack was completely unprovoked and the ball wasn’t even in play yet. The corner was delayed for a moment as you scrambled to your feet and as a warning was handed out to you, your teammates swarmed the ref to object. How could you push yourself to the floor? Is she completely oblivious to the abuse you had been receiving the entire match? As an arm pulled tightly on your shirt in another direction you were prepared to receive a yellow if it meant not allowing yourself to be bullied any longer. “Get the fuck off me!” you screamed, expecting to turn and face a Colombian player but surprised to see it was actually Millie pulling you towards her for protection. Your demeanour changed immediately as you let her move your body like a rag doll; wherever she wants you, you’re there. Squeezing you infront of her, the taller woman pressed her body tightly against your back and her arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you in place so you were finally unmarked for once in this game. Millie quickly grabbed Rachel too and directed her in front of you, sandwiching your body between them. “Hold Rachel” Millie directed bluntly, “tighter”. Squishing you so close together you could barely breath as Rachel reached around your back to hold you all in place too. Making three unmarkable players, others copied in doing the same to give you the best chance to advance. Millie muttered directions into your ear as close to your face as possible so the opposing team couldn’t hear your tactics, the last thing you remember before the ball was kicked in by Alex was Lucy joking about where she fitted into this threesome and laughing to herself.

‘I knew what I had to do but did I do it? Did I fuck!’ Being grabbed and pulled by the older women took all your attention away from what you were actually supposed to be doing and that was scoring, that’s why they were protecting you in the first place you idiot! As the ball was kicked, the girls instantly spread out taking the Colombians with them, leaving you stood by yourself in acres of space with a gawped expression on your face. Seeing the ball flying towards you, Millie’s voice hollered your name just in time for you to zone back in to your surroundings and plant the ball neatly into the net.

Back in the locker room discussions were flowing about your goal, winning the game and being awarded player of the match. Lucy was in the corner joking with the older girls about your spaced out look just before the ball hit your head, you were huddled at the other end of the room with your friends from youth level. “You did look so out of it before you scored” they laughed in agreement with Lucy. “I was taken off guard! I didn’t expect to be sandwiched between Mills and Rach” chuckling to yourself but the comment was met with quizzical eyes and confused expressions. “Were you-“ Hempo started before you finished the question for her. “Turned on? Yes” shrugging it off as no big deal. “Ohhh from the train? I saw you guys do that and could already imagine the memes! That wasn’t what I was gonna say though..” Hempo still had the confused look that seemed to never leave her face. “Wait, what did you think?” you asked, wondering if you’d just over shared unnecessarily. “That you got shoved pretty hard, I thought they took the wind out of you!” your best friend’s voice was muffled inside the clean shirt as she tried to push her head through the arm hole. Helping her get dressed like a mum would a toddler you told yourself that next time you must remember to let people finish their sentences so you don’t make a fool of yourself. Yet somehow you ignored your own advice and still kept talking. “Yeah I think I’m gay now!” you blurted out jokingly. “You’re gay?!” Millie bellowed behind you, luckily she didn’t seem to have heard the rest of the conversation but this still wasn’t ideal. “Who’s gay?” “(Y/n).” “(Y/n)’s gay?” “About time she told us!” Glancing around the room at all the voices chiming like dominoes at overhearing the gossip you were shocked to see how many people thought you already were. “Was it the train?” Lucy laughed with a smirk in the corner of the changing room she hadn’t moved from, “the TikTok edits are gonna loooove that!” The brunette was always showing off edits that had been made of her on the app, always seemed proud of them too. “Nooo! I’m not gay!” you exclaimed to make sure the whole team heard you. “You’ve gone all red tho!” Millie pointed out whilst poking your cheeks making you wish the ground would open up and swallow you. Backing away from the blonde who was making you flustered you ran for the showers, eager to wash away the thoughts and the sound of being outted. You’re not gay, you were just turned on by some very attractive women that you spend all your time with holding you in a certain way, that doesn’t make you gay and certainly not for your teammates!

