#let's not rush into things! waiting for the story to unfold is part of what does a character justice

[stepmarchen]

I really want to know for what did Ali's brothers fought each other... And I don't believe it's the throne , the heir is always the older right ? I think there's a story behind this especially that orka added Halima to the family and presented them earlier than the novel ... I hope that the sixth brother appears + we need justice for Halima she appeared for like 4 panels only this season + I loved your post about the safavid kingdom + I think bayezid beard is soft I wanna touch it ..lmao he is the worst dad: caused the death of four children and a trauma to the fifth

Well, I'm not so sure of that myself. In the manhwa, we only really get Ali's cryptic tale for a single chapter.

There's actually pretty high possibility it was over the throne! In real-life royal history, it wasn't super uncommon to see royals execute their younger siblings/next-in-line family branches to prevent political uprising. Bloodshed between (often times half) brothers was unfortunately a pretty usual occurrence.

But it's still possible that the "treasure" in question was quite literally, a treasure. I'm inclined to assume it was a religious relic.

I predict that the Safavid arc will appear sometime in the distant future, maybe Season 4 or even Season 5 (if we get that far). Halima's brief appearance was mostly just a teaser so she'll likely play a bigger role as the story progresses further into political conflict with the Holy War.

[hamiltonaf]

Veiled Emotions | Lando Norris

(Part 1) | Part 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x BFF!Female Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello my loves. I’m back from my hiatus ! Had this one in my drafts for so long and finally got out of writers block to finish it. Let me know your thoughts if you’d like a part 2 ? Enjoy ! X

(Y/F/N) - Your Friend’s Name

(Y/N/N) - Your Nickname

“Oh my days” I said aloud. “No fricking way” I slapped a hand over my mouth in shock as I stared at my Instagram notifications. “Bestie what happened ?” (Y/F/N) asked as she rushed over to my side. “You are not going to believe who just followed me” I said as I looked at her. “Tell me already !” (Y/F/N) yelled. “The footballer, João Félix !” I squealed. “Shut up ! Give me that” she grabbed my phone from my hand to take a closer look. “What the- wait a second..isn’t he-“ “Yepp” I nodded as I pressed my lips together. “This is major !” She shouted.

“But how crazy that he followed me the same time these rumours started with Lando ?” I said as I snatched my phone back. “This sounds like sweet revenge to me” (Y/F/N) said as she rubbed her hands together. “I wouldn’t say revenge, I mean they’re just rumours” I shrugged. “Babe sometimes you’re blind and I feel bad for you” she said as she rubbed my back. “What do you mean I’m blind ?” I furrowed my brows.

“Don’t you see how that dumb ass doesn’t care about you when she’s around ? He doesn’t call you or text you, but if you tried calling or texting him he’s always so called ‘busy’ ! He doesn’t make time for you anymore considering you guys have known each other for 2 years now. The only time he knows you is when she’s not around which is so not on. You don’t deserve that treatment” she lectured.

“I get where you’re coming from and gosh.. I wish it was so easy to stop thinking about him, but you already know how I feel. It’s a one sided love story” I sighed. “Get over him ! I’ve been telling you this for so long, he doesn’t deserve you. If he wants to prioritise her over you, yet he knows you for god knows how long, that speaks for itself��� she said. “Yeah it’s easy to say get over him, not so easy when I still get tagged on pictures and see him all over my timeline” I fussed. “Block him” she simply said. “Are you mad ? These gossip accounts and fans will notice and then people won’t stop talking about it. I can forsee what’s going to happen already, leave it to me” I reassured her. “Ugh fine, but please stop letting him have control over you” she warned. “Control over me ? Ain’t no way, I can play the same game ” I grinned to myself. I followed Joāo.

To think that my follower count is such that youoão won’t notice one extra follower, but I guessed wrong because these F1 gossip accounts don’t play. It’s only been an hour, we haven’t even DMed each other, just a follow back and F1 gossip girl had posted.

***BREAKING NEWS***

Spotted: Lando getting cozy with Magui at the trendiest spots in town. But hold your gasps, because there’s a juicy twist —João Felix and (Y/N) are now following each other. Is this just a casual follow, or a strategic move in a high-stakes game of love and rivalry ? As the drama unfolds, one thing’s for sure: the Upper East Side’s favorite social circle is about to get even more complicated. Stay tuned, darling—this is just the beginning of the scandal.

XOXO, Gossip Girl

After reading the post I felt as if I was apart of the Gossip Girl series, a childhood dream come true. Jokes aside… I showed (Y/F/N) the post and we had a good laugh for a few minutes. “At this point you NEED to date Joāo, give the fans what they want !” she said as she shook me. “Dating for drama is too much work and I don’t do fake romance” I rolled my eyes. “Girl… who said it has to be fake ? What if y’all actually fall in love oh my god !” She squealed. “Not when that idiot lives in my head rent free” I said as I grabbed the pillow from beside me and screamed into it in frustration. “Babe you need to calm down-“ and just then my Twitch notification went off. It could only go off for two people - Lando or Max.

We shared a look simultaneously, (Y/F/N) was indirectly giving me permission to open the stream. Max is in frame on the golf cart and he starts off by greeting everyone, as well as giving a brief run down of what they’re doing. I failed to remember that my username is visible until I read the comments which everyone is tagging me and saying hi or bringing up Joāo…oh dear. “I see we have our bestie watching the stream. Hey (Y/N/N) !” Max waved. I typed back ‘Heyy Max !’.

The comments were only about Joāo Felix within a few seconds. Max starts reading one of the comments, “(Y/N) wins in life with Max and Lando as her best friends and now a footballer, Joāo, is her potential boyfriend ! Unreal.” I was at a loss for words. (Y/F/N) and I looked at each other and burst out laughing at the comment, as much as I love the fans they have gone crazy. “Say what now ?” Lando said as he then came into frame and sat beside Max on the golf cart. “Shit” I muttered. “(Y/N/N) is on the stream” Max glanced at him. “Hey bestie ! Missing you” Lando said with a smile. “I hate him” I said to myself. “Me too” (Y/F/N) agreed.

‘Enjoy Portugal !’ I typed in the comments. “Bro did you know (Y/N) and Joāo are dating” Max said as he watched Lando jump off the golf cart. “You’re joking” Lando scoffed. Max cleared his throat and coughed before Lando could comment any further. “This is like watching Gossip Girl in the flesh” (Y/F/N) said. “Why does he look good” I whined. “I’ve had enough of you acting like this, please leave the stream and watch something else like TikTok or something” (Y/F/N) said as she snatched my phone to close Twitch and open TikTok instead.

I swear this day is like a fever dream. “Are you taking the piss” (Y/F/N) said as she was viewing a TikTok. “What ? Show me too” I said as I grabbed my phone from her hand. It’s a TikTok of Max’ girlfriend and Joāo’s ex. That means the rumours must be true seeing how close they are in the video.

“So much for thinking TikTok would be a good distraction” (Y/F/N) said as she closed TikTok. “This day couldn’t be more of a joke” I sighed. “You know what I’ve had enough ! Let’s get ready, we’re going out” I practically got dragged to my room. “Going where exactly ?” I asked as I sat at the edge of the bed. “Anywhere ! As long as you don’t look at your phone today” (Y/F/N) said as she rummaged through her bag for an outfit. “But I’m so not in the mood” I said as I fell back on the bed. Just then my notifications went off. A text from Lando. Strange.

(Y/F/N) paused with searching for a dress and scurried to lay beside me.

Little did Lando know was that (Y/F/N) had taken my phone away that’s why I didn’t answer his calls and bonus of it all, she lied by answering his question. “I guess fake love it is then” I furrowed my brows. “Why chase when you’re the catch, right ?” She said as she stood up to face me. “I mean I guess so” I shrugged. “You have to be confident and know that you’re worth more than chasing after this boy. He needs to chase after you” she said as she held me at my shoulders and shook me.

“Are you going to make this boy fall for you or what ?” She asked. I was hesitant to answer, “Bestie… I thought you didn’t like him” I pressed my lips together. “Only because he’s being an idiot you and I hate seeing you like this. But if it means playing cupid and bringing back my old bestie - more importantly that you’re happy then I’ll support it” she smiled softly. “Awww.. stop ! Now enough pep talk, we need to get dressed” I clapped my hands and jumped off the bed in a hurry.

yourusername added to story

(Y/F/N) suggested to post on my story as if I’m out with João and I think I nailed it considering it got a reaction out of Lando. He reacted with ‘😍’ and added, ‘You actually went on a date with him 😂’. (Y/F/N) said nothing would tick him off more than leaving him on read and that’s what I did.

After a fun night of dinner and drinks with our other girl friends, we made it back home safely and all I just wanted to do was go to sleep. I kicked off my heels and walked over to the kitchen to fill up a vase with water for the bouquet - Lando’s name lit up across my lock screen to video call. I rolled my eyes, “Ugh to answer or not to answer ?”. “Girl answer ! I wanna hear this” (Y/F/N) said as she sat beside me, away from my camera view but enough for her to see what’s happening. “Hey you, what a surprise” I greeted. “Are you back home ?” He asked. “Yeah I actually just got back” I said as I leaned against the counter.

“At 12am ?” He furrowed his brows. “I guess you can say we lost track of time” I grinned. (Y/F/N) was trying her best not to laugh. “Where did he take you ?” He asked curiously. I then grabbed the bouquet and tried to place it nicely as a whole into the vase. “Is this why you called ? To get information ?” I raised a brow. “No ! I just miss you that’s all” he sighed. “You seem perfectly fine without me, in fact you look like you’re having a lot of fun.. I don’t see how me being there would make a difference” I shrugged.

“Okay now what’s with the sarcasm ? You’re acting as if I didn’t ask you to come with !” He argued. “Oh I’m sorry Lando, but I would hate to be the third wheel for both you and Max.” “Third wheel for me ? Why is that ?” He looked confused. “Oh my god how slow are you” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes now, tell me why !” He broke into a smile as he started to laugh. The audacity. “Are you trying to make me look like a mug ?” I sniggered. “No no, it’s just cute to see you get upset” he smiled. “Wow okay. Anyways I’m gonna go” I grew annoyed very quickly, I just want this call to end. “Wait wait. I’m sorry okay, I’ll stop talking” he pouted. Nope, not gonna work. “No..it’s getting late anyways. I’m gonna go. Night” I huffed. “But (Y/N/N)-“ “Lando I’m tired please.” “Alright sorry..good night..love ya” he sighed. “Bye” I said softly and ended the call.

