#i thrived and cried and cried again but it was worth it

[abel-draws]

It's my bday woooo confetti emojiii

Well technically it was on the 20th but i was on a work trip and couldn't celebrate properly until now. Not gonna let that take the chance away from taking in the fact that I've managed to get to 25!

Life is not easy, but I've managed to know myself better and, even if i haven't been able to be at peace with myself just yet, it's nice to feel like some progress is happening. Things aren't as hopeless as one thought

Thanks a lot to everyone who's been by my side, helping me keep my shit together through the many many ups and downs. I put together some of the pics that bring me joy for one reason or another in this post as a bit of a celebration to the art I've done despite it all. Thank you too, art, for existing and making life so, so much better

[alloftheimagines]

haymitch abernathy | no peace

words: 1.7k warnings: 18+, hurt/comfort, public punishment (inspired by gale's whipping in catching fire), mentions of alcohol and drugs, pain, pain, pain, blood, injury, just a lot of whump description: Disobeying the Peacekeepers comes with punishment. Haymitch is the one to protect you, sitting at your bedside and helping you through the agony.

You kneel because it’s all you can do, just as all the residents of the Seam can do is watch it happen. Beside you, the little girl who you’d leapt in front of just a moment ago sniffles and cries for her mother. You think you know her as the daughter of one of the coal miners, but you don’t see either of her parents anywhere now. Likely, they’re at home, waiting for her to bring that stolen wedge of cheese before they starve. Now, it lies on the floor at the Peacekeeper’s feet, dirtied by the sooty ground and laid to waste. 

“She’s just a girl,” you say again — plead. You’re met with a blow across your face, one that knocks you to the ground. Though it steals your breath, you only grunt, determined not to show weakness. It’s what they thrive on, but you are not weak. Not for this. 

The crowd gasps in shock, but nobody steps in. Nobody can, not without twice as terrible a punishment. 

When you rise onto your elbows, the Peacekeeper grabs your chin, teeth bared. “Well, I sure hope she was worth the twelve lashes you’re about to get. Let’s see how heroic you feel with your back in tatters, shall we?” 

He drags you over to the whipping post, your knees scraping against the cobbles, heart pounding in your ears. The girl is crying, but you glimpse a neighbour pulling her away. Good. His focus is on you, and that means she’ll get to go home today — without food, but safe. Perhaps one of the onlookers will take pity, find something to fill her belly. God knows she looks like she needs it, joints jutting out of grimy, freckled skin. You know that hunger; the type that aches in every bone, burns right through your insides. Her tiny frame wouldn’t survive the lashes, but you will, so you let the Peacekeeper rip off your shirt and bare your back to him when he asks, another of them approaching to tie you up with rope that immediately chafes your wrists. 

“Please,” the little girl is shouting, but she’s far away. 

You grit your teeth when you hear the whip crack against the floor. Focus on the rows of feet surrounding you, as though counting the holes in the miners’ boots might be enough of a distraction and you won't feel it. 

Except it isn't and you do. The whip tears over your spine and you can’t keep from letting out a scream this time, entire body shuddering as though it can’t quite settle into this new pain. The Peacekeeper counts with every lash: one, two, three. By the fifth, you can’t hold yourself up, slumped against the pole as hot blood trickles down your skin and gathers at the waistband of your trousers. The shoes blur and tilt with the rest of the world, and you wonder how you’ll work tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. You hope the girl isn’t looking. You wish nobody was looking. 

Before the seventh, a new voice chimes in, footsteps scuffing against the stone behind you. You don’t need to see him: his voice is enough for you to recognise who is trying to rescue you. 

Haymitch. 

“All right, all right, don’t you think you’ve proved your point?” he’s saying with that usual hint of a slur, because you can’t remember the last time he wasn’t drunk. It’s the only reason you’re friends. He buys your liquor, enough that you started watering it down a while back both because you don’t want to enable his addiction and because it gives him reason to come back more often, even if it’s to yell at you about the quality of your booze. 

“The sentence for attacking a Peacekeeper is twelve lashes. Step aside, or join her,” the Peacekeeper warns. 

Attacking a Peacekeeper. You barely touched him, only pushing him back before he could hit the girl. 

“Leave it, Haymitch,” you manage to force out. You taste blood and realise you’ve bitten through your tongue, but it’s impossible to feel it with your back on fire. “Let the man finish. No Peacekeepers, no peace, right?”

Your sarcasm is rewarded with another whip, right across both shoulder blades. 

Seven.

“Stop it!” Haymitch orders. There’s something rich and husky in his voice. Desperation. There you were thinking he didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. You'd be surprise if you could muster the energy. “You wanna punish someone, punish me. How about we see what happens when one of the Hunger Games victors gets all bloodied up in the street, huh?”

Silence. Likely, the Peacekeeper realising who he is. District 12's only victor. You squeeze your eyes closed, dreading that Haymitch might actually take the lashings for you. The only thing you could bear less than this.

“Victors aren’t exempt from the rules,” the Peacekeeper decides, but his voice is no longer as stiff and certain as before. “And Seam scum like her certainly aren’t.”

“Maybe not, but what would everyone think, seeing Panem’s hero at the hands of a Peacekeeper? You sure that’s an image Snow would want associated with his precious Games?”

A scoff. “I don’t care about Panem’s heroes. You have nothing to do with this, so step aside.”

“She’s my wife!” Haymitch claims, causing another wave of shock to rattle through the crowd. And through you, because like hell you are. But he’s lying to save you, and you don’t know why. “I won’t let you do this to her. So whip me, or let us both go. What’ll it be?”

The moments that follow are excruciating, and you can do nothing but pant as the cool air hits your ruined skin. Finally, a Peacekeeper comes before you to cut through your bindings. You’re about to fall back onto the stone when two arms wrap around you, your soft whimpers landing in their chest. 

“All right, sweetheart. I gotcha now.” He picks you up, then whispers an outpouring of sorries when his arms scrape against your wounds, drawing another agonised keen from you. The sky is cloudy and grey above you, and it’s all you can do to stare at the clouds as he walks with you, each step jolting another rush of pain through your body. 

“Gonna getcha all cleaned up,” Haymitch soothes. And then he’s shouting for someone, for Asterid, and the sky is replaced by the wooden beams of an old house. 

Immediately, orders are shouted: clear the table, get the morphling, lots of gauze. You’re set down on something hard and clutch at Haymitch’s shirt desperately. His face swims over you, blue eyes glassy yet alert. More alert than they’ve ever been before. 

“Can you roll off your back for me, sweetheart? That’s it.” His hands are at your sides, anchoring you as you try to take the weight off your injuries. Everything is slippery with your blood and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t anything, because it hurts. You must say as much, because his hand smoothes over your hair. “I know. I know. Gonna get you something for it, okay?”

“It’s going to be worse, just for a moment. We need to clean your wounds,” a kind voice, Asterid, warns, and then it is. You imagine fire all around you, and somewhere distant, hear your own screams. Haymitch’s hand stays in yours as he holds your convulsing body down.

“Can’t you get the damn morphling first?” Annoyance bubbles in Haymitch’s tone. 

“I can’t find it!” a younger, more flustered voice says, the sounds of riffling breaking through the cotton wool in your ears. Must be Asterid's daughter, Prim. She's barely younger than the girl outside; she shouldn't have to see the mess the whip has made.

And then you must pass out, because suddenly, you’re rising from fog, body heavy and pain dulled, and Haymitch is in a chair by your side. Your blood is on his shirt, you notice, and his hand is still holding yours on the table, thumb smoothing over your knuckles in a way that is both gentle and rough. 

“Hey. There y’are. Welcome back.” 

Moving makes you hurt again, and he shushes you when you cry out. “Stay put for now, okay? Wounds are still open.”

“Where are we?” Your voice is almost as hoarse and slurred as his. 

“Asterid’s house. She’s getting you all cleaned up.” 

“Did… did they stop? Did the girl get away?” 

He brushes the hair off your forehead. “She did. Made sure she got some food in her belly, too. Jesus, what were you thinking, getting in between a fight with a Peacekeeper like that?”

“Wasn’t a fair fight.” 

“Never damn well is.” 

“She was just a girl, Haymitch.” Anger rises to the surface, breaking through layers and layers of pain and sedation. 

Haymitch sighs. Leans his elbows on the table so his face is inches from yours. You wonder why it brings you comfort to smell his alcohol-laced breath, to feel it across your skin, to have his crooked nose graze yours. So gentle compared to the whip and yet it still leaves you shuddering. 

And yet his words are serrated as ever. “I know. But if you could find some sense of self-preservation, that’d be great.”

You shake your head, lids growing heavy again. You’re still conscious enough to point out, “You didn’t seem to have much of any, either, jumping in front of me like that. Calling me your wife. How long ‘fore they realise that’s a lie?”

His brows knit together, fingers drawing absent circles into your arms. “Shut up and get some sleep.”

Somehow, you find it in you to smirk. “‘Cos I’m right?”

“‘Cos the morphling’ll wear off soon, and it’s gonna hurt like hell.” Then, he softens. "And because you're a little right."

And you dread it, that first part. You can already feel the flames charring the edges of your consciousness, trying to take over again. Chin dipping back onto the table, you squeeze Haymitch’s hand tighter. He’s all you have here. No family to come sit with you, no friends who’ll take care of you the way he has. He's stupid for it, for putting himself in the crossfire, but it means something. Right now, you don’t know what, but you’ll figure it out. Maybe. If he’ll let you. 

“You gonna leave?” You sound so small, and it leaves you regretting asking at all. This isn't you. You get by on banter and jabs, not... this. Not vulnerability. The scars might heal, but you won't be able to take back the things you've given to him today. Shreds of yourself you didn't know existed.

He shakes his hand; strokes your hair again. “Gonna be right here when you wake up, sweetheart. Not going anywhere.” 

With the morphling humming through your veins and his gentle, soothing touch taking your mind away from the pain, you drift back into a restless, uncomfortable in-between. 

One where he is here, and for that alone, the agony is almost worth it.

[tinyfantasminha]

Thoughts on Jack's dream(MASSIVE main story spoilers ahead)

JACKS DREAM got me by the thROAT bc the more I analyze it the more angsty it feels and I alreadfy sobbed n cried and I must SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM He's dreaming of the magift tournament but basically if..... if Leona's plan never took place....... If Leona actually WERE the hero Jack has idolized...... 😭

First I gotta take note dosodkgkfdgjdfkghfdjk hOW JACK YEARNS FOR HIS SENPAI'S PRAISE AND AFFECTION 🥺🥺truly the epitome of loyal, puppy-like behavior..... It doesn't take much for him to be happy… He yearns for the respect and acknowledgement of those he admires. He craves respect and recognition, but not only that—he genuinely wants to see those he admires thrive.

Seems to me that what Jack longs for most is a sense of belonging within a pack. He’s not just devoted to those he holds in high regard; he also desires to be cared for in return (This becomes even more apparent when he asks Ruggie to act as a mentor or older-brother figure in his dorm uniform vignette.) Jack's actions reflect his innate wolf nature—a being built for connection, loyalty, and mutual protection. No matter how much he tells himself or others how he prefers to handle things on his own… We can clearly see that Jack is happier when he’s part of a team, fighting alongside companions who’ve got his back. It’s the dynamic balance of trust: to protect and be protected, to rely on others and let them rely on him in return. It deeply resonates with the essence of wolves.

We often hear the phrase “lone wolf,” an expression of grudging admiration. A lone wolf is often viewed as a rugged individualist, uncompromising and independent, driven to forge his own path, unfettered by the sentimental need for companionship. In reality, few people would ever want to live this way—and, as it turns out, few wolves would either. Wolves, males and females alike, may go through periods alone, but they’re not interested in lives of solitude. A lone wolf is a wolf that is searching, and what it seeks is another wolf. Everything in a wolf’s nature tells it to belong to something greater than itself: a pack. Like us, wolves form friendships and maintain lifelong bonds. They succeed by cooperating, and they struggle when they’re alone. Like us, wolves need one another. (source)

Which is why the factual reality cuts so deeply.

After Ortho wakes Jack up (in oUTER SPACE DKJGDSDKFJGKJS that was so adventitious but so cool.....) and Jack falls down like a meteorite (ALSO SUPER COOL BUT WTF.....) Fake!Leona and Fake!Ruggie rush to his side, Leona softly reassures him, saying it’s a relief he’s uninjured and advising him not to be so reckless while Ruggie says ''You're a promising rookie. Our treasure.'' (I started crying here.)

Jack breaks into a bitter, despairing laugh as the truth crashes down on him. The sincerity and warmth his “upperclassmen” showed in that moment? It wasn’t real. It never actually happened. Jack recounts his excitement when he first joined Savanaclaw, eager to fight alongside the dormmates he admired so much. He talks about how he had watched Leona’s play three years ago—over and over again, captivated by it. He reveals the painful truth of discovering their wicked plan, the frustration of being unable to snap them out of it, and the overwhelming helplessness that consumed him.

I gotta say, I'm SO HAPPY that Jack's feelings on the events of book 2 were finally properly addressed now (cause let's be real, book 2 uhh... did kinda a shitty job at this 💀 Neither the narrative nor the fandom really took the time to explore the emotional impact it had on him, which is such a disservice to his character.)