The next day at training you felt the same forcefulness as the day before, two hands landed heavily on your shoulders shuddering you out of the daydream you were in. A blonde messy bun flopped in your face as her arms wrapped loosely around your collar bones. “Hey, sorry for shouting about you being gay, I shouldn’t have done that I was just on a high from winning” she said pulling you into her once more. Your body instantly became stiff with being so close to the defender again and as words jumbled in your mind unable to form a sentence, you just nodded in response. “I’m here if you wanna talk okay, love you” kissing your cheek before running off to join her group. Hempo was watching the interaction from afar and made her approach when she saw Millie had left. “You’ve got that same look on your face as yesterday” she laughed, “yknow just cause you fancy a woman doesn’t mean you’re gay” bending down to tie her shoelaces. “Thank you! That’s what I was trying to say yesterday, at least someone believes me” you breathed a sigh of relief. “I meant, gay and straight aren’t the only options (y/n). You’ve got bi, pans, demi and-” she trailed off listing sexualities you had never heard of before as the realisation hit that not even your best friend believed what you were saying. “Y/n, work with Bright over your link ups, they could use some work” Sarina shouted over the pitch interrupting your friend who was still spelling out the queer alphabet. Hempo looked at you sympathetically but also a little amused, “good luck!” she nudged as she ran back to her spot. You reluctantly walked over to your skipper who was as loud as ever, shouting encouragement and silly remarks about taking your time but once you got there you couldn’t even hold eye contact with her. Making an excuse that you didn’t feel well before running back inside, Millie’s eyes followed you, squinting in confusion. She knew something was wrong but didn’t know how to approach you in a way that would make you open up.

Once you’d arrived into the safety of your hotel room you threw yourself on the bed to scour the internet to look up all the unfamiliar words Lauren was telling you about earlier. Taking silly quizzes to find out what sexuality you are always came up as 100% NOT straight which made you even more confused. You’d never thought about it before but you’ve never really felt attraction to anybody, relationships never lasted long because you just didn’t feel anything. After a few hours of flicking through an LGBTQ+ encyclopaedia your eyes landed on a definition you were unable to divert your attention from:

Graces, gray A’s, or gray asexuals: Individuals whose sexual attraction exists within the gray area between sexual and asexual. They experience sexual attraction infrequently or not very strongly. Other terms that are used to describe this identity are semisexual, asexual-ish, and sexual-ish.

‘That would explain my very rare attraction to anybody I guess’, you thought to yourself. My demeanour and fashion sense could come across gay sometimes but that word doesn’t seem to define me, neither do any of the others. I must be a Gray A.. or Grace? That seems to fit well with me the most.

Sitting back to admire the screen while you soaked everything in there was a knock at your door. “Hey, can I come in?” nodding without words as the blonde entered your room and sat down on your bed. “Can you just talk to me please? I know I’ve upset you and just wanna make it right” she pleaded. “You haven’t upset me Mill” reassuring her as you sat down next to your friend. “It’s just..” you started to explain but hesitant with how to word it. “The other night when you pulled me into you it made me feel something.. different. It turned me on okay and then everyone started shouting about how I’m gay and I just got confused. But I’ve done some research and I think I know why now.” Planting the laptop onto her knees so she could look at what you had highlighted. “I’ve never heard of this?” she muttered while reading the definition. “Me neither, but it explains why I’ve never felt attracted to anyone and then suddenly I was” you shrugged, relieved with having an explanation now. “I do have that effect on people” she mocked swiping her hair from her shoulder. “You’ve got such a big head!” rolling your eyes and slapping her arm. “Hey!” she pouted, trying to slap you back but you’d moved out of her reach. “Matches your big mouth!” your laugh exaggerated but comforted in the fact that everything was out in the open and the awkwardness had floated away. “Okay, so we cool?” “We’re cool” “I won’t go grabbing you without warning anymore” “hmm. I liked it” punching her bicep lightly. “Good… cause my love language is touch” her hand glided from your shoulder down to your fingers, linking your hand in hers. “Really? Cause I hadn’t noticed!” your heavily sarcastic tone earned you a glare before being swamped in a huge bear hug.

[mrs-santoss]

This Is It - Neymar Imagine

Summary:

okey, i know the orders are closed but the defeat of Brazil leads me to want one where neymar is comforted by his wife.