“Girlll can y’all just admit y’all love each other at this point. I felt like I was watching a couple fight. Geez” (Y/F/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m annoyed because I feel like he called for some entertainment for his girlfriend. I’m sure she’s dying to know what her ex and I were up to, and also how she can get payback for whatever reason” I said as we walked back to the room. “Babe I think you’re overthinking it. From what I saw he genuinely looked lonely and just wanted to talk to you because he misses you” she said. “Erm I’m sorry but what happened to my best friend who was against him ?” I raised a brow. “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt” she smiled proudly.

“Love how everyone is ganging up against me like I’m the villain. Love to see it ! Not.” I faked a smile. “Sleep over it and talk to him tomorrow” she suggested. “Hmm we’ll see” I said lowly.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything. 

Every mile away from Rafe felt like reopening an old wound, over and over. The cops kept trying to make small talk, but you barely said a word. One-syllable responses if anything. Eventually, they just gave up and let you stare out the window in awkward silence.

By the time you pulled up, even the streets of The Cut didn’t make you feel any better. Home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was weird, almost like you didn’t recognize it. Walking in with the officers behind you just made everything feel more real, like a slap in the face of the life you were stepping back into.

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

You barely processed what they were saying. It didn't really sink in. You just nodded, like you were on autopilot, but your brain was still stuck in everything that went down two days ago. What kind of sister doesn’t freak out when she hears her little brother’s alive and okay?

You should’ve been losing it with relief, right? But all you felt was this weird emptiness. You were supposed to protect him. You didn't.

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him. 

They could tell you were checked out, they exchanged this look, like they didn’t know what to do with you, then quietly stepped out onto the porch, leaving you to rot with your thoughts.

You wandered around the house, but every step felt so heavy. Every room was just a reminder of what used to be. The couch where you'd would argue over stupid TV shows while Luke was off doing who-knows-what, the kitchen table where it was just the two of you, eating and sharing stories like nothing was wrong... It all felt so distant, like snapshots from another life you couldn’t touch anymore.

You knew, deep down, things would never go back to how they were.

You ended up in my room, collapsing onto your bed, the sheets still smelling like home. But even that didn’t help the ache in your chest.

It didn’t feel right. Nothing ever did unless your brother was there.

But now, not even the thought of him being back could bring you peace. All you could think about was Rafe. His smile, his touch, his voice—every part of him was still so clear in your head, and it hurt so bad to remember.

That must be your punishment. 

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, even the tiniest noise made you jump, like you were waiting for something bad to happen.

The sound of gunshots still echoed in your mind. It hadn’t even been three days.

The old wooden door creaked open, and there was JJ, his bright blue eyes wide and full of worry. He rushed to you so fast, you almost lost your breath when he pulled you into this bear hug.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky, "Holy shit."

Tears just started pouring out of you, and you couldn’t stop. You were full-on sobbing while he held you like you used to hold him when he was little, and it killed you. It was all so wrong. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were.

After what felt like forever, you pulled back and wiped your face, your throat tight. JJ sat next to you, searching your face with those big, worried eyes.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to get a grip. All you could manage was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. You didn’t want to talk about that. Not yet. But the way he looked at you, like he used to when you'd protect him from everything, you couldn’t just shrug it off.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand even tighter, his words hitting you like a truck, and the guilt just kept building. You squeezed his hand tighter, trying to keep it together. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You felt another wave of tears coming but swallowed them down.

“You did everything you could. We both did. None of this is your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," he cut in, his voice cracking. "I hated not being there. "I hated it."

God, if only he knew. 

If he found out what really happened with Rafe, he’d hate you. It wasn’t his fault—it was yours. You pulled him into another hug, trying to say everything you couldn’t with just your touch. The weight of everything—your guilt, your pain—was too much, but at least you had each other. You could feel his body shaking, and you didn’t even know if it was from exhaustion or emotion.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

He gave you this sad little smile, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

You sat there in silence for a bit, and it felt fragile, but at least it was peaceful. Outside, you could hear the waves crashing, like life was still going on, even though yours felt like it was stuck.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he didn't want an answer.

Normal? The nightmares of him finding out about Rafe haunted you every night, mocking at your mind. But You couldn’t tell him that. It made you want to scratch your skin raw. 

“Yeah.”

"Yeah," I lied.

You could see how tired he was, like he was just as drained as you felt. You both needed sleep, but honestly, the idea of closing your eyes terrified you. The nightmares were always there, waiting.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

“Let’s try to get some rest,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I could actually follow through. "We both need it."

JJ nodded, even though you could tell he wasn’t convinced. He lay down next to you on the tiny bed, and you barely fit, but it was comforting. Just having him close made you feel a little less broken.

The minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the waves outside. You focused on them, using them to ground myself. Slowly, you felt the tension start to slip away, just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?"JJ’s voice was barely a whisper in the dark, like he was holding onto a memory that felt safe.

A small smile crept onto my lips. "Yeah. You swore you knew how to steer, and we almost crashed into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always do."

The memory was bittersweet, a reminder of when things were simpler, back when your biggest problem was not sinking a boat and you weren't a complete fuck up.

Now, you felt like you were drowning every day.

Your eyes started to get heavy, and JJ’s breathing next to you slowed, evening out. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. If you did, you'd lose him for good.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Empty, like how you'd been feeling for way too long.

Morning came too fast, sunlight slipping through the curtains and filling the room with a warm glow. You blinked awake, feeling disoriented for a second before everything from the past few days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep next to you, his face finally relaxed, looking so much younger and peaceful.

You carefully slid out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised he’d call as soon as there was an update on Rafe. So far? Nothing.

You couldn’t help but wonder if the hospital had already contacted Sarah. She was basically the only family Rafe had left, other than Wheezie, who was just a kid, and Ward… well, a literal wanted criminal now. It made sense for them to reach out to her first.

If you called the hospital yourself, they wouldn’t tell you anything—You weren't family. And asking Sarah? She’d immediately know something was off. There was no way you could risk that.

The kitchen was weirdly quiet, the early light stretching shadows across the walls. You made a cup of coffee, letting the warmth calm the cold ache inside you, but even that didn’t really help. Sitting at the table, you tried to think of some kind of plan. You needed to know if he was okay, but every option felt like a trap.

Suddenly, your new phone buzzed on the table, shaking you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it, heart pounding, seeing an unknown number flash on the screen. Your stomach twisted, but you answered.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened just a little. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

Testify. The thought of standing in a courtroom, reliving everything in front of strangers, made your skin crawl.

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. The idea of him getting out that easily should’ve made you angry, but instead, you felt this weird sense of relief. You hated myself for it. You wanted him to pay for everything, for all of it. But now? You were clinging to any slim chance of freedom, even if it wasn’t fair.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into nothing.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see JJ in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, still half-asleep.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair making him look like a confused puppy. “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie, but at least you were giving him something. 

He stopped mid-step, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess," You mumbled, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal.

His gaze softened a little, but not by much. He pulled out a chair and sat across from you. “You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn’t really argue with that, but something inside you felt the need to defend Rafe, even if you hated that feeling. He had saved your life, and that wasn’t something you could just forget.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head like you’d said the dumbest thing ever. "Barely."

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is insane. One good deed doesn’t make up for all the shit he’s done.”

“I know that,” I said, reaching out for him, but he pulled back before I could touch him, your fingers only brushing against his shirt.

“Do you?” His voice was cold, and the way he looked at you—like he didn’t recognize you—cut deep. It was the look you dreaded seeing in your nightmares, and now, it was real, it ten times worse. 

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He started pacing around the kitchen. "Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is even alive. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who screwed us over gets to play hero for one day, and now you’re defending him."

"I'm not defending him," You said, voice rising. "I just… I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

You never raised your voice at him.

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound just like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces. A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment. All you life, you’d been told you were like her—just as blind, just as soft.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

"That’s the kind of crap Mom used to say about Dad, remember? And look where it got her."

Memories of mom came rushing back—the excuses she made, the false hope she clung to, and the endless disappointment. You weren't like her, were you? You weren't defending a man who was never going to change. You couldn’t be. You’d spent your entire life trying not to be like her.

It wasn’t fair. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you mercy. How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.” 

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to keep it together.

He followed you hot on your heels, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You fired back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over. The word "traumatic" set you off.

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you’re standing here, defending the guy who put you in that position in the first place!"

The accusation hurt. You hated fighting with your brother and he wasn’t wrong. You hated that Rafe was coming between you both, but you couldn’t shake what you felt.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

“And what about what he did for me?” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. You couldn’t let it out. Not yet. Not to him.

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," Your voice was strained,"But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

“Because I want to!” The scream ripped from your throat before you could stop it, tears spilling over. "I’m still my own person, and I can make my own decisions."

He opened his mouth to fight back, but the words seemed to evaporate from his tongue. The kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and your instant regret.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning away. “Do what you want.”

You watched him walk out of the kitchen, his back stiff with anger and disappointment. It was the first time you'd ever yelled at him, and you hated every second of it.

Alone again in the kitchen, you sank back into your chair, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain yourself, to make him understand.

But he wouldn’t. How could he?

None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you?

You heard the front door creak open and shut—JJ leaving. Maybe that was for the best. You both needed time to cool off. You got up, poured the coffee down the sink, watching it swirl away. Weirdly, the sound was kind of comforting, like you were washing away the mess clinging to you.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, ignoring the sun, ignoring everyone. Your phone buzzed again, and for a second, you thought about letting it go, but you couldn’t. You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.” 

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? How much should you tell her.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should ask, but you did anyway. “Sarah, did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still… caring, I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He’s your brother. It’s okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She trailed off, and you knew exactly where she was coming from. She’d seen Rafe before Ward broke him down. And you knew she still carried that guilt—the guilt of being the favorite, never standing up for him, even when she saw Ward lose control.

“I get it,” You whispered. You were both tangled up in love and hate when it came to him, the messiness of family making it impossible to separate the two.

 “He was good to me.”

There was a long pause. You expected her to hang up on you, to freak out and call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had enough at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done. 

But you underestimated her. You'd momentarily forgotten just how compassionate and noble she was. She possessed a goodness smiliar to your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

 "I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

Guilt prickled at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear it like this. I wish things were different.”