Think about it from Jack’s perspective. He was obsessed with Leona's play 3 years ago, watching it over and over again. In his eyes, Leona was a hero, someone worth idolizing to the point of projecting an idealized image of him: an earnest, hardworking, honorable leader. When Jack finally had the chance to join Savanaclaw and be part of the dorm he had admired so deeply, what was his reality? Ostracization, bullying and even physical violence from some of his dorm mates (as shown in Leona's dorm uniform vignette) And worst of all? Jack was met with his idol’s true, treacherous side—dirty tactics, underhanded schemes, and a willingness to harm others to achieve his goals. When Jack tried to confront them about it, he wasn’t met with understanding or respect. Instead, he was called a “filthy traitor” and a “spoiled brat”—by the very person he admired most. It’s a complete dismantling of everything Jack believed in, everything he worked for.

It's a shame the game and manga did not give enough weight to Jack’s feelings, (the novel seems to do a better job at it though) but now it’s clear just how much this hurt him. It wasn’t just a setback; it was a deep, personal betrayal that shook him to his core.

He’s only a first-year. Beneath his gruff demeanor and physical strength, Jack is still a boy—pure-hearted, earnest, and full of hope. All he wanted was to stand beside those he respected most but what he got instead was disappointment, betrayal, and rejection. To idolize someone so deeply, only to have that image crushed in the most personal, gut-wrenching way........ Savanaclaw doesn't deserve him 💔

.

,,,,okay forgive me to break the essay to talk about this but I'm going insane over the fact fake Ruggie ominously coos, ''Hey puppy-chan you're a good boy so come here.....'' UGHGHHHDSHNGDSHNDGSHHHnnnnhhHHHH HE IS BASICALLY SAVANACLAW'S UNOFFICIAL MASCOT,,,,,,, their loyal little puppy 🥺🥺🥺😭😭

fake ruggie and fake leona try to lure him in to sleep again, but Jack says he has no intention of fighting alongside fakes and defeats them 😌

And we get this utterly precious moment where Jack praises Yuu and Grim for having guts and persevering through everything and he PETS GRIM'S HEAD............ HE DIDN'T NEED TO COMFORT THEM BUT AWWAAHBBBAYYAWYWYHAWWABYWAWAYAA

I can't wait to see what role he'll play in Leona's dream 😌 Jack’s arc feels like it’s finally getting the weight it deserves… 🙏🙏🙏

[lyvhie]

┈─★ “bestfriend!haechan who...”

| cw | headcanon, fluff (?), death/murder mentions, stalking, haechan is kinda... yandere, obsessive haechan (and definitely let me know if i forgot something). | a/n | i dont know guys, dont ask me questions I DONT KNOW!!! i dont even know how to tag this, jesus....

Bestfriend!Haechan, who’s been hopelessly in love with you ever since the dramatic kindergarten incident where you yanked his hair because he dared to steal your toy—his villain origin story, as he calls it.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who became a master at disguising his feelings behind teasing smirks and loud laughs, pulling the "what are best friends for?" card every time he does something that screams boyfriend behavior.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who absolutely thrives on physical affection. Casual cuddles that last way too long to be just friendly, tangling his limbs with yours while claiming you’re just “warm,” resting his head on your shoulder until you end up lying on top of him, your head tucked under his chin or laid across his lap while he strokes your hair like it’s his favorite pastime.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who’s still proud of the day he stole your first kiss—messy, sudden, and right after you admitted you’d never had one. He remembers the way you froze, stared at him with wide eyes, and then smacked his shoulder so hard he saw stars. You didn’t speak to him for three days. Three. But he knew you weren’t really mad… you were just flustered, maybe even curious. Because after that, you never brought it up again, but you also never pushed him away when he leaned in a little too close, lingered a little too long, or held your gaze a beat past comfortable. It was cute.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who goes weak when you say his name in that soft, affectionate way only you can. He's used to hearing his name from everyone else, but when you say it, it feels different, like it's only meant for him.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who absolutely despises hearing you talk about your crushes, even though he nods, gives advice, and pretends to be the supportive bestie. Inside, he’s screaming. Because no matter how charming, pretty, funny, or smart they are, he knows none of them could love you the way he does. No one gets you like he does. No one deserves you like he does.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who marched straight to your boyfriend’s house the moment he found out that jerk was cheating on you. He broke the guy’s fingers one by one, calmly, methodically, each with a reason: for every lie he told you, for every time he made you question your worth, for every night you stayed up thinking about him, for every tear you shed over someone so pathetic. He didn’t yell, didn’t scream, his voice was low, cold, and deadly serious as he made the guy promise to break up with you and never show his face near you again.

Bestfriend!Haechan, the very first person you called when your boyfriend suddenly broke up with you out of nowhere!

Bestfriend!Haechan, who showed up at your place in record time, arms full of your favorite snacks, and spent the night comforting you while you cried your heart out. He held you close, whispered gentle words into your ear like, "He didn’t deserve you anyway," and "You were always way too much for that idiot." God, he had to bite his tongue not to smile—not because you were hurting, but because that jerk was finally out of the picture and he, Haechan, was still the one by your side.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who masks his jealousy behind lighthearted jabs and exaggerated whining anytime you dare to give someone else—like that too friendly waitress—a bit of attention. “Wow, so she gets heart eyes and I get ignored? Rude,” he’d pout dramatically, tugging at your sleeve until you sigh, pull him into a hug, and roll your eyes. Only then does he finally shut up, his smug little grin hidden in your shoulder.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who follows you everywhere, and not just to make sure you're safe—but because he has to know where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing at every moment. He's not stalking, he just cares about you <3.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who always seems to know when someone is bothering you—even when you never tell him. And somehow, those people always disappear from your life. That clingy coworker who wouldn't leave you alone? Gone. That guy who ghosted you after three dates? Found dead in a river, and Haechan just happened to be free that night to comfort you.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who has a habit of "joking" about how he'd do anything to keep you safe. Even kill. He always laughs right after, but something in his eyes doesn't.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who rehearses killing your future husband or wife—just in case. He doesn't want to do it, but if someone ever tried to take you away forever? He has a plan.

Bestfriend!Haechan, who kisses your forehead and tucks you in when you fall asleep on his couch, then stays awake beside you for hours just watching you breathe. He's memorized every expression you make in your sleep. Sometimes he whispers things like, “I love you so much,” or "You'll love me back someday. I'll make sure of it.”

Bestfriend!Haechan, who makes you breakfast every morning you sleep over, humming to himself while cooking your favorite meal, imagining your future together—married, isolated, just the two of you. He doesn't need anyone else. Neither do you.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[rmadridcore]

Beyond the Line

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Reader

Summary: You and Kylian enter a friends with benefits arrangement, but as the connection deepens, you struggle to keep your emotions in check.

Word Count: 7.4K

Warning: Smut! (Minors DNI)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this idea for a while and intended to make it a two part series but I couldn’t stop writing when I started lol 😭 so she’s a long one. Hope you enjoy it, lmk what you think 🤍

There’s a strange kind of pleasure in a bit of toxicity. To a point, at least. It doesn’t always make sense, but sometimes, the undeniable physical chemistry makes sacrificing peace of mind worth it. The fire, the intense connection, can outweigh all the flaws in the relationship.

The way Kylian’s tongue traced your folds made all the buried, unresolved feelings seem worth it. He had his head nestled between your thighs, quite literally his favorite place to be, while your hands gripped his head as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His other hand cupped and massaged your breast with a mix of urgency and affection.

“Kylian, fuck!” you screamed, your toes curling as his tongue worked with relentless speed, flicking and teasing you in a way that made your mind blur with pleasure.

The sounds of his slurping filled the room, shameless and loud, but neither of you cared. His occasional moans vibrated through your body, reminding you that you were indeed still on a bed and not floating on some euphoric cloud. Not that you minded. This euphoria was exactly where you wanted to stay for as long as possible.

Throwing your head back, you let out a whiny moan as his tongue explored your most private parts, licking, teasing, and driving you wild. Wet, hot, and pink — just the way he loved it. His nose pressed roughly against your clit as his fingers curled inside you, reaching those spots that made your toes curl even tighter.

The sounds spilling from your lips were raw and unholy, but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in yourself, and neither could he. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it. His hand moved down from your breast to part your throbbing folds, exposing your sensitive clit even more to his skilled, relentless tongue. You wanted to ask him if anyone had ever told him how magical his tongue was, but the words refused to form. Your mouth was far too busy letting out gasps and cries.

“Please,” you managed to mutter, your voice strained, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure surged through you.

For Kylian, it wasn’t just the taste of you that drove him — it was the sounds you made. The way you screamed his name, whimpered in desperation, and begged for release drove him wild. He lived for it. He craved those sounds just as much as he craved the taste of you. Each moan and breathless gasp only pushed him to dive deeper, his tongue working more feverishly against you, wanting to make you shatter beneath him.

He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against that spot that made your entire body tremble. His tongue stayed focused on your swollen clit, flicking in perfect rhythm, and you could feel the familiar tension building, your body ready to unravel.

“I’m so close,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold on just a little longer,” Kylian mumbled against you, the words muffled but clear, the vibrations from his voice only intensifying the pleasure. “I need you to hold on for me.” He wasn’t ready to let go yet. He wanted to savor every second of this, knowing it might be a while before he could taste you again.

“I can’t, Kylian… I need to cum,” you whimpered, your voice desperate, your body on the edge of release.

Finally, he relented, his voice soft yet commanding. “Let go, beautiful. Come for me.”

That was all it took. His words, combined with the pace of his fingers and tongue, sent you tumbling over the edge, and your body obeyed. Your back arched off the bed, his name tearing from your throat as your body shook with release. Your hands gripped the headboard, desperate for something to hold on to as he licked you through your orgasm, not missing a drop of your pleasure.

Gasping for air, you collapsed back onto the bed, your body feeling light and deliciously weak. Kylian, ever the greedy lover, drank in every last bit of your release like it was his favorite drink — because to him, it was.

You coughed lightly, your throat overworked from all the screaming and grunting. You hadn’t even noticed when Kylian laid next to you, his head propped on his hand as he admired your flushed, blissed-out face.

As you lay there, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment, you felt a mix of bliss and vulnerability wash over you.

Kylian shifted to rest his head on your chest, listening to the rapid beat of your heart. “Can you kiss me now?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that enveloped you.

He lifted his head, a faint smile forming on his lips that made your stomach flutter. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, half-amused and half-exasperated. “I just had the best orgasm of my life, and you’re worried about a kiss?” His laughter filled the room, warm and infectious.

“You make a fair point.” He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, and the kiss felt electric. The taste of you lingered, mingling with the sweetness of the moment. As the kiss deepened, you felt the world fade away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of intimacy.

Kylian pulled back slightly, searching your eyes. “You know, moments like these make all the chaos worthwhile,” he said softly. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face.

“Absolutely. But you do realize you’re lucky I’m still coherent enough to appreciate this moment, right?” Kylian chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll take my victories where I can get them.” There was a pause, and you could see a flicker of something serious in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, his voice sincere. “I’m really grateful for you.” The weight of his words settled in the space between you. You had grown so accustomed to the playfulness, the light teasing, that this sudden shift felt scary.

“Kylian,” you began, feeling a swell of emotions. “I—” Before you could finish your sentence, Kylian’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, interrupting the moment. You both sighed in unison, a knowing look passing between you.

“Always a distraction,” he muttered, reaching for his phone, but you could see the hint of annoyance in his eyes.

“It’s the team,” He said, you watching as he glanced at the screen.

“Duty calls, huh?” you said with a teasing smile, trying to keep the mood light.

“Unfortunately,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “But don’t worry, I won’t let it take me away from you for long.” He leaned in and gave you another quick kiss before reluctantly sitting up and pulling away.

You watched as he answered the call, his demeanor shifting to the focused, determined athlete you knew he could be.

As he spoke on the phone, you leaned back against the pillows, observing him with a mixture of admiration and affection. The way he transformed from the playful lover to the focused athlete was mesmerizing. It was like watching a switch flip — he was all business now, his voice steady and professional.

He paused to glance back at you, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if he were trying to gauge your mood. You flashed him a playful smile to remind him you were still there, even if his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“I’ll be done in a minute,” he said, his tone lighter now, as if sensing your amusement.

You shrugged. “Take your time. I’ll just be here, contemplating my life choices.” He chuckled, clearly fighting off a grin.

“I don’t think you need to contemplate anything. You’re the one keeping me grounded.”

“Grounded?” you teased. “I thought I was just a pleasant distraction.”

“You are, but a necessary one,” he replied, winking before returning to his conversation.

When he finally hung up, he flopped back onto the bed beside you, the tension of the call still visible in his shoulders. “Well, that was refreshing,” he said sarcastically.

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Next time, try not to sound so enthusiastic.”

“It’s a tough life, okay?” he replied, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

“You know,” you began, feeling a warmth spread through you as you spoke, “for someone who just dealt with a chaotic work call, you look remarkably unscathed.”

He laughed softly, glancing over at you with a playful smirk. “Well, I do have my charm to rely on.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding your smile.

“Charm? Is that what we’re calling it? More like a mix of sheer talent and good looks.”

“Don’t forget charisma,” he chimed in.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, please. With that kind of self-promotion, you could start your own fan club.”

“You think I’m not already the president of my own fan club?” He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter.

“You’re my only member, and I’m the only one who attends the meetings.”

“Sounds like a party,” you teased, nudging him again.

As laughter faded into a comfortable silence, Kylian turned serious, his expression softening as he gazed at you.