you are one of the only people who writes about it and I LOVE the way you do. ☆



Author's Note: Thank you for requesting it. I'm still affected by the defeat, however, I decided to write about it right now while I'm still experiencing these emotions. I only said one thing to Neymar before the game. Don't overthink, just enjoy it and give your best. He was extremely nervous, he kept glancing at me during the breaks the whole time. I always gave him a smile and cheered for him, letting him know he's doing amazing. When Neymar scored, I became the happiest person alive. I was confident we could win it. Neymar seemed more relieved, he still tried to remain calm and didn't do any dancing celebrations.   It all came down to penalties. I hate penalties. Neymar hates penalties, too. He hates the idea of a penalty deciding everything, probably because of the pressure he feels when he has to shoot.  Brazil takes the first penalty and misses. This is devastating. Neymar looks extremely worried and anxious, as do the rest of the team. Croatia manages to score. It all comes down to Marquinhos. He needs to score the penalty for a winning chance. He gets to the ball, he shoots it, he misses. I drop down on my seat. I hear cheering all around me from the other team's fans. I can't believe this happened. Brazil lost. Neymar lost, he didn't even get the chance to shoot. I can't hold my feelings inside anymore and I begin to tear up. I look down at the field and spot Neymar sitting on the field with is head on his hands. This sight broke my heart. I can't contain myself anymore and I decide to go down to him. I go behind him and hug him from the back, standing behind him on my knees. He can tell it's me. He keeps his head down and sobs uncontrollably. "Ney..." I hug him tighter. He doesn't respond he just keeps crying. I decide to go around in front of him and face him. I take his face on my hands and try to get him to look at me. "Amor, look at me." I can't stop my own tears from falling, I place my forehead against his. He grabs my shoulders and hides his face in the crook of my neck. I feel his tears on my chest. I rub his back and kiss his shoulder repeatedly. I want to get him out of the field and calm him down. I know what he's thinking. He thinks he's a failure, he thinks he's worthless. "Ney, amor. It's okay. You did amazing, bebê. You gave all you had, I know you didn't hesitate once. You took all your chances, amor. You should be proud of yourself." I say to him, we're still in the same position, he's not moving or reacting to my words, he just keeps crying. "Let's go sit inside and calm down, Ney. Okay, yeah? Can we do that?" I ask him, hoping he will agree. I see Dani coming up to us and rubbing Neymar's back, he tries to comfort him but fails. I ask Dani to help me make Ney stand up.

We go inside the hall and all the players head to the changing room. As soon as we are out of camera's sight, Neymar turns to me and wraps his arm around me, continuing to cry.

"I could've done more. This wasn't supposed to end like this." he speaks for the first time since the loss.

"You gave it all you had, Ney. Everything. Your heart, your soul, you talent, everything. Please, don't blame yourself. Please, amor." I kiss his neck.

"No, I didn't. If I did, I would've been over there celebrating our win. Not here, feeling defeated."

"Yes, you did. You fucking did, Ney."

I let go from the hug and grab his hand, leading him to the changing room. I decide to wait outside the door for him.

"You go in there and change so we can go home and just lay together and sleep, you need to rest. I will wait right here for you." he nods and leaves.

Once he comes out, he reaches for my hand and we walk towards the exit to the parking lot. I can tell he's still extremely disappointed, which is expected. I can't stand to see him like this. I want him to get over this as soon as possible. He deserves every good thing in this world. 

"Ney?" I look up to him as we're walking towards the car.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't make this harder on yourself. I need you to know that you're the best player, the best team mate, the best person out there. I love you with all my heart. I'm so proud of you. I'm proud of you every single day."

He cracks a small smile to me for the first time ever, which is enough for me. He stops and leans in to kiss me.

"Thank you for being here, I love you, Y/N. With all my heart."

[invaderzia1]

sweaty online gamer bf scara? we finally meet irl? smut?!😙

I may have gone overboard but I’m having a lot of thoughts (also surprisingly little nsfw but I do have some coming I’m just having a tough time recently)

also modern au and sweaty gamer guy

okay but can you imagine, you’ve been talking to him for a long time online. you’ve been playing for so long that when you casually mentioned where you lived and realized y’all live close to each other it felt natural to meet up with him. sure, he’s a jerk online but he’s you’re friend too, so you wanted to give him a chance. putting in your cutest outfit and making sure you’re makeup looked good, you dashed out of your apartment to meet him at a cute cafe.

only to meet him and he’s dressed so casual and it doesn’t look like he’s showered in the past day or so. he barely even says hi to you either, just a small nod to acknowledge you before telling you you’re late. it’s awkward, he keeps checking his phone and showing you memes off of Twitter too. honestly, for as bad as it seems, you kind of enjoy being able to see his face in front of you. you start to pick up on small quirks of his. like how his face breaks out in a light pink flush every time you’re hand brushes up against his.

he keeps rattling off about the newest win he had in lol and how he’s the best player in the game. usually, people would walk out of the cafe after hearing how arrogantly he speaks, but you just sit and smile, listening intently. he’s honestly pretty cute too.

this becomes a weekly thing for you, meeting up at some cafe and hanging out in person. scara will groan about how you are taking away his precious time, but will never say no to you when you ask if he wants to meet up. he never tries to dress up for you, either. hell wear some already worn tee shirt and some old jeans at best, but something about it just works. this is seeing the real him.

and slowly it seems less like a hang out, more like a date. though, he would refuse to admit that. but when you reach across the table and hold his hand, he doesn’t pull away. he stutters through his sentence and blushes heavily, but he doesn’t try to pull away from your grasp.