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

You hung up and stared at your phone, the screen going dark. It matched how you felt—empty, lifeless.

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view. 

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself.

Your small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart jumped straight into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full story about what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, you didn’t even know if you ever could. They knew the basics—he was in the hospital, you both got caught in a shooting, and somehow, he’d saved your life. That’s all anyone knew.

But now, with him awake... you were completely lost.

With shaky hands, you fumbled for the phone, dialing the number the officer had given you. It rang a few times, "Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of keys clicking away. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?" the nurse asked.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. "No. Uh, a friend, I guess—" You almost started rambling, but instead, you settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

"Okay, just a minute, please."

You stared at the sand, biting your lip, trying to figure out what you’d even say to him. When the nurse finally came back on, her voice was softer, almost pitiful, and you immediately knew you weren't going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Your whole body went numb. You wanted to throw the phone, scream into the void, drown yourself in the ocean and not come up until you didn’t feel anything anymore.

 What the hell? 

You’d spent weeks thinking about him, on edge, worrying if he was gonna make it, praying for him even though you weren’t even sure you believed in any of that. And now...he didn’t want to speak to you? Unbelievabl, like all of it—every single moment you spent worrying, crying, hoping—it was for nothing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thanks," you mumbled before hanging up.

You stared at your phone, trying to process it. Rafe didn’t want to talk to you. It was like someone ripped the ground from under you. Everything you thought you had shared, everything he did for you, saving your life... Had any of it mattered to him?

Had you just imagined it?

You tried to think back—Rafe had kissed you, touched you like you were precious, like he didn’t want to break you. And that moment when he’d saved you—had that meant nothing to him? Maybe you were just fooling yourself. Maybe, to him, you were just a temporary distraction, someone who didn’t mean anything outside of that life-or-death situation. Just a pogue.

You were just sitting there, staring out at the water, trying not to fall apart. The sun felt too bright, the world too loud, everything too much. The anger, the hurt, the confusion—Before you even realized what you were doing, a scream tore out of you, raw and guttural.

It ripped through the air, echoing across the beach as if it could somehow take away everything inside. Tears came next, hot and salty, and you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up. You hadn’t cried properly in weeks. 

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely. 

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

Footsteps crunched in the sand, and you tensed, knowing who it was even before you turned to look. JJ. Of course, it was him.  You still weren’t ready to face him after the argument. But he sat down next to you without saying a word, just looking out at the water like you were.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, sounding just as broken as you felt, “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from the scream. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I get it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

JJ turned to you, frowning, “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

You could barely get the words out without choking up.

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking piece of shit. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. ““Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s for the best.”

JJ sighed, softening as he looked at you. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill again.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast. 

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you didn't know it was capable of existing until then.

Six months had gone by since that day, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Life had somewhat gone back to normal, or at least a version of it. The days were getting hotter, like the summer was showing off, making everything sticky and slow. You’d spent the afternoon alone, sprawled out on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading, barely feeling the breeze from the old fan struggling against the heat.

You were in the middle of rereading the same sentence for the third time when loud banging on the door made you jump. The knock was so aggressive it had to be someone with a serious problem, and the sound jolted you upright.

You groaned, rolling off the couch and heading for the door. "What the—"

Before you could even finish, you yanked the door open, annoyance already building up. And then, just like that, it drained out of you.

“Rafe?”

It was him. Standing there. Looking... well, looking alive, which was more than you expected after months of silence.

You froze, staring at him, and instinct kicked in. You tried to slam the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand caught the edge, holding it open. “Seriously?” you hissed, shoving harder. “Get the hell off my porch.”

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

“Wait—Maybank—just listen.”

“Nope. Get lost. Now.”

“Please.” His voice cracked, and his hand shook where it held the door. “Just give me a minute.”

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale. It wasn’t the cocky Rafe you remembered. The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out, barely conscious. And now he was just... here. What the hell was he doing here?

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks. You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police.

At least you hoped he was. 

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking worn out in a way that made you pause for a second too long. “You look good."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Was he for real?

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him. You weren’t about to let him waltz back in like nothing had happened.

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, trying to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“Yeah, no. Get back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

You tried to slam the door again, but he held firm. “Please, just let me explain.”

“You had six months to explain.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay?" his words coming out rushed and uneven. ”I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

Maybe it was the part of you that used to care, or maybe you just needed answers after everything that had happened. You stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to walk in.

“Fine. Talk.”

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house. And now that he was standing here, you regretted letting him in.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—��, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. He wasn't high.

You eyed him skeptically. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You scoffed, turning away from him. “Is that all? That’s why you showed up here out of nowhere?”

“No, it’s not,” he said, sounding more desperate. “I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

You didn’t want to talk to me.”

He winced at that, his guilt obvious. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t. But I’m here now, trying to fix what I broke.”

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you, pretty.”

You recoiled at the nickname, taking a step back, needing space. 

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand. 

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

“Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better?"

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—” 

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him. 

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier. 

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips.

“Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut. 

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways. “You what?”

“I told her.” 

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

You were fuming, pacing the room. “Do you realize what that could do? My life here—everything—could be ruined because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger.

You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave."

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been hurt and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you standing there, your heart in pieces all over again. You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself. 

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad? 

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you.

The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—nothing worked.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be. Why did it still hurt?

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things. All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you. 

You were in love with Rafe Cameron. 

[natsaffection]

do you think you could write a second part to the coach fic where during practice natasha convinces reader to sneak off with her and reader gives her a blow job :))

Reward Pt. 2 | N.R

MINORS DNI 18+!

Warnings: G!P Natasha (32), kinda manipulative, blow job

Word count: 870 words

A/n: first time writing a blowjob 🫠

Part 1

The training session was in full swing and the rhythmic sound of sneakers on the pitch provided a familiar backdrop. Concentrated and motivated, the team went through exercises and games under Natasha's watchful eye. Unbeknownst to the rest of the players, there was a secret connection beneath the surface.

Moving through the training routine with precision, you couldn't lose Natasha's gaze. Natasha, standing on the sidelines, had her usual stoic expression, but her eyes told a different story. A subtle grin played on her lips as she watched your maneuvers.

As you dribbled the ball, you felt Natasha's gaze intensify, a gaze that seemed to bear the weight of your secret connection. After a while, Natasha gathered the team together to discuss the nuances of a particular move, her gaze lingering on you with a knowing glint. Unaware of the hidden dynamics, the rest of the team listened intently as Natasha explained the intricacies of executing a perfect rondo.

“Well, team, the Rondo is a crucial move that can surprise the opponents,” Natasha explained, turning her gaze back to you. “Y/n, you’re at the center, orchestrating the moves. It’s all about precision and quick decisions.”

But you hesitate. "Coach, I'm not sure the Rondo is the best option here. I think a pick-and-roll could open up more scoring opportunities."

There's a brief silence in the gym as Natasha's eyes met yours and the unspoken challenge hung in the air. The team exchanged glances, unaware of the hidden disagreement unfolding before them.

Natasha stepped closer to you, seemingly unfazed. “Everyone else is going according to my plan,” she said loudly in the hall, her eyes never leaving you, “and you’re coming with me.”

Everyone looked at you with pity and you just wanted to sink into the ground in front of her. Natasha didn't looked away and then took a step back to go into her office. You run after her and hear a few whispers of “good luck.”

In Natasha's office, the weight of your opinion still weighed on you, and there was an underlying tension in the air. Natasha turned her gaze to you and lowered her gaze to your lips for a moment. A subtle, knowing smile played on Natasha's lips as she leaned in, her voice becoming a more sultry tone.

“I have to admit, that wasn’t so stupid. But beware of you questioning my competence in front of the team again." You look at her and nod, noticing how Natasha's hands go down to her pants, "Maybe it's time to put your talented mouth to better use. What do you think?"

The proposal hung in the air, laden with a seductive implication that transcended professional boundaries. You were caught in the magnetic pull of Natasha's words and felt heat rising within you.

Natasha unbuckled her belt, unzipped her pants, and then reached in to pull her cock out. The sight already made your mouth water, but you held back and looked into her cold eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for?” You barely had a chance to open your mouth before your Head was pushed down and her thick shaft was pushed between your lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Natasha grunted, pushing herself forward until she was almost down your throat. “The only thing your little mouth is good for, right? Come on, suck it..”

The words stuck in your gut, creating a burning pit of pleasure that rushed down to your pussy, making you moan around the cock in your mouth. Natasha placed her hands on either side of your head and began fucking your mouth in earnest. “Fuck yes, that’s going to cum right down my little slut’s throat,” she gasped. “Yes, right there, y-yes, shit!”

You hesitantly swirled your tongue around the tip of her cock and were pleased when you heard her let out a shuddering "yes."

A little unsure, you moved your knee, came a little closer and wrapped a hand around the base of Natasha’s cock. Then you took more into your mouth, surprised that you were taking up so much space and gasping when you felt Natasha's finger tangle in your hair.

“Careful.” It was all muffled and raspy and quiet in a way that made your stomach clench with both desire and embarrassment. You begin sucking the cock like it was an oversized baby bottle and were rewarded with a deep growl of approval and a rather sharp tug on your hair.

You felt tears forming in your eyes, and you were too distracted by your body's reactions to realize that what you were doing was good. A shot of “Coming” slid down her throat as she came in your mouth, making you cough. You awkwardly try to swallow. One thing was for sure, though: this tasted much stronger than you expected, and you really wondered if you could ever get used to it.

You wipe away her remains and stand back up. Natasha already put her cock back in her pants and looked at you until she came to you and pulled you into a kiss. She let go and also wiped a small residue from your mouth with her thumb, “Good girl. Now let’s finish training outside.”

-

-

-

[derfpossessions]

Rented You Out - Part 4

Our story continues on with Denholm and Markus searching for a new client that is willing to rent Denholm’s body out for a spin. The hospital bills are rising up again, and the two needs their classic gig to pay out the loans.

While they were there, a woman named Natasha approached them and heard of their services. “Heyy, you’re that Denholm guy that can be rented from the black market right?” She giggled. “Uhhh.. yeah, but I don’t remember someone booking an appointment with me today..” He replied.

“Oh come on, I just decided I’d come and see you in-person! So, when can I use you?” She slowly walked up to them. “Girl wait… so you’re the one using his body?”, Markus said, who is starting to get suspicious about her. “You think only men can try out men bodysuits?? Stop with the gender roles!” She got lowkey pissed.