“Stay tonight.” his voice broke the silence, the words hanging in the air between you like an unspoken promise. A warmth spread through your chest at his invitation. It was no secret that he wanted you to spend the night with him every time you two found yourselves tangled in each other's arms; he just didn’t say it outright all the time. But the way he hesitated, how he seemed to hold back from asking you to stay during those other moments, was painfully obvious.

“I have to pack,” you replied, feeling the disappointment settle in both your hearts.

You did spend the night at his place sometimes. Those cozy, late-night moments where everything felt perfect. But other times, you pulled away, creating space to keep things from becoming too routine. You were cautious, wary of the feelings that might arise if you blurred the lines completely. Tonight, you felt the urge to retreat, to maintain that sense of independence. But also, you really had to pack.

Kylian nodded, trying to mask his disappointment with a soft “Okay.” His tone was casual, but you could see right through him; he was the worst liar when it came to you.

You and Kylian had met a little over a year ago at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Both of you single, bold, and carefree, it felt like fate had tossed you together for one wild night of fun. That night had sparked a connection that neither of you expected, leading to a heated encounter that was meant to be a one-off. But universe, as it often does, had other plans.

You both bumped into each other again at an event weeks later, and just like that, you found yourselves leaving together, the chemistry undeniable. After that, you met up again — hooking up once more, and then again. It quickly became a whirlwind of intimate moments, and before you knew it, you were trapped in a confusing, exhilarating, and somewhat unhealthy situation.

Neither of you had been looking for anything serious. The idea of adding the complexities of a relationship, emotional entanglements and responsibilities, was daunting. A casual arrangement, marked by good sex whenever the mood struck, was enough for both of you.

You both understood how these things worked. Friends with benefits could turn into a mess of emotions if you weren’t careful. So, from the very start, you had made it a point to set rules. You were both adept at laying down those guidelines, but when it came to following them? That was another story entirely.

The first rule was simple: never spend the night at each other’s places. The routine was supposed to be straightforward: come over, fuck, leave. That worked for the first two months. But then came that one night at Kylian’s house, just after you’d finished with each other.

It was around 1 AM, and the weather decided to show its worst side with a downpour so fierce, it made the idea of driving home seem ridiculous.

“Stay here,” he insisted, not wanting you to risk the storm. You hesitated at first, knowing it was against the rules, but the thought of driving through that weather wasn’t appealing either. He even offered you the guest bedroom, or suggested he sleep there and let you take his bed, but somehow that felt even weirder than just sharing the bed. So, you stayed. That was the night you crossed the first line. After that, spending the night became more frequent. Kylian was always coming up with excuses for you to stay over.

“The wind is crazy tonight.”

“I heard on the radio that driving after 10 PM isn’t safe.”

“My bed is way more comfortable than yours.”

Some excuses were ridiculous, but sometimes, you caved. Other times, you resisted, determined not to let the sleepovers become routine.

The next rule? Never cancel plans for each other. You both agreed that altering your daily lives just to meet up would mean things were getting too serious. A casual fling didn’t need that kind of effort. But Kylian broke that rule after just two weeks, without you even knowing.

He canceled a dinner with friends, just because a single text from you asking if he was free to hang out was enough to make him ditch his plans. You found out the next time he did it, when he skipped playing paddle with his trainer because a night with you seemed more appealing. You were angry, angry that he broke the rule, but he shut you up with a kiss that made the argument melt away.

After one of your usual, passionate sessions, you told him how canceling plans for each other wasn’t good for what you had. He promised he wouldn’t do it again. And, unsurprisingly, he didn’t keep that promise. To be fair, you didn’t either. You found yourself rescheduling a meeting for work, or canceling a shopping day with friends just to be with him. You both bent the rule when it suited you.

Then there was the no-gifts rule. It seemed harmless enough. No exchanging gifts. Too personal, too intimate. But that rule was thrown out the window on your birthday. Kylian surprised you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a stunning necklace. You wanted to be mad, to call him out for breaking the rule, but how could you? He made you so happy, and the thoughtfulness behind his gift warmed your heart more than you cared to admit. So, instead of scolding him, you simply said, “Thank you,” and asked him not to do it again.

But then you broke that rule too. When his birthday came around, you couldn’t resist getting him something. You reasoned with yourself — it was just a birthday, an exception to the rule. But then, Kylian took it further. He came to your house one evening with a piece of artwork he’d purchased, saying, “It reminded me of you.”

That felt too much, too intimate. You argued, trying to convince him to take it back, but after a long discussion, you agreed to keep it — on the condition that he wouldn’t buy you anything like that again. He promised, but deep down, you both knew promises in this arrangement were flimsy at best.

But the most important rule, the one that should have been unbreakable, was not to fall in love. It was the first thing you both made clear: no strings attached meant no feelings. If either of you started to develop emotions beyond the physical, whatever you had would end immediately.

It seemed obvious at the time, the easiest rule to follow. Yet, strangely, it was the one rule you both avoided talking about. You’d discussed all the others, broke them, and argued over them, but the rule about love? That was taboo. Neither of you brought it up. Not once. And that silence was starting to scare you. Because the reason you didn’t talk about it was becoming more obvious. And that realization was growing more terrifying by the day.

You both lay in bed, the silence heavy with the weight of the upcoming separation. Neither of you wanted to move, wishing you could freeze time and stay in that warm, tangled cocoon of sheets. But reality beckoned. You had to leave; your business trip was looming, and tonight was your way of saying a temporary goodbye before you inevitably found yourselves back in the same bed the moment you returned.

Reluctantly, you got up, ignoring the loud, deep sigh that escaped Kylian’s lips. He didn’t say anything, but his frustration was palpable. You gathered your things, slipping into your clothes while he remained on the bed, motionless, watching you with a silent longing.

“You still don’t know when you’ll be back?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence as you put on your shoes.

You shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure. I’ll be back once all the new projects are presented to the partners. Could be a week. Maybe two.”

“Or more,” he added, his tone flat, eyes cast down. He wasn’t looking at you, but the unspoken tension between you was clear.

You sighed, trying to keep your voice light but failing. “I don’t know, Kylian. I’d rather stay too, but it’s work. I have to go. It’s not like I have a choice.” You walked over to the bed, standing beside him.

Kylian understood more than most about having a demanding schedule. He knew that you had to leave, that your career required it. But that didn’t make it any easier. It still bothered him — this unknown stretch of time without seeing you. The part that stung the most? He wasn’t allowed to be upset. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even your friend. He was just the guy you were sleeping with. You didn’t owe him anything. No explanations, no reassurances, no promises. And that bitter realization twisted in his chest, an uncomfortable weight he had to carry in silence.

“I’ll be very busy in the coming days, so…” You trailed off, the familiar excuse slipping from your lips, and Kylian knew exactly what was happening. You always did this when one of you had to travel — distancing yourself, cutting down on communication. He never fully understood why. But, as always, he went along with it, knowing he didn’t have the right to object.

“Sure. Busy,” he replied, his voice flat, resigned. You nodded, a silent understanding passing between you, both knowing there was nothing more to say.

“Thanks for tonight. You always give me the best goodbye gifts,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. You leaned down, giving him a quick peck on the lips before turning away.

Kylian watched you leave, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing in his mind. You never looked back. You never did.

For the past year, he had felt an undeniable, deep connection with you. Something special, something he couldn’t quite put into words. And with every passing moment, that connection only grew stronger, wrapping around him like invisible chains, pulling him deeper into feelings he had promised himself he’d never have.

Kylian knew it was wrong. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this, wasn’t supposed to let his emotions blur the lines of your arrangement. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away, even though he knew that’s what he should do.

The truth was, he liked spending time with you — far more than he liked spending time with anyone else. With you, he could be himself, completely. He didn’t have to put on the mask he wore for the world. He could be his silly, carefree self, making jokes and laughing without worrying about expectations. You listened to him, truly listened. You were compassionate, attentive, and never judged him. You offered him a kind of support that he hadn’t realized he needed until it was too late. He liked you. More than he should. And that terrified him.

It didn’t take long for Kylian to realize that his feelings for you went far beyond casual. When he first started sleeping with you, his intentions were simple: have fun, let off some steam, enjoy the company of someone as lovely and attractive as you. But the more he got to know you as a person, the more he craved your presence. It wasn’t just about the sex anymore, even though the sex was incredible. Mind-blowing, even. But sometimes, all he wanted was to sit with you, have a conversation, and just… be. He liked being around you. And that was the problem.

He wasn’t supposed to want more than just physical connection. You weren’t meant to be his confidante, his comfort, his… something more. But the rules were clear. He wasn’t allowed to spend time with you unless one of you was horny. So, he made sure to milk every moment he could, stretching out the time you spent together. He clung to the small, fleeting moments between, lingering in bed just a little longer, turning every touch, every laugh into something he could carry with him when you weren’t around.

And every time you left, he felt the weight of what he wasn’t allowed to have settle deeper in his chest.

The day had been impossibly long, overwhelming, and exhausting. Your flight was a nightmare — an older man seated behind you had snored the entire time, depriving you of any chance to rest. Once you landed, there was no time to recover; you had to change quickly and head straight to a series of meetings. With the barely-there sleep you had gotten the night before, combined with the stress of work, the day felt like one continuous obstacle.

The meeting dragged on for almost three hours, filled with repetitive questions that forced you to repeat yourself over and over. By the time it was over, all you wanted was to collapse into bed. But then your colleague asked for help with some documents, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You felt bad, knowing no one else could assist her. So, despite your exhaustion, you pushed through.

Finally, after what felt like an endless day, you made it to your hotel room. The idea of slipping into a warm, bubbly bath was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Once you submerged yourself in the soothing water, the tension in your muscles slowly began to fade. The pounding headache that had followed you throughout the day finally started to dissipate.

It was in moments like this, quiet, peaceful moments, when you craved Kylian’s presence the most. He had a way of making everything better, almost like a superpower. From the moment you met him, there had been something magnetic about his charisma. One night stands weren’t usually your thing, but fresh off a breakup and in high spirits at that party, you found yourself unable to resist his charm and that disarming, handsome smile.

At first, it was just sex. Fun, uncomplicated, no strings attached. But as the weeks went by, you discovered there was so much more to Kylian than just his natural charisma or his beautiful face. As he got comfortable with you, he began to show his true self — funny, silly, adorable, loud, but in all the best ways. He was someone you wanted to be around all the time. He loved making people laugh, especially you, and his energy was infectious. For all his fame and allure, Kylian was surprisingly simple and humble. A young man with a great sense of humor and an even bigger heart.

Being around him felt effortless. Too effortless. And that was where the danger lay. You liked him more than you should. You liked him more than you were willing to admit, even to yourself. He was far more than a fling to you. You couldn’t help but think about him in moments like this, alone in a quiet hotel room, wishing you were resting on his firm chest, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your forearm like he always did. But those were thoughts you would never dare to share with him.

The fear of commitment was tricky. It often masked itself as self-preservation, convincing you that it was the rational thing to do, the safest option to avoid heartache. But deep down, you knew it was an insecurity, a fear that you would drive Kylian away if you got too close.

Rationally, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, at least not intentionally. But the thought of falling for him, of starting an official relationship, only for him to realize it was a mistake, that he didn’t have time for you, or worse, that he couldn’t love you enough, was terrifying.

So, you did what you thought was necessary. You distanced yourself. You limited the time you spent with him, avoiding the temptation to stay over at his house too often. You tried not to contact him when either of you were away. You set boundaries for yourself, hoping they would protect you from falling deeper into the trap.

But leaving him? That was something you couldn’t do. No matter how unhealthy the situation became, no matter how much it hurt to be stuck in this emotional limbo, you couldn’t bear the thought of Kylian not being a part of your life. So, you settled for what you had. You convinced yourself it was enough, even though deep down, it wasn’t.

And that made you angry. Furious, even. How had you let this happen? What had started as a simple arrangement, had spiraled into something messy, confusing, and undefined. You didn’t even know what to call this… relationship. If you could even call it that.

But more than anything, you were mad at yourself. For wanting more. For feeling something you promised yourself you’d never feel.

The next few days passed in a blur of normalcy, albeit overwhelmed by work. Every time the pressure mounted, stress levels shooting through the roof, it became increasingly tempting to pick up the phone and call Kylian. Not for the usual reasons, where one of you would call the other when traveling to satisfy more physical needs, but simply to hear his voice. To rant about your day, to complain, to let it all out. To have Kylian on the other end, soothing you, telling you that everything would be okay.

The temptation grew harder to resist, but you held out. You had to. This was the boundary you had set for yourself, the one thing that kept you in control.

Until you couldn’t anymore.

It was a Thursday — possibly the worst Thursday in the history of Thursdays. The day began disastrously when you somehow managed to turn off your alarm in your sleep, making you thirty minutes late for your breakfast meeting. And, of course, there was no time to actually have breakfast once you arrived, forcing you to move straight into business on an empty stomach.

You told yourself you’d wait for lunch to eat, but lunch never came. The meeting that was supposed to happen the next day was moved to today, meaning no time for food once again.

Then came the race back to the office, where you had to prepare for a presentation on your latest project. Things seemed to calm down for a moment, just long enough for you to breathe, until someone in the foyer spilled a piping hot cup of coffee all over you. The scalding liquid nearly burned your collarbone and left an awful stain on your white shirt.

With no change of clothes and the presentation about to begin, you had no choice but to stand in front of everyone in a half-white, half-brown shirt, your stomach growling, your mind frazzled, and your nerves hanging by a thread. The awkward stares from your audience only made things worse, and by the end of the day, you felt utterly defeated.