when he finally invites you to his place, he ends up playing video games the entire time. claiming to show you how elite he is, but in actuality he’s way to flustered having you this close to him that he needs to distract himself. when he looks over his shoulder and sees you laying on his bed like you own it, his heart skips a beat. AND THEN, you start making fun of him for having a girl in his bed for the first time ever, and that he’s playing video games. honestly, he’s embarrassed but shoots a sarcastic remark back at you. but that doesn’t stop him from walking over and getting into bed next to your, asking if “you are happy yet”. what he doesn’t expect is for you to wrap your arms around him and nod yes. honestly he might think he took too many edibles last night and probably is in some sort of weed hallucination coma.

as he’s cuddled up to you, you realize two things, one is that he clearly hasn’t washed his sweatshirt in months (if not at any point since buying it) and two, try as he may to deny it, he’s enjoying having you pressed up against. you can tell immediately how much he enjoys having you right against him by the way his body betrays him. he almost like a cat in how he cuddles up against you, scolding you that he is wasting precious game time, yet his arms stay firmly wrapped around you with no intention to let go anytime soon.

he’s not exactly subtle with his touching (ahem, groping) either. at first you think maybe it was an accident, but by the fourth squeeze of your breast it’s pretty hard to deny what he’s doing. all you can do is giggle to yourself, causing him to roll his eyes and tell you off for being rude, not like he’s the one being a perv. you tell him if he wanted to touch he could have just asked, this is your sixth date. which makes him freeze as he realizes that these have been dates. then he gains his confidence to touch you more, rudely telling you how easy you must be to let him do this. you can only laugh at his over confidence and massive ego, but at least he finally has the courage to touch you now.

this unleashes a new side to him, now that you’ve opened that door he will always be touching you. any time he has you alone he is either grabbing at your chest or touching your ass. he’ll also have more courage to be more of a perv too. if he hasn’t seen you in a while, then he’ll text you for nudes. and he doesn’t ask nicely, will always try to brag that since he one his last round of lol he deserves it. if you ask for one back from him, he’ll scoff but send a poorly done dick pic that shows off his nasty gaming room. just give him some tips and you’ll be getting those videos of him smacking the tip on the camera and letting you hear his very soft moans. oh man, once he realizes you like his videos he will start sending more too, whenever he feels like it. so always watch out opening videos and snaps from him.

god just nasty gamer dude scara is so djxkkdkdsm

[itwasrealtome]

Love Is a Losing Game (Excerpt) | Katie McCabe

Here's an extract from this first one-shot. Feel free to comment and let me know if you're looking forward to the rest.

[If you’d like to be tagged in the upcoming posts, please let me know in the comments or in my dm. It’s free and I don’t bite :) Also there’s a Google Forms]

XXX

"Heartbreak for the Republic of Ireland as the Canadian team secures a hard-fought victory in this crucial Womens World Cup match. The Irish players gave it their all, but tonight, the Canadian side proved to be the stronger force on the field. A tough loss for the Girls in Green, but they can hold their heads high knowing they left everything out on the pitch."

Crossing paths with athletes was a daily routine for the man behind the wheel. Hardly a day went by without him driving around a vehicle full of soccer players. The aim was always to ensure that all passengers reached their destination safely, without accidents or anyone getting lost along the way.

But clearly, there was something about winning that made journeys more bearable. He had no idea whether it came from the singing, the dancing or the shouting. He was just aware of the emptiness that filled his bus with each defeat.

Now was no different as the commentators voices from the radio were far from filling the silence. The atmosphere was heavy, with players quietly reflecting on the tough loss to the Canadian team. Defeat weighed profoundly on their shoulders, and the mixture of exhaustion and disappointment filled the air, making the trip back to the hotel almost tangible.

From her spot at the front of the bus, Vera Pauw watched her team for a moment, her own face also marked by a mixture of deception and concern. She had no idea how this dream had slipped through their fingers. Theyd had a chance to make a difference, and although it had been done by securing their place in the competition in the first place, it left a bitter taste to leave so early. They deserved better. The whole team deserved better.

Bothered by the constant chatter of the radio hosts, Vera left her seat to join the driver. She patted his shoulder gently, a thin, polite smile stretching her lips. Deep down, she wondered if the man had lost his mind, if he was aware of the situation of the team he was driving. In an equally polite tone, she informed him of her request, nodding in the direction of the radio. There wasnt much she could do to save the evening anymore, but at least, she could spare her girls in green the cruel comments of the men at the microphones.

As she made her way back to her seat, the coach froze at the sight of her captain in such a sorry state. The athlete was carefully seated so that no one could see her weary, downcast face, partially hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt. Still, from where she stood, Vera could make out the marks of tears on the Gunners face. Katies eyes were red and puffy, almost obscuring the usually sparkling green of her irises. Whilst the rest of the team were feeling down, the Irish woman was simply shattered. The one thing she clung to most had just broken too.

XXX

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