“Anyways, can I try it on first before I settle with the deal?” She couldn’t resist her temptation to try on the suit. “Ok, I’ll show you right now..” Denholm taps the button and he goes into suit-mode. Natasha entered his body and it and opened her eyes in his new masculine physique.

“Woahh.. something’s hard down there! Omg this is sooo fucking cool!” She was giggling as she felt Denholm’s cock.

“It must be fun being a man you know, I’m doing this for a social experiment for my case study.” She added, while looking enthusiastic. She then started rubbing in his body and looked at her new reflection in the phone camera. “Ok time’s up girl the free trial’s over. get out of him.” Markus said as he unzipped Denholm and pulled her out. “Ok I think I like it! I would pay more if you want!” She said.

“Uhh.. well I better get ready then. Just so you know you have to make the payment first before you’ll be able to use the suit.” Denholm said nervously.

“Ok ok. No rush, take your time and I’ll meet you tonight.” She said and then left the two. The two then continued on going to class.

“Are you sure you want that girl to use your body? She sounds like she’s on meth!” Markus told Denholm while walking down the hallway.

“Well if she’s paying anyway then we can’t refuse on a customer.” Denholm sighed. Things are about to get strange from this point onward.

While they were walking they saw a peculiar man cleaning the windows. With him he had a large cart full of boxes. “That’s weird, I never noticed that staff here before.” Markus told Denholm. As they passed by the man, they accidentally knocked off one of the boxes, and the man panicked an stormed off with the cart. “Bro what’s wrong with that guy?” Denholm said while Markus looks down to see the weird box. Inside the box there’s a garbage bag sealed with duct tape. The box was a quite heavy, so they brought it to a nearby classroom.

To their surprise, there was something rubbery-like in the bag, and when they opened it, it’s a folded up bodysuit.

“Woah what the fuck?!” The two got shocked by the looks of the bodysuit. They carefully undressed the man from the formal suit he was wearing. It was a little bit drenched in sweat, and the it smelled like it just came fresh from the gym. “Holyyyy shittt?!!” Markus screamed as they started unfolding the suit on top of the table.

It was a bodysuit of a man, probably in his early 20s, and is ethnically East Asian. “Well he looks like your local gym rat, and a total fuckboy.” Markus jokingly said (he was right tho). “So, looks like there’s a lot more bodysuits out there, not just me.” Denholm said while touching the man’s deflated rubbery arm. They tried flipping the man over to see if he has a switch that is similar to Denholm’s. “Let’s bring this man back to life shall we?” Markus said. They flipped the switch, but there was no response. The suit remained a little deflated, and hollow. The two started getting scared. “Don’t tell me.. don’t tell me this guy is dead..” Denholm was shaking.

“Found one of them I see?” Mr Singh came in to join the fun. The two gasped. “What are you doing here?!”

“Well I knew one day you two would see the others.”

Denholm: “What do you mean… the others..??”

Singh: “You see, your case as a bodysuit isn’t as rare as you might think. Lots of people around this city, fall bait into the numerous kidnappings that occurred. They get taken away in a van, never to be seen again.”

“What happens to them next? They’ll be put in a large factory where humans are transformed into bodysuits. Their organs, their insides are replaced and retrofitted to become a fully wearable suit, or whatever the fuck magic they do in that place.”

“You should be very grateful you’re even alive. Some people like you do survive the suit process and manage to escape, not knowing how to be able to cope with their lives being changed forever. And then there’s the unfortunate people. The ones who are put into the deep sleep, and forced to be worn as lifeless mascot suits for the rest of their lives. The people who wear them have full access to their past lives and memories, and may choose to continue on that original life, or reinvent their past lives, or a mixture of both.”

“That man right there… had a girlfriend, aiming for his degree in Engineering, getting ripped at the gym. all of that was taken away from him on one night. Now it’s up to his users if they want to live upon his legacy.”

“That’s all I know for now. I don’t know if there’s ever a cure to this condition of being converted into a suit, but it really sucks for these people.”

Denholm got furious. “I must stop this madness then. I’m gonna put an end to it.”

Markus stopped him, “Are you stupid?! You almost got killed yourself! Our goal is to stay out of from their sight as much as possible!”

“Markus is right. Don’t worry, it will all be better soon.” Mr Singh said. “Well I gotta go teach my class now. You two, stay safe and don’t get yourselves into trouble.”

Markus carried the suit to the backroom. “Hey, one more thing Denny.” Singh grinned.

“With those hot charisma you have, you sure ARE a great kisser.” Singh winked and left. (see part 2 if u dont get what he meant)

“Wha… what did he meant?” Denholm was in shock.

“Nothing! just some side jobs while he was renting you out!” Markus was sweating and turned around from Denholm to avoid eye contact.

“Listen. I trusted you into making sure I don’t get harmed in any way but if you get your weird shit into the conversation I will won’t hesitate to-“ a thud was suddenly heard.

“-to give you all the love you want and need.. babe.”

“What..?” Markus was frozen. Whatever the fuck he heard wasn’t Denholm.

“MR SINGH?!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING INSIDE HIM?!!” Markus screamed.

“I’m trying to save you from getting beaten up! Now go clean this mess up!” Singh laughed.

“Well on one thought.. I think I do want a kiss..” Markus leaned forward from good old Denny and they had a mouth to mouth embracement, with their tongues locking intertwined, forming a heart shape from the divine.

“Pull down your pants. This will only take 8 minutes trust me.” Singh giggled as he took off Denny’s hoodie.

And then the rest is history…

- TO BE CONTINUED -

[earthlybeam]

Good morning, evening or night depending on your time zone, if you don't mind me asking, could you please do the secret crush thing with Glorfindel? Thank you <3

When you ask it was 3am in the morning 🤣 but no worries it’s morning now and all done for you enjoy sweetie ✨🫶❤️‍🔥

how would the elves react to this?

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Glorfindel version below. (You and glorfindel well secret have a crush but either of you acted till now.)

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

𖤓 The great hall buzzed with life, its warmth pushing back the bite of the winter air outside. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced on the stone walls, while laughter and conversation swirled around the room. It was an evening of merriment, with food and drink aplenty, and yet Glorfindel found himself adrift in a quiet corner of the hall, lost in thoughts he could no longer ignore. He stood near you, his attention divided—part of him was listening to your endless stream of words, but the other part was trapped in a fog of indecision, tangled in thoughts of you. You spoke animatedly, as always, your voice bubbling with excitement as you recounted a new tale from the court. Your laughter was like music, the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, and the playful gestures you made with your hands… it all served to deepen his longing, a longing that had been growing quietly in the background for some time. But no matter how much he tried to focus on your words, Glorfindel couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, tracing the outline of your lips, imagining the warmth of your touch. And then, his gaze drifted upwards, drawn to the mistletoe hanging innocently above the two of you. It had been there for what felt like ages, but now it felt almost like an unspoken challenge, an invitation. His eyes lingered on it, the weight of its symbolism heavy in the air. Beneath it, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. Should he kiss you now? Would it be too forward? Was it the right moment? His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he fought the urge to act, to let the moment unfold the way it was meant to.

𖤓 You, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware of the shift in his attention. Your words tumbled out, your voice rising and falling in its usual animated rhythm, but Glorfindel wasn’t really hearing it anymore. The sound of your voice, the way your lips curved when you smiled, everything about you drew him in more, even as his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. His focus, sharp as it usually was, had become clouded, the mistletoe hanging like an insistent weight in the background of his mind. He shifted closer without realizing it, his body gravitating toward yours as his thoughts ran in circles. He wanted so badly to focus on you, to hear the rest of your story, but your words became background noise as his body began to respond in a way he couldn’t control. His heart raced as he thought of touching you, kissing you. He could already feel the heat building in his chest, the pull between you both undeniable.

𖤓 “Should I… kiss you now?” The thought flared in his mind again, and though he tried to shake it off, it stuck, circling around like a fly buzzing just out of reach. He glanced at the mistletoe once more, his hand twitching involuntarily at his side as he desperately tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But you kept talking. And talking. And talking. Your voice was like a river rushing downstream, too fast for him to keep up, but every word you spoke only made the tension between you more unbearable.His mind barely registered what you were saying anymore. His thoughts were consumed by the question of when and how to make his move. Should he wait for you to notice the mistletoe? Was that too obvious? Should he lean in, or take your hand, or…? Every thought was interrupted by the restless thumping of his heart.

𖤓 The gap between you had all but disappeared as he inched closer, trying to focus on something—anything—besides the overwhelming desire to kiss you. His fingers twitched again, but you didn’t seem to notice the subtle shift. Your hands were moving, your eyes alight with excitement, and yet, Glorfindel felt like he was on the edge of some great precipice. What if this was his only chance? What if he waited too long and lost the moment forever? With a deep, almost desperate breath, Glorfindel moved again. Closer, a little closer. Your words were nothing but a faint hum in the background as his resolve began to crack. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, the space between you shrinking until it was no longer bearable.

𖤓 And then, without another moment of hesitation, Glorfindel reached for your hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. The contact was soft, almost delicate, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through him, a rush of warmth that spread through his entire being. His pulse quickened, his chest tightening, as if the simple touch had ignited something deep within him. The world around him seemed to blur, as though the distance between you had collapsed, leaving nothing but the undeniable presence of you standing before him. You, completely unaware, continued to speak, caught up in the excitement of your own words, your animated voice filling the air. The softness of your expression, the spark in your eyes, made it even harder for Glorfindel to focus. His fingers still hovered near yours, a whisper of contact, and every part of him screamed to close the distance, to feel more of you, but he held himself back, watching you intently, the moment slipping away from him, slipping away from both of you. His breath caught in his throat. It felt as if time itself had slowed, each second stretching into infinity as his thoughts swirled with uncertainty, desire, and the overwhelming need to act. The room felt far away, like an echo of life happening in the background, while all that mattered in that moment was you-your words, your presence, the way your lips moved as you spoke.