By the time you returned to your hotel room, you had finally eaten something, but the headache and stress still vibrated through every inch of your body.

It was all too much. You needed to let it all out.

No matter how risky or wrong it felt, you needed to call Kylian.

With shaky hands, you dialed his number, one you had memorized long ago from how many times you typed it, only to delete it before pressing "call." This time, though, you pressed it.

Your heart raced as the phone rang, your breath catching in your throat. You had spoken to Kylian over the phone countless times, but this felt different. This time, you weren’t calling for a casual chat or for some playful teasing. You were calling because you needed him. You needed to hear his voice.

And that terrified you.

You stared at the phone screen as it rang, trying to come up with a good excuse for why you were calling him. The line connected, and before you could figure out what to say, Kylian picked up.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy, thick with sleep, sounding both confused and concerned. You realized immediately that you had woken him up.

“I’m sorry, Kylian. Were you sleeping?” You glanced at the clock and cringed. It was 2 AM where he was. How had you not noticed that before?

“It’s fine. Really.” His voice softened, brushing away the inconvenience. “Are you okay?” There was a trace of worry now, like he could sense something was off.

You hesitated, feeling guilty for disturbing him. “Wait… how did my call even go through? Don’t you usually put your phone on Do Not Disturb when you sleep?” You remembered him telling you that the first night you stayed over at his place — he always put his phone on DND to ensure his body got the rest it needed.

There was a brief silence on the other end before he spoke. “I have a few contacts that still get through. My parents, my brother, my team, and… well, you. Just in case.” Your breath caught in your throat at his admission.

You wanted to ask why, to dig into why he thought of you as someone important enough to bypass his Do Not Disturb settings. But this wasn’t the time. The conversation was already teetering on the edge of being too vulnerable.

Kylian broke the silence again, his tone laced with concern. “Are you going to answer me? Are you okay?” You blinked, unsure of how to respond.

You had wanted to rant about your day, but now, waking him up like this made you feel selfish.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call you back tomorrow? You need your sleep. Don’t you have training tomorrow?” You meant it, genuinely feeling guilty for disturbing him.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, but gently. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. Are you okay or not?”

His words hit you like a wave, and suddenly, you were fighting back tears. The tenderness in his voice, the way he prioritized you over his own needs, it tugged at something deep inside you. He was always like this, but hearing it now, in the middle of the night, made you want to cry. It also made you love him more.

No, you weren’t okay. You missed him. You wanted him with you. But you couldn’t say that. So, instead, you started telling him about your day, pouring out all the stress and frustration that had built up since the moment you’d landed.

You told him everything — about how overwhelming the trip had been, how tired you were, how bad today had gone. You described every detail of your nightmare of a Thursday, feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion as you talked.

Through it all, Kylian listened patiently. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just hummed softly in response, encouraging you to keep going, making you feel heard in a way no one else could.

When you finally finished, you let out a deep breath, feeling lighter. Somehow, just telling him about your day made everything feel a little less terrible.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kylian said quietly, his voice sincere and full of admiration. The way he said it made your chest tighten with emotion.

“You’re handling so much, and you’re doing it with so much strength. I don’t know how you do it, Y/N.” His words brought tears to your eyes again, and for a moment, it felt like he was right there with you, whispering those words in your ear instead of through a phone.

You wiped at your eyes, overwhelmed by the genuine affection in his voice.

Without thinking, you let the words slip out. “I miss you, Kylian.”

There it was. Raw and unfiltered.

You hadn’t meant to say it, but now that you had, there was no taking it back.

Normally, you would have regretted being so vulnerable with him, afraid it would shift things between you. But this time, there was no regret. Just truth. Kylian’s voice softened even more, dripping with affection.

“Y/N, I miss you too, so much. I can’t wait for you to come back.” His confession hung in the air between you, adding an extra weight to the conversation. But despite the heaviness, his words brought a smile to your face, the kind of smile only he could bring out of you.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. And I’m sorry for waking you up,” you apologized, feeling guilty once more for disrupting his night.

“Don’t apologize. I’d rather talk to you than sleep. You know you can call me anytime.” His words made your heart swell, but the exhaustion from the day was catching up with you now.

“I think it’s time for me to get some sleep,” you said, stifling a yawn.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he replied, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

“Goodnight,” you whispered before hanging up, sinking back onto the mattress.

As you lay there, you felt lighter, like the world had been lifted off your shoulders just from talking to him. But as the quiet settled in, a different kind of pressure began to creep in. What did that conversation mean for the two of you? Was it normal to call your fuck buddy in the middle of the night from another country, just to rant about your day? And for him to be so sweet, so gentle, so… perfect about it?

Probably not. And that scared you.

But despite the fear, one thing was clear — you didn’t regret it. Not even for a second.

Kylian knew when you were coming back. You’d texted him the day before your flight, and from the moment he read that message, he was over the moon. The two weeks without you had been anything but fun. In fact, every time you left, it felt like you took a piece of sunshine with you. To him, you were that — his sunshine. Someone who could brighten even the darkest days. And now, his sunshine was finally coming back.

A few hours after you landed, he sent you a text inviting you over for dinner at his place if you weren’t too tired. You hesitated at first, mostly because he told you it would be a normal, simple dinner — no sexual innuendo. That was the scariest part. He wasn’t just inviting you over for a casual night; this felt different. He was asking you on a date. Your first real date with Kylian.

You sat with your phone for a long moment, unsure. This wasn’t part of the arrangement, wasn’t part of the rules you’d set up for yourselves. But something deep inside you told you not to let fear ruin this moment. So, after a while, you agreed.

When you arrived, he opened the door with a tablecloth casually thrown over his left shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you cooked?” you said after hugging him, eyes wide with disbelief.

He let out a laugh, flashing you that charming grin. “Well, I tried.” There was a mix of pride and nervousness in his voice, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to brag or apologize.

He led you into the dining room, where the table was set for two. The fork and knife were oddly placed, and you quickly realized he had been the one to set the table.

With a chuckle, you switched the positions of the knife and fork. “You know not everyone’s left-handed, right?” you teased as he walked back in with the meal.

He blinked, then giggled, scratching the back of his head. “Oh, right. Sorry about that.”

You both sat down, the dish looking delicious, but there was a part of you that was still unsure. Kylian noticed you eyeing the plate cautiously.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, frowning when he saw you weren’t making a move to eat.

You bit your lip, feeling guilty for what you were about to say. “Um… Kylian, I really appreciate that you cooked, but… are you sure this won’t give me food poisoning?” You winced, giving him a sheepish look.

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “How dare you! Are you saying I’m not a good cook?” He pretended to be offended, his wide eyes full of playful shock.

You couldn’t hold back a laugh, shaking your head.

Kylian chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I didn’t cook it.” He grinned sheepishly as you raised a brow in confusion.

“Wait, what?”

“I set the table and everything,” he admitted, “but I didn’t want to be the one responsible for poisoning you, so… I had it delivered.”

You let out a sigh of relief, giggling. Kylian was talented in many things, but you knew that the kitchen was definitely not one of them.

As you both started eating, Kylian filled you in on what he’d been up to while you were away, already knowing the details of your trip from that strange, middle of the night phone call a few days ago. He was animated as he spoke, catching you up on football news, funny moments with his teammates, and little updates from his life.

But even as you laughed and bantered back and forth, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner was different. It wasn’t just two friends with benefits catching up. It was more. And that realization, while thrilling, also scared you.

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Kylian said suddenly, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic nervousness. He was playing with the tablecloth, twisting it between his fingers as if trying to distract himself.

The wine you’d been sipping suddenly tasted dull. His words made you feel uneasy, and a knot of tension began forming in your stomach.

He pushed his chair back and moved closer, sitting right next to you. The shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine. The distance that had been between you while you sat across from each other had felt safe. But now, with his body so close, the air between you felt charged, intimate. No matter how many times you had been physical with Kylian, these moments, the ones that went beyond the physical, always left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he began, his voice softer now, more emotional. “Especially after our phone call the other night.”

Your pulse quickened. That call had crossed a line — one you had been careful not to approach for so long. But strangely, you hadn’t regretted it.

“Y/N, being around you…” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “It just feels right. You make everything feel… right. And I know you feel the same.”

He wasn’t wrong. Being with Kylian felt natural, like you both just fit. There was an ease, a connection that made sense, even if you’d spent so much time trying to ignore it. You knew it, and he knew it too. The problem wasn’t the way you felt about him — it was the fear of letting those feelings lead you somewhere you couldn’t control.

“We’re not the best at communicating, at least not with words,” he continued, his fingers gently twisting a lock of your hair around them. “We’ve both bottled up so much, avoided saying things we should’ve said. But there are some things that don’t need words. Some things you just feel.”

His point was valid, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking.

“I can feel how much you love being with me. It’s not just about the physical connection. There’s something more between us, and pretending like it isn’t there… it’s been stupid. For both of us.” He exhaled deeply, his voice a little steadier now.

“I want to be with you, Y/N. And not just for sex. Don’t get me wrong, the chemistry we have is… incredible. But this? Us? It’s so much more than that.”

Your chest tightened, and you let out a quiet sigh, unsure how to respond. You’d spent so long keeping your feelings at bay, locking them away in a corner of your heart where they couldn’t hurt you. But now, Kylian was bringing them into the light, forcing you to confront everything you had tried so hard to avoid.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, his eyes holding yours.

That was the sentence that made you look at him, really look at him. You saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the reflection of your own fears mirrored back at you.

“I know you’re holding yourself back. And you’re right. If we do this for real, it could go wrong. It could get messy, complicated. We might end up in a situation that neither of us can fix.” He was saying everything you’d been afraid to admit, everything you had kept hidden.

“But none of those fears outweigh the fact that I want to call you my girlfriend.”

There it was. The label. The thing that terrified you more than anything else.

Labels were strict, limiting, confining. They carried expectations, and expectations could lead to disappointment. Yet somehow, when Kylian said it, when he looked at you with such sincerity, the idea of being in a committed relationship seemed a little less terrifying.

He wasn’t finished. “I want more with you. I want you to stay over without me having to come up with stupid excuses. I want to buy you gifts just to see you smile. I want to cancel plans because I’d rather be with you than with anyone else. I want to plan my life knowing you’ll be a part of it.” His voice was filled with emotion, raw and honest. “And I want to love you. Not just for your body, but for everything that makes you, you.”

His confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything it carried. It was a tough moment for you. Every fear, every doubt you had wrestled with for so long was still there, whispering in the back of your mind. But somehow, Kylian made it all seem… easier. His words didn’t make the fears disappear, but they offered a sense of hope you hadn’t expected.

You reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes briefly, as if savoring the connection.

“You’re right,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I am scared. I’ve been terrified this whole time. But… if there’s anyone I want to face my fears with, it’s you.”

Your words brought a huge smile to his face, a smile so genuine it made your heart swell.

He took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles before pulling you into his chest. You rested your head against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

His heartbeat was fast, matching the rhythm of your own. The irony wasn’t lost on you — you, the one who had insisted on following all the rules, were the one who had broken the most important one. And so had he. You were both rule-breakers now.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t care.

[cheollollipop]

26 corners of you. | mark lee

genre: fluff

wc: 983

author’s note!

i actually am madly in love with mark lee!

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The first thing I register when I wake up—before the sun through the curtains, before the vague scent of coffee lingering in the air is that something's stuck to my forehead.

I groggily reach up and peel it off, blinking at the scribbled writing.

#1: You look stupidly cute when you're drooling. Happy birthday, nerd.

There's a tiny doodle of my face with a heart. I groan, then laugh.

This man.

I sit up and immediately notice another Post-it on my nightstand, this one a pale blue square:

#2: Go where your mornings always start (no cheating).

Which means... the bathroom. Sure enough, stuck to the mirror above my toothbrush:

#3: You hum when you brush your teeth like you're in a toothpaste commercial. Please never stop.

I shake my head, smiling so hard it hurts, and rinse my mouth as another note catches my eye—taped behind the cabinet door where I keep my moisturizer.

#4: You once yelled at me for stealing your expensive face cream. Fair. But also my skin is glowing now, so... worth it.

I'm giggling now. Fully awake. Barefoot and half-dressed in Mark's old hoodie, following a breadcrumb trail of love notes around our apartment.

Next stop: the kitchen.

There's one on the kettle.

#5: You always remember how I like my tea. You're thoughtful even when you think you're not.

Another on the fridge:

#6: You give me the last fry even though you always want it. That's love.

#7: You make midnight snacks feel like five-star meals. Especially those weird microwave mug cakes.

I find three more stuck around the couch, where a blanket is still crumpled from our movie night last night:

#8: This is your reading corner, but mostly you fall asleep here. I always put your book on the shelf for you.

#9: You once cried during a Pixar short and told me to "shut up" when I got emotional too.

#10: You let me be soft, even when I don't have the words. I don't think I've ever had that before you.

I pause at that one.

It's scribbled a little slower than the others, like he really thought about it. I trace the edge of the note with my thumb before pressing it flat again and moving toward the hallway. There's one on the shoe rack:

#11: You remember birthdays, allergies, and how everyone takes their coffee. You're the glue. Even when you don't realize it.

Then one stuck to my rain boots:

#12: You once danced in the rain and called it "healing energy." I laughed, but you were right.

I follow the next to our laundry area, then to the desk where Mark writes music, then to the window ledge where I like to sit and talk to the plants I forget to water. Each note is a tiny snapshot of us.