𖤓 Glorfindel's chest tightened, his heart racing as he realized he could wait no longer. He could feel the warmth of the fire behind him, but it was nothing compared to the heat building between you two. His resolve finally broke, and in that instant, he stepped closer to you. He didn't think. He didn't pause. Without a single word, he moved in, his lips finding yours in a swift, almost desperate kiss. At first, it was tentative, his mouth brushing against yours with a softness that betrayed the urgency simmering beneath it. His lips lingered, feeling the gentleness of your skin, and he closed his eyes to savor the moment—the warmth, the softness, the sweet sensation of your breath mingling with his. It was a tentative question, a question he had wanted to ask for far too long. But as the kiss deepened, the hesitation faded. His hand, which had been resting at his side, moved with intention, cupping your cheek in a tender, possessive gesture, as though to hold you in place, as though he needed to remind himself that this moment was real. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw softly, reassuring himself that this wasn't some wild, fleeting fantasy, but a reality he had longed for. The heat from the kiss spread through him like wildfire, rushing through his veins until every inch of his body was alive with the feeling of you.

𖤓 For a moment, he felt lost, consumed by the taste of you, the sensation of your lips against his, the pulse of your body beneath his touch. The world around him faded completely, the music, the voices, the laughter, all of it drowned out by the rhythm of your breathing, the gentle press of your lips against his, the quiet urgency that danced between you. You didn't pull away. The kiss, which had begun as a tentative exploration, grew deeper, more sure, as you leaned into it, your lips parting just slightly. His heart surged , a flood of emotion he hadn't been able to fully understand until now, but in this moment, with you, it all made sense. You were here. You were with him. The kiss lingered, an eternity captured in a single breath. It was soft, tender, but also filled with the yearning that had quietly built between you over time. Glorfindel could feel the pulse of his heart in his chest, the way his breath began to falter, the way the world seemed to stop around him as everything focused on this singular, perfect moment.

𖤓 Finally, he pulled back, though it took every ounce of willpower to do so. His lips lingered near yours for just a second longer, a soft breath shared between you, before he slowly pulled away, his eyes still closed as if afraid to open them and face reality. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He had kissed you, and yet it felt like it was only the beginning. A soft, incredulous laugh escaped his lips. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though he wasn't sure you would hear him. It was the truth, the quiet confession he had never dared to speak aloud, but here, in this moment, it was the only thing he could say. His hand remained close to your face, his fingers still lightly brushing your skin as if he were afraid to let go. The warmth of your touch was still fresh on his lips, and the taste of you lingered in his senses. The world, still spinning around him, had never felt more still.

𖤓 “Wait…” you murmured, a soft laugh escaping your lips, your voice rich with a mixture of surprise and delight. The question hung in the air, and Glorfindel could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his heart still pounding from the kiss that had taken him completely by surprise. His eyes darted to the floor for a moment, embarrassed but too captivated by you to look away for long. His lips curled into a sheepish grin, the barest hint of a flush coloring his normally composed features. “Not… entirely,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost apologetic, as if he had just been caught in a small, but undeniable misstep. The truth was, he hadn’t been listening—he had been too consumed by the way you spoke, the way your presence filled the space between you two, and the overpowering urge to act on the emotions he’d been battling for far too long.

𖤓 Your eyes narrowed, a glint of playful suspicion flickering in them. You tilted your head, studying him with a teasing smile that made his heart skip a beat. “So, you were ignoring me, waiting for a good moment to kiss me?” Glorfindel’s smile softened in response, a touch of vulnerability slipping into his gaze, but it didn’t dim the warmth in his expression. The spark in his eyes deepened, a soft intensity behind his gaze as he nodded slowly. His voice was low, but this time, it was filled with an earnestness that made every word feel even more significant. “Yes,” he said, his words careful but laden with emotion. “But only because I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

𖤓 For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still between you both. The air, thick with the weight of your words, carried the unspoken truth of the moment. All the tension, all the unacknowledged longing and uncertainty that had been building between you two, seemed to come crashing together in the shared silence. Everything that had been said, everything that had been felt, led to this point. And yet, as the seconds stretched, there was a sense of something more—something undeniable, something deep that both of you had been skirting around, waiting for the right moment to fully confront. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you leaned in, just enough to brush your lips against his cheek. The soft, teasing touch sent a shiver through Glorfindel, but the lightheartedness in the gesture only deepened the warmth of the moment. You pulled back slightly, your breath still warm against his skin, and your voice, now playful but with a hint of insistent desire, echoed in his ear. “Well,” you whispered, your tone both light and daring, “if you’re going to ignore me, I think you owe me another one.”

𖤓 A shocked laugh escaped Glorfindel’s lips at the audacity of your challenge, and his heart soared at the sight of that teasing, daring smile on your lips. He could feel the pulse of joy and excitement rising in him, and it was as though everything around him melted away. The weight of his earlier hesitation lifted entirely. Without a second thought, driven by the same surge of need and longing that had built up within him, Glorfindel reached for you again. He pulled you closer, his hands gentle but firm, and before you could even fully process what was happening, his lips were on yours once more. This time, there was no hesitation. No uncertainty. The kiss was different—deeper, more assured. The urgency of the moment surged between you both, an undeniable force that drowned out everything else. His hands, having found their way to your waist, pulled you in closer, your bodies pressing together in the soft warmth of the firelight, the world outside forgotten. There was nothing but the heat of your kiss, the taste of your lips, and the flood of emotion that overwhelmed him with each passing second.

𖤓 The kiss deepened with an intensity that took Glorfindel’s breath away, as though he was finally giving himself permission to be completely present, to stop fighting the pull he’d felt for so long. He could feel the pulse of your heartbeat against his chest, your breath mingling with his in a rhythm that was both familiar and new, as if every part of him had been waiting for this, for you. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, felt like a revelation. There was an urgency now, a quiet sense of need, and yet it was tender—each moment wrapped in a softness that spoke volumes without words. Finally, when the kiss broke, both of you were left breathless, your lips still tingling from the contact, the air heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Glorfindel’s chest heaved as he looked at you, his eyes wide with wonder, his lips still curled into a grin, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just transpired. “I think I could get used to this,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, the wonder and joy clear in his words. His heart was racing, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the way his eyes never left yours, a soft certainty settling within him.

𖤓 You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears, and despite the fluttering in your chest, there was a sense of contentment that filled the space between you both. You could feel the rush of emotions, the connection that had grown between you, and it made your heart race, too. You met his gaze, your voice quiet but filled with the same spark of warmth that he had shown you. “I think I could, too,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, the words both a promise and a recognition of everything that had just shifted. And in that moment, as time seemed to slow, the world outside the two of you faded away. The firelight flickered softly, casting shadows along the stone walls, and the mistletoe above seemed to glow brighter as if marking the significance of what had just occurred. It was as though nothing else mattered—nothing except the undeniable connection between you, the spark that had ignited with that kiss, the tenderness that had blossomed in the quiet space between words. It felt like a beginning, like the start of something more, something lasting, something meant to be.

[azrielgreen]

Dear Az,

I wanted to take a moment to express my thoughts about Prism. First of all, thank you for continuing this incredible story. Your writing has always been captivating, and the world you’ve created means so much to so many of us.

That said, I hope you won’t mind me sharing some feelings as a reader who deeply loves Prism. I’ve noticed the pace of the story has recently sped up, and it feels like some of the plot’s richness is being lost in the process. Themes like Dissociative Identity Disorder/Age Regression, the rebuilding of the house, the wedding, Billy’s life in prison, and Steve’s past with Tommy—all of these are such intricate, layered elements. They deserve time to breathe and unfold, the way you and Brook masterfully handled the earlier parts of the story.

Another thing I’ve come to realize is how much the waiting between chapters contributed to Prism’s atmosphere. It allowed the tension to linger, making the story feel more intimate and immersive, which is so essential for a horror narrative. The suspense of waiting was part of the magic — it gave us time to sit with the fear and let it grow. Rushing the story risks losing that core essence.

Please don’t feel pressured to finish this story quickly. I know many readers, myself included, would wait as long as it takes to see the story develop at its own natural rhythm. I promise. I’m begging. The beauty of Prism lies in its depth and the careful build-up of tension, fear, and emotion. I know you’re capable of continuing that magic, and I truly believe in your vision.

Thank you for all the love and effort you’ve poured into this work. Your talent is undeniable, and I hope this note feels more like encouragement than criticism. I can’t wait to see what’s next for Prism.

Warmly,

One of Jack knives.

Hi, thank you for your insight and sharing thoughts. The last two chapters should really have been one massive chapter that I split for time reasons, hence the fast posting and i did intentionally write them to have this whirlwind "removed from reality" feeling where all else seems to fade. I would never ever rush Prism, and I'm writing as both Brooke and I intended, i.e., following the outline we devised together. It's also really hard to write this story without her for so many reasons, and though I'm doing everything i can, I know I should work harder to keep it at the level it was before. It's a huge adjustment for me, and believe it or not, I am trying my best, but i can always try harder and level up, so I'll work towards that during future chapters. I did really just want to do something nice by posting before the 24th and try to fully immerse myself in the story again. Writing it solo is really hard. I'll try harder going forward.

[grimmweepers]

i can’t believe this will just be me rambling about ONE song but the reason why i love classical sm is for the way it can literally tell you a narrative and evoke a whole spectrum of emotions with absolutely no words. like it is such a beautiful thing to convey stories purely told from the compositions and interplay of instruments.

i’m not a musical expert or a musician but when i can hear a story being told i get so caught up in it and i’m outing myself as a silly goose but it’s such a visceral experience for me (which is why i sometimes tear up when i’m listening to live performances sskjhahwkajwja). anyway the point of me saying all this is that there is a specific song i always associate with ryucifer because it kind of sets the tone for our dynamic and lore. scratches head i don’t have a lot of om mutuals or know who is willing to read something this long-winded about a single song from a specific genre but honestly that’s okay. if i didn’t get this piece of lore out of my system i would’ve imploded. so read only if you want to!

i’d like to think this song mirrors how lucifer and i interact with each other from the moment we meet to the day we accept our feelings for one another. he obviously isn’t my enemy but in the beginning, as i settle at the HoL, he’s clearly wary of me despite his brothers accepting me. lucifer remains polite and guarded, but he keeps his distance - almost like he’s waiting for me to prove myself. either as trustworthy or as trouble. and i think this dynamic is captured at the start of the song with its gentle and innocent melody.

i’ve decided to adopt this scene from early og game where he asks mc for a dance at diavolo’s castle and use it for ryucifer lore. i can’t actually remember how the canon scene went but basically for ryucifer, on the surface, the dance comes across like a formal gesture however as we move across the floor, the mood shifts entirely much like how the song does at 0:25-0:28 (it’s actually my fave part of the song). what starts off as light becomes much darker and that’s exactly how the scene unfolds. yeah so lucifer asks me to dance, and i assume it’s a gesture of good faith. then i realise it’s anything but. he actually uses the dance as a cover to deliver a threat: that he’s watching me and if i bring harm to his brothers, there’ll be consequences.

the tension peaks at the end of the dance when he squeezes my hand tight enough to make me wince and pull it away. he gives me a smile that doesn’t quite mask the threat in his eyes and walks away like nothing abnormal has transpired. i’m not afraid of him but i don’t know how to react, and i’m ultimately left feeling off balanced bc wtf. and ouch? it was unsettling (and i hate to say it) but strangely compelling.

as the song progresses, it becomes gentler, like how lucifer’s walls start to come down over time. they don’t disappear entirely because he’ll always be lucifer but they soften in ways that are almost imperceptible unless you’re paying close attention. the suspicion gives way to a grudging respect, then to affection that neither of us fully acknowledges at first. this slow unraveling of his defenses matches the song’s progression since the darker undertones fade and the melody grows warmer and more open

and pardon me if i’m using the wrong term but the crescendo around 2:20 is like a culmination of everything. as if this part of the song reflects the moment we finally accept what’s between us. it’s lush and expansive. it’s not rushed or sudden, like our love. and by that point we’ve stopped fighting against whatever is pulling us together and have decided to let it flow naturally. our relationship still feels like a literal and figurative dance (and since we both love classical, it always will) but it no longer feels like a battle or an act of wariness. instead it’s fluid and full of trust. we are moving in sync and learning to rely on each other <3

so yeah, the title of the song fits the story it’s trying to tell because if i imagined this whole scenario then the composer is definitely doing something right!!!!! thanks for reading my essay? analysis? word vomit??? whatever this is lmfaooooo thank you for making it this far :o)

[mendeshoney]

hiiii i just want to say thank you for giving us all these stories, like it really makes my day seeing it on my feed. can you please write something about barzy being the readers boyfriend but also bsf so he gets all the tea every time lol

"You are never going to believe what I just found out."

The door closes and locks behind you at the same time that Mat's head whips around, his wireless headset falling from the force of the turn, and his character dies on the screen.

Faintly, you can hear the protests of his teammates through his headphones, and Mat's immediately scrambling, pulling the headset on and rushing out a quick goodbye. He turns off the game and tosses his headset onto the couch beside him, his whole body turning toward you.

"At 'The Debrief?'" Mat asks. If he were a dog, you would swear his ears would be perked all the way up and his tail would be wagging.

You nod, an excited smile on your face as you head to the fridge and grab the already open bottle of champagne, and when Mat sees it, he flies over the back of the couch and scrambles to grab the glasses from the cabinet.

"No fucking way," he says as he moves, just as excited, placing the glasses down on the kitchen counter in front of you.

"Do you want to guess who it involves? Or should I just tell you?" You ask, pouring the champagne in the glass first, and Mat tops it off with the orange juice he grabbed from the fridge.

"Just tell me," Mat insists. "I've been waiting for this since you left."

This had become a tradition between the two of you over the last six months.

Every two weeks, on a Sunday, you and your best friends gather at a bistro or café and catch up on everything going on in the others lives. You'd been friends with them since you were kids, lasting throughout high school and college combined, and now that you're all adults with your own lives, it's the main way to ensure you keep in touch.

Mat had gone to one of them when you first started dating. You forgot that you'd made plans with him on the same Sunday as what you and your friends liked to call "The Debrief," and your friends had been so excited to meet him that they encouraged you to bring him along.

Needless to say, Mat had never had so much fun being involved in gossip in his life.

"You hear things being on the team," he had told you after you'd left that day. "But none of them are that exciting. It's like watching a reality show unfold in real life."

Since then, he'd begged to go with you each time, but you always had to let him down to remind him that "The Debrief" is a closed event, and that he can't always tag along just because. But he'd been so sad about being told he couldn't be involved, you came up with this compromise.

After every day you went to "The Debrief," you'd come home to him and start what he dubbed as "The Mimosa Memo," where you'd summarize what you learned that morning and Mat could still feel like he was involved.

You take a swig of the mimosa, then lean your elbows on the counter and blurt out "Drea's older sister is pregnant."

Mat's mouth drops open, genuine disbelief on his face. "No! Alyssa? Is the dad the married fin tech dude?"

"Yep," you confirm, and Mat groans out loud.

"She's keeping the baby?!" He exclaims, and when you nod, he takes a swig of his own mimosa, shaking his head. "Andrea needs to talk some sense into her."

"Oh, she tried," you admit, recounting your friend's frustrated face. "I don't think I've ever seen Drea so mad before. Lyss even told Drea she was convinced that this would mean he would leave his wife for good."

Mat scoffs. "Yeah, alright."

"That's not even the best part," you insist after taking another sip.

You laugh as Mat's eyeballs bug out again, and he makes a 'hurry up' gesture with his hands. "Spit it out, I'm dying over here!"

"Fin tech bro?" You begin dramatically, feeling excitement when the anticipation is all over Mat's face. "His wife just found out she's pregnant too."

The gasp that leaves Mat's mouth is both vindicating and hilarious, and you can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Does Alyssa know?"

You shake your head. "We just found out at brunch. We Instagram stalked him, found his wife's account, and she posted a picture celebrating the end of her first trimester literally two days after Lyss found out she was pregnant."

Mat shakes his head, completely flabbergasted. He takes another large swig of his mimosa, and sighs, like he's exhausted by the drama that isn't even his. "What did Lyss say when Drea told her?"

You shrug, and Mat stares at you. "Drea said she was going to tell her when she got home."

"Are you kidding me?!" He pouts. "You're telling me I have to wait another two weeks to find out?"

You smirk, hiding behind the rim of your glass. "Guess so."

His nostrils flare, and his shoulders sag. "If Drea texts you before then you have to tell me about it."

You raise a brow at him. Usually he's eager, but not this eager. "Why?"

A slight flush creeps up his cheeks. "No reason."

"Mathew." You deadpan. "What did you do?"

He stares at his glass like it's the most interesting thing the entire world. "I.....may or may not have told a few people a couple of things I learned from 'The Debrief' and 'The Mimosa Memo' and they may or may not also want updates."

You stare at him blankly. "So you told Tito, Tyson, and Ethan."

"And Lianna," he clarifies. "But that's it."

A groan leaves your lips, and you tip back the rest of your mimosa. "See, this is why you're not allowed at 'The Debrief,' you've got loose lips."

"You're the one telling me stuff!"

"I'm allowed to! The rules extend to significant others, but not beyond that!"

Mat frowns. "So if I can't tell the guys about Drea's sister?"

You roll your eyes, pouring more champagne and head straight to your bathroom to run a bubble bath, ignoring Mat's cries of protests as you retreat.

[beauiestars]

OBI-WAN KENOBI - Scars of Age

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader {PART THREE}

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Childhood best friends to lovers, SLOW BURN, pining, plenty of inaccuracies with timeline and facts, graphic-ish violence, a sprinkle of death and injury, [LIST TBC].

Beau's Note: I have the first 14 chapters of this story pre-written so prepare for some cheeky updates. Sorry for any feelings hurt in this part!

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. But with the forces of the universe tearing them apart, can two childhood best friends rediscover their connection and find solace in each other once more?

"Master Qui-Gon, we still haven't heard from Y/n, and I fear they're running out of time," Obi-Wan said nervously. The crew onboard watched the enemy ship warily, tension hanging in the air. The cockpit felt heavy with apprehension, everyone aware that you and a few others were somewhere on that ship.

The task required utmost stealth, and although it was discussed beforehand that maybe you weren't the best fit for such a delicate mission, Master Yoda insisted that you would be put to the test. His decision was final, and there was little room for debate. "Is anyone surprised?" Another padawan, clearly disgruntled that they hadn't been selected, huffed, crossing their arms tightly across their chest. The bitterness in their eyes was unmistakable.

If Obi-Wan wasn't so wracked with nerves, he would've fought the implication that you had somehow gone and botched the task. However, the mere thought of it twisted his gut, and the anxiety gnawing at him only made it worse. He clenched his fists, trying to push the worries away.

Qui-Gon, sensing the tension, took the opportunity to speak up, his calm voice cutting through the uncertainty. "Come now, let's not assume something has gone wrong just because—" He paused, his gaze steady as it swept over the others, who were all anxiously waiting for news. "—because things are taking longer than expected. Patience is key."

Master Qui-Gon was cut off sharply by the deafening roar of an explosion ripping through the surrounding area. The shockwave rattled the ship's frame, and the backend of the enemy vessel erupted into flames, sending debris scattering through the air. The shrill blare of onboard sirens echoed in the distance, an ominous warning of chaos unfolding.

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat as he watched in silent horror, his heart sinking. Qui-Gon stood frozen for a moment before running his hands down his face with an audible groan of frustration. The reality of the situation was suddenly all too clear—something had gone horribly wrong. "We need to move," Qui-Gon muttered, his voice tense, masking the frustration that simmered beneath the surface.

Rapidly, the reserve masters and padawans rushed to aid the situation, but Obi-Wan and his master remained on the ship. The tension in the air was palpable, a thick silence that seemed to stretch on forever, before Master Qui-Gon finally broke it with a quiet, knowing voice. "I assume you know exactly what I am thinking, don't you, Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't want to admit it, but the entire Jedi Order, including himself, knew of your reputation. The reputation you had earned through your rash decisions and impulsive actions was undeniable. It wasn't just that you were reckless—it was that your tendency to act without thinking had led to countless close calls, most of which could have been avoided.

The unspoken consensus was clear: your disregard for strategy and caution had set the stage for disaster. They didn't need any more information to know that this blunder, this catastrophe, had your name written all over it.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, pushing down the pang of guilt in his chest. There was a part of him that couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

"What's going to happen to her, Master?" The words escaped Obi-Wan before he could stop them, the weight of his concern pressing through his usual composure. His typically calm and collected demeanour faltered for just a moment. It wasn't just the mission; it was the worry for his best friend, someone he knew all too well, whose recklessness had led them to this dangerous precipice.