#13: You call plants your "green babies" but forget to water them. Somehow they still thrive. Like me, I guess.

#14: You always kiss me twice. Once quick. Once slow. I noticed.

#15: You wore my hoodie on our third date and I nearly combusted.

#16: You make rainy days feel like home.

#17: You roast my raps when they're bad, but still hype me like I'm a genius. Balance.

The final few lead me back toward the bedroom.

One on the record player:

#18: You say vinyl sounds warmer. I don't know what that means but you're convincing.

One on the lamp I never turn off when I fall asleep:

#19: You sleep with the light on when you're anxious. I don't mind. I sleep better knowing you're okay.

And another, taped to the side of the bedframe:

#20: You let me dream out loud. Even the weird dreams. Even the big ones.

When I lift the blanket, there's one stuck to the inside corner of the sheets:

#21: You steal the blankets but give the warmth back. Literally and metaphorically.

There's a rustling outside the room, followed by the sound of soft footsteps—and then Mark pokes his head into the doorway, hair a mess, wearing pajama pants and the proudest smile I've ever seen.

"I was hoping you'd still be in bed," he says.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You made me do cardio first thing in the morning."

"It was a scavenger hunt for your heart." He walks in, holding something behind his back.

I raise an eyebrow. "What's in your hands, Romeo?"

He reveals a small, handmade envelope, sealed with a sticker that says "#26."

I take it slowly, still holding all the other notes in one hand.

"Is this the grand finale?"

He nods. "Open it."

Inside is a small folded letter in his handwriting. Neater this time. Carefully written.

#26. I love you because... somehow, being around you makes everything feel like home. Even when I'm a mess. Even when I don't say it out loud. Just being near you? It's enough. You're enough.

And I hope I never stop learning you. Every version. Every chapter. Every year.

Happy 26th, baby. This world got infinitely better the day you showed up in it.

— M.

I press the letter to my chest and look up at him, heart clenching.

"You're so unfair," I whisper. "You're gonna make me cry and it's not even 9 a.m."

Mark grins and crawls into bed beside me, pulling me into his arms without a word. The notes rustle between us, a colorful mess of paper hearts.

"Worth it," he says into my hair. "I've been planning this for weeks."

I bury my face in his chest and hold him tight. No gift could've topped this. Not even close.

Because it wasn't just 26 notes. It was 26 corners of me he sees. Loves. Remembers.

And for the first time in a while, I feel all of it.

Every ounce.

[averillaratargaryen]

“A Better Man.”

Chapter XXXV

As the night had approached, everyone was set in their chambers, Aegon being asserted to one of his own.

“Do not get comfortable with your stay” Jacerys spoke, as he opened the door, watching Aegon walk in.

“I do not plan to” Aegon responded, ignoring contact to Jacerys eyes, when he makes his way in.

The empty, dark room, only let Aegon realise just how daunting it was, to be apart from his wife.

“What do you plan on doing?” Jacerys asks.

“I plan on doing right by my sister, and my wife” Aegon turns to face him, “I should hope she still loves me as I do her.”

“What makes you think you are worthy of her love?” Jacerys asks, “When the moment she had fallen in love with you, she hadn’t had a moment to breathe.”

“You are right” he nods, “I am not worthy of her love.”

Jacerys was taken back by his sudden confession to the matter, as he expected Aegon to fight back, as he claimed his love to be strongly for her.

Yet he found Aegon in defeat as his back was turned to him, as he sat down in front of the fire place.

“Do not stand there so shocked, I know what you think of me. I know what everyone must think of me” Aegon spoke, in soft terms, “I am a coward.”

“If you know, then why did you agree to wed my sister and put her through the torment, knowing you could not fight for her, even when your family is wrong?” Jacerys’ words no longer attacked, but rather, he was full of concern.

“I love her, Jace” Aegon whispered.

“Aegon, my sister is weak. If you truly loved her, you’d have convinced her to punish your family who have done wrong by her” Jacerys responds.

“Have you ever been in love, Jace?” Aegon turns to him.

He cleared his throat, as he looked away, finding the topic quite awkward to speak of, to Aegon nonetheless.

“Yes. Me and Baela are seen to be quite happy and content” Jace responds.

Aegon chuckles, before he looks away again, “being happy and content is not what love is.”

“Then what would you define love to be?” Jace asks.

Aegon looks ahead at the flames before him, his heart beating rhythmically, as his thoughts are filled with his time beside his wife, Averillara.

From the moment she was born, he found her to be astonishing. He had always hoped that one day, they would be beside one another.

Yet no one had warned him of the consequences that would come with it.

“Love is..it is the quiet and the loud that you share with one another. It’s the soft grounding warmth of a hand held in the dark. Love doesn’t demand perfection; it thrives in the cracks of imperfection. It’s the courage to open your heart, knowing it might break, and the faith that even in its breaking, it’s worth every shard. It’s the ache and the joy, the chaos and the calm” his voice was softly spoken, that it shook Jacerys to his core, to find Aegon in such a state.

“And you claim this love for my sister?” Jacerys asks.

“Averillara is my quiet and calm. She find a way to put out the stress and harm within myself. If it weren’t for her, I’d continue to have myself out, in whore houses, thriving for the sexual pleasure of women I do not care of. She took my hand and held it, during the darkness of my life” Aegon looked down to his wedding ring, that he continued to wear till this day.

He would never be able to find himself without it.

“We are not perfect, no” Aegon shook his head, “but she gave me much more courage. She gave me life. And without her, I can’t live it. She is the reason I exist.”

Jace stood back, silenced as he found himself believed by Aegon’s love for his sister.

Letting out a sniffle, Aegon wipes his eyes, his back still turned toward Jace as he looks up, “you say I should have encouraged her to have my family killed. I can’t encourage her to do what she believes is wrong. She does not live, to take my orders. I live, for her.”

There was a moment of silence, as Jacerys watched Aegon’s movements.

His cries were quiet, yet loud enough for Jacerys to hear his hitched breath, as he hung his head low once again.

Looking down at his wedding ring, Aegon sobbed to himself, believing his life to be over, should Averillara no longer be by his side.

-

“Lara?” Daemon called out, as he knocked on her chamber door.

“Come in” she responded.

Daemon was slow in his steps, as the door creaked open, finding Averillara sat on her own.

“Aegon has been given a chamber to stay. I set Jace to see to it” Daemon informs her.

Averillara nods, her silence deafening, as she held her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs.

“If you need to talk, then do so” Daemon closes the door behind him, before walking toward her, with a face of concern.

“There is nothing to talk about” Averillara responded, as she sniffled away her tears.

It was clear, to Daemon, just how distraught she was, to her redden cheeks and tip of nose, how her eyes were daunting and full of tears.

“You love him, Lara. Nothing will change that” Daemon shook his head, “as adamant and arrogant you wish yourself to be, Aegon is your husband. You married him, for love. And as I’m sure, he loves you all the same. It is no surprise this occurance would hurt the both of you.”

“But it is what is best, for the both of us” she whispered back.

“Lara, Aegon flew all the way here, despite knowing how dangerous it is. He did that, in order to fight and take your side. That is a man, who loves his woman” Daemon held her hand, as he searched her eyes in hopes of her understanding.

She nods in response, as she looks up to him, “I am not like this because of him. I am like this because of me.”

Averillara took a deep breath, as she looks away, “I’ve caused him to drift apart, from his family. He has done all this, for me. And I left him, Daemon.”

“You did not leave him” Daemon responds.

“I left him, when I knew deep down I needed him, and he needed me. We were both just as happy, to have this child, and I left like it were nothing” she shook her head in disappointment, before she whispered, “the guilt continues to consume me.”

Daemon had come to a realisation, that her actions on keeping Aegon away, were solely based on Averillara’s guilt, not believing herself to be worthy of her love.

“Then you must talk to him. Communicate with one another, Aegon will understand” Daemon encourages her.

“I can’t” Averillara shook her head again as she sobbed, “Daemon, I can’t.”

As she found herself in the midst of sobbing once again, Daemon had pulled her close, shushing her softly as he gave her his comfort.

-

“From what we know, Aegon will not return. At least not with Averillara” Alicent spoke.

“Should this matter not be put to the council?” Aemond asks, a slightly smirk appearing in the corner of his lips.

“We lost our council, after Averillara was crowned our Queen” Alicent responds.

“Aegon’s fate, and his idea to rule is in hands of the gods now. We do not know the decision he or Averillara will make” Ser Cole adds on.

“What are you proposing?” Aemond sat up, slightly intrigued by the topic before him.

“The realm will realise his absence, should there be no one to order, or rule. Considering I had done so for your father, within his last days, I find it that I have the experience” Alicent sighed.

“But we can not, considering the factor that you are the next of kin” Ser Cole pointed out.

“Your lack of restraint has cost us dearly within the past” Alicent warns him, “if you take yourself to sit the throne for the time being, in replacement of your brother, you must be wise.”

“And what if I continue to lack restraint?” Aemond asks.

“Averillara has not forgiven either you, nor Ser Cole, for what you have done, and i have had to suffer much of the consequences. You take yourself to be the strongest yet you forget, Averillara and Aegon both share the blood of the dragon. As does Daemon” Alicent reminds him.

“As do I” Aemond whispered in intimidation, as he took a step forward, “they’re all a challenge I welcome, if they dare try. I ride the biggest dragon, which is something they can not compete with.”

“Our job is not to think about fighting against them, Aemond. Our job is to fight to protect our people. Our family, the small folk, the realm. That is duty, that is sacrifice! You will not go out of your way to cause damage, to what your father managed to keep peace with over the many years that he lived as king!” Alicent shouts back.

“You have come to me, for help in this war. Do not forget that, mother” Aemond responds, before he looks to both, Ser Cole, and Alicent, with a smirk continuing to linger on his lips.

“I will bring my grandfather back, to keep him as my hand. In the meantime, I should hope to get this city in its place” Aemond proposes.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Alicent asks.

“That is no longer your concern” Aemond responds, “you no longer have a say in this. Do not be offended by it mother. But if we wish to win this war, we can no longer have a woman advocating peace, beside us.”

-

“Vhagar is used to protect the Red Keep. It will be a challenge to get through to them, without a dragon. Unless you wish to be dead” Jacerys stepped toward his sister, as they were stood at the council table.

Averillara, who was lost in her saddened thoughts, did not answer back.

“I know my brother” Aegon responded for her, “I also know that my mother will turn to him, to replace me whilst I am away.”

“Why would she do that?” Jacerys asks.

“She is a woman who is afraid. With me having left her side, she needs another to take over. Aemond will be her first choice” Aegon responds.

“And what does that change with what I said?” Jacerys then turns away from his distracted sister, as he walked towards Aegon.

“If there is one thing I know, of Aemond, it is power. He will not fight this battle alone, should he not have people fighting behind him. Averillara has many fighting behind her, he knows this. He will threaten for the realm to switch sides, or have them killed. For his protection, who do you think will go along with him?” Aegon smirks.

“Vhagar” Daemon whispered, before he nodded as he looked up with a smile, “It will give us the time we need, for us to attack the city and get to the Red Keep.”

“But I will not say we do not need a dragon to stay and guard Dragonstone” Aegon warns them, “Aemond could easily have planned to attack here, and as far as I know, Meleys and Caraxes are the only two dragons who could guard and fight back.”

“Whilst Caraxes is strong, he could not fight back on his own. Not without Daemon” Jacerys responds.

“And Meleys is a war dragon. She is not made to fight against another dragon, unless I am her rider, with her” Rhaenys adds on.

Wiping her eyes, Averillara looks up to them all, but Aegon, who she avoids to look toward.

“Meleys should not have to fight against Vhagar. Your daughter was her rider, they had a strong bond with one another, they should not be against one another, just because of their riders” Averillara turned to face Rhaenys, “if in the end, we fight this war with dragons, we will need Meleys. We can not have her killed before then.”

“Then what do you propose?” Jacerys asks, “with the biggest dragon being held by Aemond, what do we stand against them.”

“We have something much better” Averillara responds.

“What? Peace?” Jacerys mocks.

“We have Vermithor” Averillara looks to Daemon with a prideful smile, “the largest dragon in the world, just after Vhagar.”

“But we can not claim him nor ride him. What help could he be to us? Who’s orders will he follow?” Jacerys asks.

“Mine” Averillara responds.

“Your grace” Rhaenys looked unsure, not wanting Averillara to find her self midst a war, and cause herself any harm.

“There is a reason for the gods to have chosen me” Averillara responds, “I must fight, and go back for my throne. I can not bond with him nor ride him. But I can order him to take on another rider.”

“And who will that be?” Daemon asks.

“Your daughter. Baela” Averillara responds, “just as all of us standing here, in this room, Baela is one who shares the blood of the dragon with us. We are restless and chaotic.”

“After all, she is the daughter of the rouge Prince” Aegon spoke as he looked toward Daemon.

“That she is” Daemon mumbled, as he looked toward Averillara, wondering if this idea could be good or not.

…

As Averillara bought herself into the kitchen, helping herself to a hot loaf of bread, Rhaenys had followed after her, in hopes of getting to speak with her.

“Your grace” Rhaenys spoke.

Averillara turned to face her with a smile, lifting up the loaf of bread in her hand, “I was a bit hungry, do not mind me.”

“I am not sure how well we are to fight this war, without our dragons” Rhaenys confesses, “I have been supportive of your idea not to, given that it was your mother’s wish. But you are not your mother.”