Master Qui-Gon sighed, a rare moment of weariness flickering across his features. The reality of the situation seemed to settle in the deep lines of his face, but the softening of his expression that followed eased some of the anxiety that had been tightening around Obi-Wan's chest. "I'm not certain," Qui-Gon said, his voice steady but carrying an undeniable hint of regret. "But I believe she deserves to be forgiven. However," he added, his tone turning more contemplative, "I cannot guarantee that others will share this opinion, my padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded, though the motion was slow, as if his mind was still struggling to keep up. His gaze drifted back toward the flaming wreckage of the ship, the inferno casting a sickly glow against the darkening sky. The crackling flames sounded distant, but the sight of smoke swirling into the night air deepened his unease. His heart tightened as he thought of you. He had no doubt Qui-Gon was right, but it was hard to silence the doubts that rattled him.

Several tense minutes passed in heavy silence before all of the Jedi Masters and their padawans returned to the ship. Between them, they held two unconscious forms—one of them unmistakably yours—and Obi-Wan's heart sank into his stomach, a cold knot forming in his chest. His feet moved before his mind could fully catch up, and he rushed toward them, but the sight of you being hurried deeper into the ship for medical attention stopped him in his tracks.

As they passed, he caught a fleeting glimpse of your face, pale and still, almost unrecognisable in the dim light. You looked lifeless, your features drawn in a way that chilled him to the core. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch as he stood frozen, watching the medics work around you. His stomach churned, his thoughts racing, but he couldn't make himself move.

You were gone in an instant, disappearing behind the double doors, and all Obi-Wan could do was stand there. The sound of the doors closing echoed through the ship, each step taken further from him amplifying the dread that overwhelmed him. His body felt heavy. He had never felt so utterly powerless.

He hated every second of it. The minutes dragged into hours, each one more agonising than the last as you remained behind those doors, and there was nothing Obi-Wan could do. The helplessness taunted him, a constant, insidious presence in his chest. He refused to speak to anyone, unable to muster the words, the fear in his chest too consuming to share. Eventually, his silence became suffocating, and the others stopped trying to reach him.

He paced back and forth in the small, dimly lit room, the movement a desperate attempt to burn off some anxiety. His mind kept drifting to you—the sight of your unconscious form, pale and lifeless, kept replaying over and over like an endless loop. The look of horror on his face never left, his features frozen in a state of disbelief and fear, his eyes haunted by the image of what might be happening behind those closed doors.

No one had ever seen him like this—not even Qui-Gon, his steady mentor, who had always been his anchor. Obi-Wan's usually calm, composed countenance was shattered, replaced by an intensity that bordered on frantic. His hands trembled slightly, his jaw clenched so tight that it ached. He was lost in his thoughts, caught in a storm of self-doubt, wondering if he could have done more, if there had been something—anything—he could have done to prevent this. The bitter sting of guilt mixed with the sharp edge of fear, and for the first time, Obi-Wan felt like a failure.

He overheard the hushed conversations of those who had been on the ship with you, their voices low but filled with frustration and disappointment. They spoke in tones that were meant to be private, but the words still cut through the air. Apparently, you had immediately disobeyed direct orders, slipping away from your team without so much as a word, vanishing into the back of the ship. When you finally returned, it was in the aftermath of an explosion, one that had left the control room in ruins. It was clear from the way they spoke that your impulsive actions had not only jeopardised the mission but had also made the situation far worse.

The murmurs of "irresponsible," "reckless," and "unfit" were tossed around like blaster fire. It wasn't hard to piece together what they were implying, even if they didn't say it outright: they all knew who was to blame.

Obi-Wan stood just out of earshot, tension mounting in his chest as the words sank in. Every one of them felt like a weight pressing down on him. They were right—this was your fault. But the worst part was the sinking feeling in his gut, because despite what had happened, despite your recklessness, he still felt that instinctive need to protect you.

Obi-Wan paled at the thought of the repercussions this would have for you. The others on the ship were quick to label you as a reckless wildcard, unfit for responsibility, but Obi-Wan knew better. He knew your heart, your intentions, and the burden you carried. Still, the weight of their judgment hung heavy in the air. He was determined to hear your side of the story, to make sure you weren't judged unfairly—but he had no idea how long it would take before that moment came.

***

It wasn't until you arrived on Coruscant and were brought into the Jedi Temple that Obi-Wan was able to see you. He had feared the worst, but as he stepped into the sterile, quiet med bay, he saw that you were still unconscious, yet much improved. The sight of your seemingly lifeless body, burned and broken, flashed in his mind once more, and he shivered involuntarily. The overwhelming regret of not being able to protect you when it mattered most was haunting him.

He made a silent vow to never let this happen again, no matter the cost.

Your body was swathed in bandages, and the medics had told him you had been on fire. The thought made his stomach churn—if you hadn't regained consciousness when you did, the flames would have consumed you entirely. He couldn't stop himself from watching you, every movement you made, every slight rise and fall of your chest, every twitch in your hands—hands that never seemed to be still, even when you were on the brink of death.

The medics had carefully removed the soot and ash from your face, revealing the pale, almost childlike skin beneath. You looked impossibly young lying there, fragile in a way Obi-Wan hadn't fully understood until now. For a brief, painful moment, he was struck by how little you had changed since you were children—he was sixteen and you were seventeen, both of you were only just beginning to come into your own. But you had changed. And though you were still just a teenager, your reckless actions had earned you a jury, one that would judge you harshly for your decisions.

Obi-Wan knew it wasn't fair—he knew the weight of the Council's expectations, the impossible standards placed upon every Jedi—but still, the bitterness simmered beneath the surface. He swallowed it down, because his loyalty to the Jedi Order was absolute, and if that meant accepting the judgments of those in charge, so be it.

Another hour passed as Obi-Wan waited by your bedside. He had a lot of time to think—too much, he decided upon reflection—and decided to take matters into his own hands. He gently stroked the top of your head. Despite the near-death experience and intense medical attention, your hair was soft to the touch.

He slipped quietly out of the room, his mind still heavy with thoughts of you. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallways. He sought out Master Yoda, determined to voice the concerns that had been eating away at him for hours.

It wasn't long before he found Yoda, seated with the other Jedi Masters. As Obi-Wan entered, the conversations abruptly ceased, and all eyes turned toward him. Their gaze was laden with unspoken judgment and curiosity, and Obi-Wan knew instantly that you were the subject of their discussion. The air itself was charged with expectation.

"Troubling you, what is, young Kenobi?" Master Yoda's voice cut through the silence, gentle but probing. Obi-Wan was well aware that Yoda knew exactly what was on his mind; the wise Master always did, often before anyone had even spoken. But Obi-Wan, for once, wasn't an open book. He had fought with himself for so long, struggling with what to say, but now the words were spilling out before he could stop them.

"She should not be allowed to go on these missions, Master," Obi-Wan began, his voice laced with a deep frustration that had been building ever since the explosion. "She's too reckless, and she's going to get herself, or someone else, killed. I know her better than anyone, and the truth is, she's already halfway there."

The room seemed to sag under the severity of his words. A few of the Masters exchanged looks—some of confusion, others of surprise. It wasn't every day that a Jedi openly criticised a fellow padawan like this, especially one as skilled and experienced as you. But Obi-Wan's mind was made up. He had seen the pattern, felt the dangerous pull of your impulsive actions, and the growing risk to both yourself and those around you.

Master Yoda remained silent for a long moment, his old eyes narrowing slightly as he absorbed Obi-Wan's words. He folded his hands in his lap, leaning back slightly, his expression unreadable. Master Qui-Gon, seated nearby, took a deep breath. It was a long exhale, but Obi-Wan couldn't quite decipher its meaning—whether it was one of understanding, disappointment, or something else entirely. It didn't matter, though. The only thing that mattered now was what Yoda would say.

"If certain, you are, take this into consideration, I will," Yoda finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. The gravity of his words seemed to settle in Obi-Wan's chest. It was as though Yoda had given him something to hold on to, even if only for a moment.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan said, his voice a touch hoarse as he bowed his head in respect. He could feel the worry in his body slowly begin to unravel, but there was still that nagging feeling, deep within him, that he had just taken a step that could not be undone. He had spoken against you, voiced his doubts about your future as a Jedi, and for the first time, he wondered if he had betrayed you in some way.

As he turned to leave, Obi-Wan cast one last glance at the Masters gathered around the table, their expressions unreadable. He hoped—no, prayed—that you wouldn't see it as a betrayal. After all, he had your best interests in mind. His loyalty to you had always been unwavering, and it would always be. But some things had to be said, and some paths had to be followed, no matter how difficult.

Obi-Wan left the room quietly, his mind still swirling with doubt and regret, but there was something in his chest—somewhere beneath the turmoil—that felt a little clearer. Maybe, just maybe, he was doing the right thing for you, even if you couldn't see it now.

***

Your eyes fluttered open, and the harsh fluorescent lights above pierced your senses. Squinting, you blinked several times until the bright surroundings came into focus. With a groan, you pushed yourself upright, rubbing at your eyes. The sharp, sterile scent of the medical bay filled your nostrils. You scanned the room, disoriented, the chaos and flames of your last memory feeling distant, like an echo in your mind. No fire. No alarms. Just the soft, rhythmic beeping of machines. Then, you saw him—Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He was slumped in a chair beside your bed, exhaustion etched deep into his face. You hadn't noticed the weight on your leg until you saw his head resting there, his breathing slow and steady, unaware you had stirred.

For a moment, you simply watched him, unwilling to disturb his rest. His posture was stiff, his robes dishevelled—evidence of hours spent at your side. A flicker of warmth lit in your chest, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion.

Then a fit of coughing erupted from your throat, dry and rattling, breaking the quiet. It startled both you and Obi-Wan, who bolted upright, wide-eyed and frantic. His bloodshot gaze darted around until it landed on you. The wave of relief that washed over his features was unmistakable.

"Hey, you," you rasped with a weak, hoarse laugh, though the words scraped your throat painfully. Obi-Wan surged forward, wrapping his arms around you in an instant, as if he feared you might disappear again. Only when your face was buried in his chest did you truly realise the toll your near-death experience had taken on him. The steady tremor in his body, the way he held you so tightly—it was all too much.

"I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan," you choked out, your arms weakly circling his back in return, but guilt churned in your stomach. His shaking body felt unnatural, the once-steady Jedi now trembling with raw emotion.