“I appreciate your worry, but I do not find it well to have our dragons fight one another. They do not choose what side to fight. It is not their fault on who they are bond to. I do not wish to cause harm to them” Averillara responds.

“Perhaps not. But we have tried this peacefully for a very long time. We have given peace a chance for far too long, and nothing has come of it, but the deaths of those dear to us” Rhaenys pleads as she tries her best to have Averillara see reason.

“Having a dragon will not stop Aemond and his family from harming mine. They do not care for it” Averillara responds, “what good would it be, having our dragons fight when in the end, it did nothing for us?”

The two look at one another, in silence for a moment.

“In the end, we will lose someone or something dear to us. Whether it be our family, or our dragon. The loss will not only end there, history will paint me a villain. A cold Queen, for either outcome” Averillara shook her head, before she whispered, “that is not what I wish to be remembered by. I am just a young girl, not a threat.”

“Let them think what they must. You are a woman, whose history will have no choice, but to be written by men. That is not something you can control. But right now, the choices you make, this is what you can control” Rhaenys advices her.

Averillara looks to her confused, wondering what she wished to say.

“The men of the realm are all sheeps. Are you a sheep?” Rhaenys asks.

Averillara shook her head in response, as did Rhaenys.

“You’re the dragon. Be the dragon” Rhaenys whispered.

-

“How do we force the claim to get everyone on our side?” Ser Cole asks.

“It’s simple. We threaten” Aemond responds.

“Threaten?” Ser Cole looked at him confused, “a scheme like that could only end up bad, for our family. These leaders are prideful, they will not take a threat lightly.”

“Unfortunately, my mother has turned you weak” Aemond shook his head in disapproval, “with Vhagar protecting us, we have nothing to worry about, with these prideful leaders.”

“And what happens to those who disobey?” Ser Cole asks.

“They either bend the knee, or be killed. It will send a message, to my brother and her bastard wife” Aemond smirks, “perhaps we ought to gift her a head.”

“I do not think she will be phased by it” Ser Cole shook her head, “she has never really cared, for many of the leaders.”

“Hmm” Aemond nods, “then we must find someone closer to home. Someone’s head I can gift to her, that will have her realise what it is, to go to war against us. In order for us to take charge, we must frighten her. After all, she is a sheep.”

Ser Cole tilts his head, as he looked toward him with furrowed eyebrows, “how so?”

“She follows the idea of peace, just like her mother and my father. She is an easy fight” Aemond chuckled.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 36

[berryispunk]

The Art Of Giving

pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f! reader

summary: you plan on visting friends up north, your boyfriend isn't prepared so you go shopping.

tags: sweet sweet boy Javi, nicknames (mi sol), kissing, established relationship, brief mention of anxiety, Javi spoiling his partner, no smut, minor mention of smutty thoughts tho, all the fluff, Javi deserves an award for best boyfriend

notes: Hello! this is my very first entry for my own writing challenge I'm hosting over at @fanfictionoverload with @lady-bess ! (still feels weird to say 😵‍💫). moodboard for the vibes made by my angel @frnkiesaviators 🤍

word count: ~ 1k

Your sweet, sweet tanned boyfriend Javi is a lot of things. He’s attentive, kind and the reason you started to believe in mankind again. 

But one thing he isn’t good at is planning ahead. 

The moment you told him you plan on visiting friends in a northern country, where the temperature is cold and the chances are high for snow he blinks at you in disbelief. 

“Snow? As in the cold, powdery thing falling from the sky?”, he asks, almost whining which causes you to laugh.

“Yes, the cold, powdery, real snow. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen snow?”

He looks a bit sheepish as he answers you, rubbing his neck. 

“Well… It’s not like we get much of that where I come from. So I’ve probably never seen it in real life. At least not that I’m aware of…”

You shake your head, grinning as you cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“I guess we have to go shopping for some winter clothing then. I don’t want you to be freezing your cute butt off.”

His answer is a soft scoff and a wide grin, the one you love so much.

A smile so genuine it reaches his eyes, the little wrinkles around his eyes causing you to smile even wider in return. 

A few days later you find yourself in the busy local mall. 

You should have known better than to come here on a Friday afternoon. 

Usually you try to avoid large crowds at all costs, because it makes you nervous to no end. And Javi knows, so as the two of you stroll through the mall his big hand never leaves your lower back, his thumb gently rubbing soothing circles over the fabric of your shirt, guiding you through every narrow alley of people. 

He smiles reassuringly at you at all times, making sure you’re still okay, keeps asking if you need anything or if you want to leave to which you just shake your head. 

You don’t want your anxiety to win again. 

Sweet Javi Gutiérrez, with more money in his bank account than you will ever be able to earn, thrives in crowds of people, unlike you. Something about him draws people in, making them talk to him; asking him for directions or where a certain shop is. Sometimes it annoys you but that’s just the effect he has on people. He’s a walking sunshine with a presence so kind and calming you can't blame them for feeling drawn to him. Hell, it even was one of the first things you noticed about him as well. 

He’s so freaking genuinely authentic it’s almost hard to believe. 

In your mind people who are rich are always entitled, uppish and don’t give a fuck about “mere mortals”. 

But Javi is different. He never, not even once, made you feel worth any less because you’re not upper class. In fact he never even asked about it. The only thing he was interested in was your time and now, your love. You softly raking a hand through his hair, you gently caressing his back when the two of you lay cuddled up on the sofa. The way you look at him when his eyebrows scrunch while he concentrates on doing something.

Javi is a sensitive soul. You noticed that pretty quickly, but especially when he cried while you watched “Paddington 2”. 

At first it had thrown you off a bit, as you were not used to men showing big emotions easily. But over time you’ve learned to cherish it, because it means he’s in touch with his emotions and therefore also aware of your own which shows in the way he handles you. 

He showers you with all the love and affection he can muster and it almost makes you feel invincible.

“Mi sol, you okay?”, he suddenly asks, yanking you back into the present. His brown eyes are full of worry. 

“Oh… yes. Sorry, I was just lost in thought,” you smile apologetically. 

He smiles in return as he leads you into a shop with no price tags.  That's how you know the items in here are expensive. He tells you to take a seat on one of the imposing big salon chairs as he searches for one of the employees. 

You can’t help but look around, taking in the surroundings of this other-worldly experience and your jaw almost drops to the floor. But you find your bearings quickly and instead sink deeper into the chair until Javi returns with an employee who’s got the same exaggerated smile on their face as in every other high-end shop you accompanied him in. 

They talk and you don’t pay proper attention until Javi’s voice is reaching you. 

“Mi sol, you also need a coat, right?”, he asks and you look at him with wide eyes. 

You know what that means so you shake your head. 

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

“Don’t be like that. Let me get one for you.” He pauses for emphasis. “Por favor”. 

Shit. 

His big pleading puppy eyes are lethal every time so you can’t help yourself but nod.

“Good girl,” he praises and it makes your cheeks get hot and the heat pooling in your lower belly. 

You shift a bit in your seat until Javi’s hand is on your waist to help you stand up. 

You leave the store with two coats that cost an astronomically high sum. 

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right Javi?” You search for his eyes. 

As his gaze meets yours he simply says, “I know, but I wanted to. You deserve this,” caressing your upper arm. 

You step closer to him, your hand caressing his cheek gently. 

“Thank you,” you say and capture his lips in a soft kiss that makes him melt immediately into it. 

His hand is on the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss. 

“Let’s get you home,” he purrs and it sounds like a promise for more. 

[cuteangsty]

Werewolf training log - sick day

Prologue | log 1 | notes

Tw: (light) emeto, living weapon, minor whumpee, dehumanization.

The beast grunts and shifts around in its little corner. I thought I had told it to be silent already. It's always so difficult with it. Is it not enough that I'm letting it sit in my office?

I look over the pile of paper on the desk, checking it quickly, I can't stop myself from sighing exhausted of dealing with... This. 'it will be worth it' ,I repeat to myself. I've been rereading this mental note very often lately...

"Moss!" I call it.

-Aaaaand... It ignores me as usual...

I went as far as to give it a name just so it pretends to have none.

*SLAM*

I punch the table, not so strongly, just enough for it to make noise. Moss almost snaps its head when turning to me.

"...ugh..."

"silence." I order.

A few tear tracks mark its face... And it sniffles... The silence only last 5 seconds before it shifts awkwardly, almost involuntarily.

"*cough*... Uuhg..."

I punch the desk again.

"No. No. No. You cried for me to take you inside the house, you cried to follow me and now, you have everything. Quit crying."

This time it only lowers its head. It stopped with the noise for a few seconds, only for it to puke on the floor.

"disgusting... As if you couldn't get any worse." I murmur as I get up.

At least it wasn't much to clean. I better get Moss out of here and it won't take long to go back to work.

I pick the mutt up by the gruff and drag it outside, if it's going to throw up, better do it outside, where I don't have to deal with it. I can give it some medicine later IF it really needs it.

I just wish it'd stop crying so much, now I can't even put the muzzle...

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Moss slept through most of the day, I couldn't advance in any field of its training. It's too weak to get up, to eat... I didn't think a werewolf could get sick like this. I mean they are supposed to thrive in the wild, aren't they?

Eeh... Well... I have to at least take some level of responsibility for it here. The oatmeal I give it expired last month, I didn't think much of it so... Oh and It didn't complain either, I guess it was too hungry to cry...

Anyway, I managed to get some herbs for it back in town. It's probably getting better by tomorrow morning, I can't wait to get back to training it. I thought I had more time... It's growing up very fast, like, no, really, it was half the size 2 months ago... I have to tame it before it hits maturity, otherwise a crybaby will be the least of my concerns.

[meganemiuna-mushrooming]

Critical Criminal

His lips trembled in silence, bound in a giant chair with cuffed hands, they were connected to long metal chains that were hanging in the air behind his back. His eyes traced the ground. As if he was a caged bird who lost its freedom. Sunday had nothing to share but sadness and melancholy. Stelle stood there staring at his dead looking eyes. 

“Why are you here?” He broke the silence, his grip tightened ever so slightly. “Are you here to look down at me? If so, you have the chance. Because I'm going to meet with my deserved fate soon.“

Stelle stepped inside, closer to his form. He wasn't honest with himself even after she answered him before. Her answer was clear as the sun, but maybe he was blinded by it. 

A sigh left her lips, What a stubborn man. Did he think she was here to laugh at him? What does he take her for? She pouted and puffed. “Sunday, I'm here for you.”

Bitter laugh echoed in the cell. He didn't even glance at her, but his body radiated defeat. “For me? “ he questioned sarcastically.

She knew she would deal with this, gripping the key she held in her hand as to release the stress. A flashback played in her head, It was Jade giving her the key and smiling confidently. “Yeah, for you. Because people eventually wake up from their slumber. “ 

Sunday lifted his head to look at her, It was this line again. That line that drew him into her, It was magnificent. His eyes flickered some light before he pursed his lips. “I see, But aren't you missing something, Miss Stelle? I'm not asleep, I'm yet to be punished.” he exhaled. 

She arched an eyebrow “I suppose I have nothing to say to this but, I feel like this whole time you were punishing yourself.” Her eyebrows furrowed when she remembered his good intentions but wrong ideals, He was trapped by reality and indulged in fantasy of his own. A world with no pain but no gain, It was not ideal but a life skip. Yet, She knew he was harsh on himself more than anyone. “I'm here to free you from the shackles, from yourself. I want to offer you a new perspective of life.”

“Please, don't continue.” he dismissed it immediately. “My pride doesn't need further shattering, I know where I belong. “

“Are you saying you belong to jail?” she remarked jokingly as she placed her both hands on her waist. 

“No, I belong to nowhere.” His answer came out blunt. if one can imagine what his answer would look like. It would be this kid who cries alone in darkness and tries to thrive, he thought that being exposed to darkness made him strong but it was eating him alive. 

Stelle sighed and walked even closer to him, she leaned till their faces were close, He felt her breath on his lips and gasped. “If you belong to nowhere then I belong to the trash can.” her smile was cheeky but genuine. 

“Trash can?” He looked confused but soon exhaled “Miss Stelle, I'm not joking.”

“I'm not joking either. ” she confirmed. 

“W-what?” Sunday looked more puzzled at this confirmation. 

Stelle dipped her hand in her pocket, took her phone out and searched in her gallery. Photos of her silly moments with her trash can romance “Here.” she switched the screen for him to see. 

Sunday smiled awkwardly and blinked twice “Uhh I see… “

“I’m really sad that I couldn't take a video of these trash cans I saw moving in my dream! Ugh…they even had muscles!!” she pulled the phone back to her and let it sleep in her pocket again. What a weird way to make an impression in jail. 

Silence. It was very awkward between the two, Stelle felt awkward to change the topic. And Sunday felt awkward to ask any more questions. 

Once again she gripped the key in her other hand but it felt wrong to unlock these shackles without breaking his mental shackles to dust. It wasn't going to be easy but it was worth the shot. “I don't know what happened to you in the past but… everyone deserves second chances you know?”

Sunday sighed and looked away “Yeah, but I don’t think it works on me. I have fought you guys twice, used Sterallon to make you all indulge in endless dreams…If it weren’t for your dedication as a group. You would have…” He didn’t continue, looking at his hand as he shut his eyes.

“You have a point.” Stelle eyed the broken criminal, she knew he needed to let everything out somehow in order to let new views in. “Sometimes, all we need is to have someone who would correct us when we are wrong.”

“You don’t understand!” he gripped his fists.

“Indeed. That’s why I want you to tell me more so I can.” Stelle touched his chin and looked at him firmly in the eyes.

“Y-You…” His eyes snapped open. It took him off guard and he had the face of a small child, his eyes were desperate for tears but he fought them. No he can’t be pathetic more than this, What is this? He is used to caring for others, but when someone cares for him it feels weird and new. Yet he scowled at how he doesn’t deserve it. “Why….Why do you care so much about me? I don’t deserve it! Can’t you see…I should have died! Beheaded! Gone for good…I’m a traitor, I'm a criminal! Why would good people like you want to free someone like me!? Please, leave me alone.” His voice echoed in the cell, Stelle noticed how shrouded and alone Sunday was inside. What can she say now? It’s not easy or can be fixed in one click overnight for him. She knew but part of her refused to let this little lonely charmony dove to be left behind. 

“I understand that I can’t do much but listen…” She breathed out softly “Your intention all this time was pure and potent, You wanted to protect everyone right? When you knew you couldn’t make everyone happy…you,” They were already close, she bent a little and hugged him. “Please? Why are you denying your own happiness like that…If you look at it, You stopped eating sweets, you stopped having fun yet you anticipated fun for others, comfort and well being. It’s not fair for you, isn’t it?” 

A blush creeped on Sunday’s face. He wasn’t prepared for that, nor he said all of this to earn this. Those were his honest feelings about himself. No, he wasn’t hugged by anyone but his sister. “Miss Stelle…Can you…let go?”

“No.” She tightened her embrace around him.

What a situation. He can’t push her away even if he wanted to. His heart hammered in his chest, like someone playing the piano at a fast pace. 

Have I really given up on my own happiness that I became so difficult? Is it okay for me to accept genuine kindness? Jade said my sister asked for this, And now Stelle, Maybe she is right. If that’s Robin’s wish for me I...

Rattling of chains occupied the cell for a brief moment as he reached out to embrace her back. It’s okay, it was always okay but he denied it. Hot tears betrayed his golden eyes, He silently sobbed in her hug. Can he really find his way again? Can he really be forgiven? It didn’t matter to him anymore. He shivered and squeezed her closer, He whimpered as loud as he could. Like he used to before he grew up, Before he forced himself to grow up.

Stelle smiled as she softly ran her fingers in his hair. Now, she can surely unlock those chains after he cries. At least he would look cute. Would he pout or look away? All seemed wholesome and adorable to Stelle, but as for now he needs his moment.

He is free now, he doesn’t need to hold meetings, Investigate, or even think about others’ lives anymore. His life ahead of him is now his and his only. He can spread his wings and fly, wherever it will take him, He shall be okay.

Author's note: This fiction is based on 2.3 hsr story, I just happened to get fascinated by such scene that I wrote it, enjoy (✿❛◡❛)

[froggy-anon]

I don’t smoke (Except for when I'm missing you)

Paring: pre re2!Ada Wong x gn!reader

Prompt: Your relationship with Ada was… let’s just say rocky for a while now. Low contact, constant work trips and unavoidable arguments while she’s home- it’s just too much. You both changed since she started working with Wesker …, and so did your body.

Warnings:  angst, body horror, no use of y/n, maybe nsft?, implied reader’s death, bebe you get infected so yeah but it wasn't meant to happen at least, semi-dependant reader, use of tobacco, vomiting, shitty punctuation and misuse of commas, canon divergence, semi-good ending???? idk

Word count: 2.3k 

Notes: omg did I finally post something instead of keeping it in my wips?? hell yeah! I might not be hyperfixating on RE now but I can't get Ada off my head. I mean- just look at her! She's perfect<3 Fucking hell it took me A LONG time to finally finish it but shh… Also only after writing did I realize that the idea is very similar to this fic my @uhlunaro so definitely check this out bc they’re an amazing writer<3

Actually proofread (like ½ for sure) by me omg

It all happened too fast; it was just the usual Thursday morning, the smell of freshly ground coffee and the familiar scent of your lover were in the air as you made the breakfast and the eggs you made were perfectly crispy with runny yolk. Everything seemed to be like it used to but then the call happened… You knew who was it, everyone knew because who else would it be? It was supposed to be your day, you both took the day off and you spent the last few days planning everything out. It was your anniversary, the day you should celebrate your love and not some emergency in the lab! But of course… She was gone again. 

“Why can’t you just pretend that you love me for once!?,” was the last thing you cried out screamed at her as she left. It’s just painful to know that even today her work is more important. It left you weeping softly on the floor, as the yolk of the egg spilled more and more towards your feet from the plate you broke. “Why can’t we be a normal couple…” Your tears had flown out even more now that you were alone.

Ada never liked when you smoked, she always said it left this awful scent on your fingers and breath but why would you care now? A soft breeze hit your face as you inhaled the smoke from your cigarette, who’d think that living near the river could be so nice? Loving Ada is tiring, she used to be one of the most caring and loving people you’ve ever known- even before you started dating! And now it all changed… Yeah, working in some big pharma company can be tiring but it’s ruining both of you. 

The butt of the cigarette was still slowly burning as you looked in the distance. She used to tell you how she grew up near the sea, how they used to go there every day after school and play until the dawn came. She used to say how she’d take me to her hometown in China. You never were even close to one, your parents used to take you and your brother to the countryside on holidays or visit the lake near your hometown; it wasn’t the same though. Loving Ada was never easy, she had her own problems as well as you had yours but before all this you both managed to heal, to thrive. You should’ve left when it started, before all the arguments and hate. It’s not a new idea but the thought of being alone again is scary. Ugh, you’re thinking too much, it makes you dizzy. Or maybe was it the cigarette?

You always get dizzy, maybe all this overthinking is too much for you. You head towards the kitchen sink and fill up a glass with the tap water. It was just a small argument, it wasn’t worth all the mess. You never thought that water would make you feel worse, no one would! We need it to live, so why your insides are burning? Who cares, anyway the mess won’t clean itself. It doesn’t feel right, nothing feels right. The burning sensation might’ve stopped but it was replaced with this sore, almost itchy feeling. Ada came home late again, she’s not looking better than you but as you greet her you could see a spark of worry in her eyes. Why would she worry? There’s nothing to worry about, right? All you can do is sigh and act like nothing happened, she surely flinches when you kiss her because she’s still annoyed over today’s morning…

You woke up somehow more tired than before you went to sleep. Funny enough you also look like shit. Yeah, you can tell yourself that you caught a cold but if so, then why does my body itch so much? Ada looks less worried than tomorrow but finally is some more affectionate than usual. Maybe the fight made her think finally.

You miss her touch though; the way she smuggles up to your chest and how soft are her lips. You miss how she used to be so good. You miss how your life was before this Wesker guy. Good, she’s warming up again. She kissed you goodbye and said something about coming home later. Weird…

It’s itching, itching so much. It feels like something is under your skin and it’s moving… It sure has to be a delusion, a hallucination maybe but it feels so real. Let’s try to calm down. okay? You can’t go to work while being such a mess and after all some DayQuill will help you a ton. You go to the kitchen and prepare some breakfast before popping some cold meds. You brush your still tangled hair to the side and oh my… I- it’s weird, you always had strong and healthy hair after all so why a clump of them is in your hand right now? I mean, I guess all all of the stress lately finally got to you, being a news reporter is not easy and it shouldn’t be. You sure will feel better when you’re finally in your work wear and clean face.

As soon as you get to the bathroom you hit the sink and rinse your face. It’s dry and surprisingly harder than always. As you lift your head and you look in the mirror, the rougher parts of your face look bruised. And there are some lacerations which weren’t there when you woke up- Ada would point them out for sure. It’s weird but that’s nothing that some makeup can’t fix. Also, it’s not like you can just get a day off at a whim. The amount of concealer you put on your face is enough to put a gyaru inro shame and yet your face still feels wrong and itchy. You brush your hair getlly while trying to not rip out another chunk of your hair and put on your usual shirt and blazer before putting on short heels on your sore and reddish feet. You sat at the vanity waiting for your usual makeup artist to return and rehearse your lines. It’s so hard to focus on the letters and it feels like you’re in a haze. It’s hard to explain really, mostly because it’s hard to form coherent thoughts too. No matter how much you rub your eyes and take small breaks you just can’t focus on anything. Words on the paper are blurry and there's always a silhouette of something or someone in the corner of your vision. It hurts and you’re almost sure that your feet are bleeding. You don’t even realize when the makeup artist has returned and been putting some TV stick on your face until she gets to the painful lesions you passed as some chemical burn from a face mask. Your concept of time is distorted and looking back now you don’t even remember when you and your colleague went live. Funny… You got suddenly sick and now you’re delivering the news of the water reservoir your apartment complex uses being contaminated.

Black tar filled your lungs making your trachea burn so pleasantly. The smoke inside your lungs made you feel so giddy right before you exhale. Cigarettes always help you take your mind off your problems and help preserve good emotions. You know that one day they will be the end of you, but it’s not like you’re gonna live forever so why not have fun now? 

Shadowy figures followed you home from the studio, it’s surprising that you managed to work your usual shift. Even your coworkers caught on your ailing and lying to them that you’re just a bit under the weather felt bad. Bills ain’t gonna pay themselves though so you gotta do what you gotta do. Ada didn’t say anything about your illness and only looked at you pitifully compassionately before kissing your cheek, she even offered to make a dinner for today. You pulled into a hug and her warm touch against your calloused skin reminded you of the old times, of the days you first met and how beautiful your relationship was. She smelled like honey and antiseptics, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a deep breath of her scent which made your heart flutter. Her skin is so soft and delicate, making you want to bite down and taste her flesh push her against the counter and take her whole, she’s your wife after all. Before you can do that though she pulls away and makes a beeline towards the fridge. The packs of water, the ones that appeared in your kitchen a few days ago, took your attention away from her. You couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious.

You didn’t sleep much- in fact, you didn’t sleep at all. Your body just kept itching and the nausea you felt as you forced down the dinner before got progressively worse. You can feel your body changing, turning into something disgusting as your skin gets progressively covered in more bruises and blisters where it seemed to be just irritated this morning. The taste of pennies in your mouth and dry skin on your lips isn’t doing you any favour either. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hunched over the toiled letting the dark ooze flow out of your stomach freely. Your vision kept spinning and those black creatures you saw before were coming closer. It’s not real, it has to be! Just try to remember that whatever you’re seeing is. not. real.

Throwing up usually makes you feel better; not this time though. Your eyes became watery and your fingers bloody as you gripped the toilet bowl. The odour of rotting flesh filled your nostrils and the sickeningly sweet note of it made you gag again. You dealt with rotten meat before on a few occasions and it never was so sweet.

“Shit!”

You broke out of your trance as the bathroom lit up.  Your head shot in the direction of the sound and of course, you noticed your worried lover standing in the doorway. Only a grunt was able to leave your mouth making your throat ache. “Are you okay?” She asked hesitantly as she approached. She looks scared for some reason? You’re just a bit sick, there’s no reason to be scared!

And then you looked down. The toilet was full of brownish-blackish and thick fluid and definitely not dinner. The sides of the toilet were covered in your blood and one of your nails was lying on the floor directly next to the bowl. You take a look at your hands and it makes your breath quicken. Your fingers were all purple and greenish, even some of the tips of your fingers were, unlike the spots on your skin, bloated.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” Your voice was husky and every word felt like a razor being pulled out of your throat. Ada just looked sad… You’d expect her to be scared, to scram, run away, but instead, she just kneeled next to you and pulled you into a loose embrace, as if she was scared to hurt you more.

It pained you, the lightest touch of her silky pyjamas or her warm hands made your skin feel like it was breaking and about to fall off. It was excruciating yet you laid your head gently on her shoulder. You should be scared, furious! You should feel whatever else than sorrow and warmth inside your chest. A few tears flew down your cheeks onto her arm as you bit down on your lip to stop a pathetic sob from escaping. You could feel her hand slowly crase your head like she always did before you used to fall asleep before your life became occupied by jealousy and your jobs took over your time, before your relationship went downhill. She let out a barely audible “I’m sorry…” and you swear you felt her breath hitch.

They are scratching your brain, you can feel every bone in your body change its shape, or maybe you’re just going insane.

Ada is making phone calls in the kitchen as you sit at the dinner table and scratch your fingers, eventually ripping one or two loose fingernails off. She keeps glancing at you while trying her best to hide the fear in her eyes. Damn, a cigarette would be good now… You can feel your muscles tear with your every move and slowly fall off your bones. Necrosis on your skin expands and only a few spots on your body are left the same colour as before.

It hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts ithurts ithurts ithurts ithurtsithutsithurtsithutrsithurst i t h u r t s  s o  b a d l y.

Suddenly you can smell the familiar scent of honey and now Ada’s shampoo as she wraps her hands around you from behind. She looks so soft and tasty, so vulnerable. Her touch hurts so good you want to fall into her tight embrace, squeeze her waist tightly and fuse into one. It makes you feel loved again… And then your body stops aching.

You felt sudden force against your neck like you were punched, and then something lukewarm flowing down your chest as Ada creases your cheek slowly. It hurts for a while until it just stops. Everything just fades…

“I don't smoke Except for when I'm missing you To remember your mouth, how it Tasted true And I don't smoke Except for after I've held you, baby Being with you Makes the flame burn good”

It took me so long to finally post something but here it is! I hope you like the creation of euphoric me because let's be real, no way I'd write this fully without being euphoric :3 Technically it should've been posted on Pride Month but shh...

Dividers: @cafekitsune p1 p2

Song: I don't smoke by Mitski

©2023, froggy-anon and their related entities. All rights reserved.

[fisahli]

When I talk to people about Palestine, I find that there is one point of discussion that has permeated particularly in the Liberal mindset. It is this: that the hostages need to be freed.

& they do. Bottom line, the hostages are someone's family, someone's friend, they are people just like you and me.

And yet this line of argument is something that I cannot reconcile within myself. The sheer amount of Palestinians that have been forced out of their homes, wrongfully imprisoned, killed or worse, is insurmountable in comparison to the Israeli hostages. Do the math, if you must.

This does not mean that any life is worth more or less than another. This does not negate the trauma that Jewish people have experienced historically.

I cannot conceive that sending more weapons to the regime that has killed tens of thousands of people is somehow a just solution. What makes any life more worthwhile than another? You cannot silence the cries of a motherless child. I think about this as I hear and see my dog bark at the neighbours dog crossing the street. She only wants to go for a walk herself.

and we can talk about International Law, we can talk about the objective fact that violence is wrong. We can talk about the definition of terrorism and the fear that it instills in people's hearts. We can talk about the fact that as humans, as a species who has survived and thrived through our telling of stories, our sharing of myths, that we have a moral obligation to not commit violence upon another human. I would agree with you, wholeheartedly.

And yet we cannot ignore the injustice that has been committed against the Palestinian people, time and time again. We can not ignore the violence of the status quo, just as the Indigenous folk on Turtle Island are subjected to unjust norms. They do not have clean water. I understand the trauma that Jewish people have faced, throughout history, and especially when we think of World War II, but does that justify turning that same violence on another group? How would you respond, if your family was forced from their land, and offered no path to go home? How would you respond, if someone else was offered the rights to your home?

To throw out the notions of Self Determination For All, of Freedom of Expression, of Tolerance, is inherently unjust. Regardless of your own personal history, -which I grieve with you- you have no right to impose your own will on another in the name of your own safety. This is solely defined as entitlement. What is the value of one human life over another?

I do my best to understand the fear and the pain that permeates throughout this view, but safety is not synonymous with freedom. It is especially not synonymous with freedom for all. I live on treaty land, and I struggle to reconcile the fact that while I have clean water 24/7, not everyone around me is afforded the same rights. This is unjust.

All of this is to say that when I call for a Free Palestine, I do not call for more violence. I do not call for the annihilation of any one group of people over another. I believe in self determination and freedom of expression for all, and -call me naive if you will, but- I don't see that as being antagonistic to anyone else achieving that same sense of autonomy. In fact, when we deny those rights to any group of people, we, in the face of Tyranny, deny ourselves those same rights.

Idk man even if we look mathematically there are tens of thousands more deaths of innocent civilians Palestinians. Regardless of race, age, gender, sexuality, religion, worldview, creed, etc etc etc. This is not okay.

Check out the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Human Rights. Look up the Thawabit. It guides a lot of the principles of those who organize and mobilize for a Free Palestine. In the face of Tyranny it is important to stay curious and show up for each other. I implore you to investigate, and I am always open to discussion. I'll hammer this home one more time: No one life is worth more than another.

We can talk about Human Rights, we can talk about Universal Basic Income and we can talk about people deserving recognition for their achievements, we can talk about what a world would look like where all of these principles are respected. I am not here to erase anyone, (Personally I am not a fan of billionaires as I don't see a way in which -in our current society- one becomes a billionaire without stepping on the backs and condemning -whether intended or not- countless others to a life of struggle) and we all deserve to live out our lives as we see fit. I really truly do believe this is possible.

I don't think humans are inherently good or inherently bad, I believe every day we are faced with a choice on how we decide to show up for others. We wouldn't have got here without the stories of the past, but our stories did not stop there.

Anyway I could talk about this for an inconceivable amount of time but the baseline argument I am making is this: No life is worth more than another. Do not abandon this notion in favour of self preservation. Respect the land in which you live and people that you are surrounded by, no one gets to choose the circumstances of their life. We are all human.

Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, or whatever.

[therearenobargains]

An Exposition on Grief and Memory

CW: Rambling, introspection, a stupid amount of metaphors

I remember.

There's so much weight to that.

What do I remember? The summer sun, the way ice cream melted on my hands, the way the sand burned my feet? Or is it the feeling of tears drying, the sound of doors slamming, the ache of being forgotten?

Memory is a burden and I am Sisyphus, crushed under the weight of it again and again and again, never quite learning how to move forward without putting myself in the path of destruction.

Over time I learned to stop indulging in memory altogether, to let it slip through my fingers like fine grains of sand. You can't be hurt by a boulder that you never allow to form. All of that sand became the ground upon which I walked, defining and redefining each step I took as it shifted and moved, constantly burying the echoes of myself that I left behind. And what was worse then, to forget or to be forgotten? Was drowning myself in the shifting sand better than being crushed beneath the boulder? By trying to force myself to leave all of it behind I was trying to force myself to redefine my entire being. I couldn't go back to the place where I was being crushed, but I couldn't allow myself to keep being wiped away either.

Memory hurts but its core to who I am, to who I want to become. To forget it, to forget everything I went through, everything I saw, would be to forget myself willfully.

I remember the ache of being left, the ache of leaving. I remember being hurt and being the one causing pain. I remember the sorrow, the rage, the emptiness, the small, seemingly indefinable moments that eventually coalesced together to make me.

I remember the mistakes I made that still haunt me to this day, the things I lost in the process. So many moments of shame and grief added to the sand I was already struggling to stand on and eventually I had to fall.

I was forced to confront myself, the things I was pushing away and trying to force myself to recover from.

For a very long time I wasn't really anyone. I was whatever fit around me best, like sand shifting to fill in the footprints that others left behind. And for a while I was content to exist like that, because it meant I didn't have to acknowledge the parts of my memory that I had grieved over before.

All things must come to an end though, and eventually, so did this period of avoidance. It was like, all at once, I understood that I needed to feel in order to grow.

Grief is such an odd thing though. It hits out of nowhere, dragging with it old memories that weigh heavily on my being. But once its been acknowledged, felt, held tenderly and cried over, its as if that huge, impossible boulder begins to break down just a little. And over time that boulder turns into pebbles, washed smooth by tears and rough hands holding them to remember what it was like when it felt too big to handle.

I'm still in this odd place of balancing the act of gently indulging my grief and memories and protecting myself from being lost underneath it all, but it's worth it. I'm no longer struggling with the weight of a boulder or the instability of sand beneath my feet. Those pebbles are my new constant, but they're something I can handle with confidence and security in the person I want to be- and I know that someday I'll be able to look back on the entire journey and acknowledge that I did a good job. I carried on, survived, thrived, grew.

It's a promise I'll always uphold myself to - to do better from then on. To live and to feel and to exist however I need to, and to be unashamed in doing so. It's ok to remember and to grieve, but I'll never again let it strip me of myself- I deserve at least that much care.

Like my writing? Feel free to keep an eye on my blog then :) I hope to plan more rambly, emotional bits.

-L

[tuliplips]

first day after breaking up with him i cried unstoppably. anything and everything made me cry and sob. then something shifted in me and i had a really nice week focusing on myself. i felt pretty good, confident even. i felt strong, like i did myself a favour, proud. and i also felt hopeful somehow. hopeful for better things to come. hopeful in knowing i deserve so much love and i am amazing. this feeling lasted a week and it felt so good, empowering.

then he called me and said he wanted to meet up. i said yes. next day we were supposed to meet, he bails on me half an hour before meeting because he had to do shit for his family. he said i’ll see you tomorrow. tomorrow comes around, bails on me again, at the time we were supposed to be meeting. very short messages. barely talking to me. giving me nothing. when i said he doesn’t respect me he said no it’s not true. i said you can call me later. he said sure. it’s been a week and i haven’t heard a single thing.

since then i’ve been feeling devastated. the confident and empowered and trusting feeling i was having (or faking) has left me. constantly having him pop in my brain with everything i do. i can see him in my minds eye. i see him in everyone on the street too. i check my phone a million times per hour. it’s honestly insane. and i’m not even really sure if i even like him anymore. or if i want to be with him or not. or if i really did. i don’t know. there are things i didn’t like. but i also felt like so full of love for him, wanting him to thrive and be his best most vibrant self.

i’m not sure about anything anymore but it’s like i can’t seem to let it go. it’s like being a fucking junkie desperately looking for a fix. i realise now also that it’s extra hard to let go because i don’t have much going on my life right now. i want to have fun and see other people, go out with friends, have a job, have joy, but im battling chronic illness and trying to manage symptoms daily. i struggle to take care of myself like making food and washing dishes. i live in a daze of brain fog and fatigue. he was like the first happy thing i had in a really long time. he was my first sliver of hope, of joy, of lightness in a really dark couple years. it makes sense that it’s hard to let go of that. he made me feel like things are possible again. like life may be worth living again. i felt like he suffers but me too and we can be a strong team. and his eyes! oh god his eyes. the way he would stare at me for minutes and minutes. it’s hard to let go of his eyes. and the feeling of safety when laying on his chest.

i know i’m going to be okay though. but i need to get through this now. and also try to not have shame about these feelings. let them be here. they’re okay to have and to feel.

[pardonmydelays]

how was tick tick boom?

oh, where do i even begin...

first of all, i need to say that our polish team did an amazing job (absolutely incredible & talented cast + the translation was really good, not perfect but good enough, more about it later tho). we really have amazing actors in this shitty country tbh & that only makes me want to see more of our productions.

i need you to take a look at this amazing set, because i am just so obsessed with it:

(if you look closely, you can spot les mis, phantom of the opera, west side story & cats on these walls hehe)

so first of all, this set, wonderful set, second of all, THE TICKING SOUND! you could hear it before the show even began and honestly i already had tears in my eyes.

let me tell you i am always that weirdo who cries at the very first song, so yes, i literally burst into tears when i heard the first notes of 30/90. it was also one of my favourite moments from the entire show, along with no more, sugar & why (and i knew i was gonna have a mental breakdown at why, because it's my favourite song from the show, but no more & sugar were a huge surprise for me because they are not my faves, the performance tho! the choreography! OMG!!! I NEED TO SEE THAT AGAIN!!!). the biggest disappointments when it comes to the songs were... green, green dress (not the performance, it's just the translation that didn't really work for me - for my polish mutuals, they translated it into "zielony cud" & i'm sorry but that's a nope for me) & boho days BECAUSE THEY LITERALLY REMOVED IT FROM THE SHOW??? the way i was blasting boho days on a loop days before seeing tick tick boom live & it wasn't even in the show, it's a fucking crime. the rest of the songs were great tho. i couldn't stop crying at come to your senses, that was the moment™️. 10/10, would recommend.

also, the theatre kid in me was literally thriving when jon asked the audience if they know who his musical theatre hero is, because he only said his first & last name starts with the letter S & a few people started screaming STEPHEN SONDHEIM! such a proud nerd moment for me! (tbh even the actor seemed to be surprised or maybe he was just acting lol i can't tell but it was so cool).

SPOILER ALERT!

i just need to mention it very quickly, at the very end of the show jon got a phone call from sondheim (which you all probably know about) & he said "you have a bright future ahead of you" & this line fucking destroyed me, like... i wasn't there for fun. i was there for jonathan larson. bright future you say... well. jon, you could have done so much more if you only had time... i will never stop crying about it, i'm sorry.

overall, it was such a beautiful show. as much as i love the movie, seeing it live in theatre is a whole other experience & it's truly life-changing. if you ever get a chance, go see it, please. it's totally worth it!

[greyskyflowers]

Something about devotionals and spiritual songs applying to crews

Something about the wonderful, choking feeling of devotion

Something about creating your own gods and calling them captain

Blood, salt, sacrifice, love

They are their own gods

Calling ships home like makeshift alters

Mouths wet with promises made in wine and sake

Swearing devotion and love to each other in small ways. Where are we going next and we'll will try again tomorrow and yes captain.

Pressing bloody hands against each other's skin like hands clasped together in prayer

They offer strength and belief, worth more than any gold that's worn their fingerprints

What use is gold and other material items when you hold someone's love in your hand? When they call their life yours and you call your life theirs with all the breath in your lungs?

They haunt each other and linger like incense

Not in the horror film way but in the way that they carry each other all the way down to the dust that makes up their bones

Scars healing in raised and embroidered skin, spelling names and memorials for every drop of blood freely offered

Tears of sorrow, relief, pain, happiness all leaving the same watery trails on each other's skin

All the echos of each other that linger in simple things. A song stuck in their head, a favorite fruit, a fondness for the smell of a certain brand of cigarettes.

How many times have they bleed on each other? Held torn skin together and demanded life with a viciousness that only comes from the risk of losing something priceless, digging your nails into it and grinding your teeth because this is mine. They are mine. I am theirs.

How much of their skin would be covered with marks of each other if all the blood that touched their skin stained it?

All the places left sacred and scarred

Nothing growing or absolutely everything growing

Blood, salt, and truth to water the roots and turn the soil

Blood, salt, and truth to kill the roots and burn the soil

Life thrives on sacrifice

Life cries for sacrifice

Thriller Bark

Marineford

The sea herself

Every jump in the sea, to catch an anchor and carry it's weight to the surface, is a baptism.

And good god, isn't being human, being free, a holy thing?