"No, I am sorry," Obi-Wan's voice cracked, and it nearly broke you to hear him like this. "I should have been there. I could've stopped it." You winced at his words, your heart twisting painfully. Obi-Wan, the steadfast and composed Jedi, now sounded fragile and consumed by self-blame. It felt like watching a mountain crumble.

"Don't think about the 'what-ifs,' Obi-Wan," you gently scolded him, pulling him closer if it were even possible, hoping the warmth of your embrace would steady him. "I'm okay now." His body tensed in your arms, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. The air between you felt charged with unspoken emotion—his guilt, your own—and the weight of it pressed down like a storm cloud.

His voice quivered when he spoke again. "You nearly died," he whispered, his body trembling. Hearing Obi-Wan so broken, so fragile, you felt a sharp pang of emotion swell in your chest. Tears pricked your eyes as you clung to him tighter, desperate to ease his pain.

"I know. I know," you murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back as if to somehow comfort him, to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. "But I didn't. And this was a risk we both knew we were taking when we chose this path, Obi."

You felt him go rigid in your arms. The realisation of how hard this mission, this life, was on both of you seemed to hang in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

"You're right," Obi-Wan said softly, but distant, like a wall had gone up between you. You wanted to reach for him, to pull him back into the warmth of your arms, but before you could, he wiped his eyes and stood. "You need rest," Obi-Wan said, his voice quieter as he reached the exit, a finality to it that left you feeling hollow.

"Wait, Obi," you called out, but it was too late. The door clicked shut behind him, and you were left in a silence that felt unbearably heavy. His demeanour had shifted so abruptly, and the sudden change left you feeling empty.

Curling onto your side, you pulled the thin blanket tightly around yourself. The warmth it offered was meagre, doing little to ward off the cold ache settling in your chest. Tears blurred your vision as you tried to steady your breathing, but the weight of everything—his pain, your guilt, the loss of connection—pressed down until it felt unbearable.

Your eyes fluttered shut and as exhaustion overtook you, dragging you back into a fitful sleep, the silence of the medical bay became all-encompassing. In the dark stillness of your dreams, everything faded—Obi-Wan's absence, your remorse, the echoes of fire—until all that remained was the heavy, quiet void.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

TAGS:

[oldiesstationlover11607]

every bone in my body needs a part 2 of “for you”

maybe when the reader lands and they are going to meet up with tyler they both lock eyes and the reader drops her luggage and runs and jumps into tyler’s arms and they are both crying and stuff. and josh is standing there awkwardly. then they go back to tyler’s and they get to know josh and maybe start on working on what they want to do for tour???

it’s taken me awhile to request this because i forgot about tumblr for a hot minute 😅

but no rush please take your time and i can’t wait!!!

For You Part 2- Tyler Joseph x Reader

PART 1

Warnings: none hehe

Word count: 1714

A/N: Honestly the For You story is literally my favourite out of all the ones I've done 😭 so glad I got the opportunity to write a part 2 😘

Summer 2012

My plane touched down with a gentle jolt, the kind that always brought me back to reality as the adrenaline of going fast down the runway hit me. My stomach flipped as I leaned to peer out the window, the familiar sight of Columbus’ skyline coming into view. I hadn’t been home in years. And I hadn’t seen him in even longer. Tyler.

The idea of seeing him again had been exhilarating on the plane, but now, I felt sick to my stomach. Would he even recognize me after all this time? What if we didn’t click the way we used to? My hands fumbled with the strap of my carry-on bag as I tried to steady myself.

“Calm down,” I told myself, exhaling slowly. “It’s just Tyler.”

But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just Tyler. It was the boy who had held me on summer nights, whose laugh could light up the darkest of days, and whose voice—deeper now, richer—still managed to make my heart race through a phone speaker.

Gripping my bag, I made my way through the terminal, scanning the crowd for him. And then, I saw him.

Tyler stood by the baggage claim, wearing a black hoodie and baseball cap. His arms were crossed, but when his eyes locked on mine, his whole posture changed. His face broke into a grin—no, the grin, the one that made me feel like nothing bad could ever happen in the world.

I froze for a moment, taking him in. He looked older, sure, but it was still Tyler. His presence was magnetic and clearly not just for me because people were quickly starting to walk up and talk to him. A rush of emotions hit me all at once: nostalgia, excitement, and nerves. I stood there watching him as he took a few pictures with some girls before quickly waving goodbye. 

Once I was sure we’d have our time, I ran toward him, the sound of my footsteps drowned out by the pounding of my heart. Tyler was already moving too, his long strides eating up the distance between us. When we met, his arms wrapped around me with a force that knocked the air out of my lungs.

“Tyler!” I gasped, clutching him like I never wanted to let go.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, holding me tighter. I felt his shoulders tremble, and that was all it took for my own tears to start falling.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I missed you more,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

We stood there for what felt like forever, the rest of the airport fading into the background. Eventually, I pulled back, just enough to look at him. His face was damp with tears, but he was smiling, and God, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“You’re here,” he said, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“I’m here,” I replied, laughing softly as I wiped my face.

That’s when I noticed him.

A guy stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He had frizzy hair and a kind, open face, but his expression was somewhere between amused and uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure if he should be watching this moment unfold.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said, pulling away from Tyler but still keeping one hand locked in his. “You must be Josh.”

The guy smiled, a little awkward but genuine. “Yep, that’s me. And you’re Y/N, right? Tyler’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” I teased, my cheeks warming.

Josh chuckled. “Mostly.”

“Josh,” Tyler warned, shooting him a glare.

“What? I was just saying–” Josh held up his hands in mock surrender, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

The ride back to Tyler’s house was a mix of nostalgia and laughter. Tyler drove, his hand occasionally tapping the steering wheel in time with the music playing softly in the background. Josh sat in the passenger seat, chiming in every so often with a story about the band or a sarcastic remark that had me giggling. It felt good. Natural.

“So, how long have you two been working together?” I asked, leaning forward from the back seat.

“About three years,” Josh said. “Met through a mutual friend, started jamming together, and somehow ended up here.”

“Somehow,” Tyler echoed with a grin.

“And you’re the drummer, right?” I asked.

Josh nodded. “Yep. And the voice of reason most of the time.”

“That’s debatable,” Tyler quipped, earning a laugh from both of us.

When we pulled up to Tyler’s house, my heart skipped a beat. It was modest but charming, with a front porch that looked like it belonged in a movie. As I stepped inside, the familiarity of Tyler’s world washed over me—the warmth, the chaos, the creativity.

“Okay,” Tyler said, clapping his hands together. “Welcome to HQ.”

“HQ?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what he calls it,” Josh said, rolling his eyes. “I just call it his house.”

“Whatever,” Tyler said, brushing him off. “Come on, I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

He led me to the living room, where a whiteboard leaned against the wall, covered in scribbles of song titles, setlist ideas, and doodles. There was also a laptop, some recording equipment, and an acoustic guitar propped against the couch.

“This is where we’re planning for tour,” Tyler explained, his eyes lighting up.

Josh plopped onto the couch and grabbed a bag of chips from the coffee table. “He’s been obsessing over it for weeks.”

“Because it has to be perfect,” Tyler shot back, then turned to me. “And that’s where you come in. Normally Mark would be helping us but because it’s a bigger production we need a bit more help.”

I looked at him, then at the whiteboard. “You want me to help bring it all to life?”

“Exactly.”

“Where’s Mark?” I asked, looking around the room. 

“He’s in Cincinnati working a festival but he’ll be back on Monday. He lives here with us,” Tyler smiled. 

For the next few hours, we brainstormed ideas, throwing out concepts for visuals, transitions, and how to make the performances feel like a full experience. Josh offered input every now and then, but it was clear that Tyler and I were in our element.

At one point, Tyler leaned back and looked at me with a soft smile. “I forgot how good we are together.”

I smiled back. “Me too.”

Later that night, after Josh had gone to bed and the house was quiet, Tyler and I sat on the porch, a couple of sodas between us. The air was cool, and the stars above seemed brighter than I remembered.

“Thanks for coming back,” Tyler said, his voice low.

“Of course,” I replied, turning to look at him. 

He smiled, but there was something else in his expression—something deeper. “I’ve thought about you a lot, Y/N. More than I should, probably.”

My breath caught, but I managed to keep my voice steady. “I’ve thought about you too.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” I replied, and for the first time in years, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. His confession felt heavy but warm, like wrapping yourself in a favorite old blanket. The stars above seemed brighter, almost as if they were cheering for us.

I turned to him, his features soft in the dim light spilling from the porch. His eyes searched mine, hesitant but hopeful, like he wasn’t sure if he should take the leap.

“Tyler…” I whispered, my voice trailing off.

His hand shifted closer to mine on the porch step, brushing against it lightly before his fingers intertwined with mine. The familiar touch sent a wave of warmth coursing through me. For all the years and distance between us, this felt as natural as breathing.

“Say it,” he urged softly, his voice cracking just a little.

I smiled, my heart thundering in my chest. “I don’t know how to say it.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’ve never been at a loss for words before.”

“Guess you have that effect on me,” I replied, my voice light but my gaze steady on his.

His smile faded just slightly, replaced by a tenderness that made me forget everything else. Slowly, carefully, Tyler leaned in. I could feel the heat of his breath, see the way his lashes brushed against his cheek as his eyes fluttered shut.

And then, his lips met mine.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But as I leaned into him, pressing closer, the kiss deepened. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was an apology for the years apart, a promise for whatever came next, and everything in between.

His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing gently against my skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail. My own hands moved instinctively, one resting against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless. Tyler rested his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed, a small, almost disbelieving smile playing on his lips.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured, his voice husky.

I laughed softly, my hands still resting against him. “You always were a smooth talker.”

He opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto mine. “No, I mean it. I’ve waited for this, for you. And now that you’re here, I’m not letting you go again.”

I didn’t have the words to respond, so instead, I pulled him into another kiss, this one filled with all the things I couldn’t say.

In that moment, under the stars and surrounded by the quiet hum of the Ohio night, it didn’t matter what the future held. All that mattered was him, us, this.

We had found our way back to each other, and for the first time in years, everything felt right.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[iamvegorott]

Coffee and Sass

🎃anon’s comment of Mad snapping at someone being rude to Anti spurred on an idea XD ----------

Coffee and Sass

Mad and Anti were finishing up their trip to the mall. Anti got himself some new gauges while Mad got some guitar strings for Mare and a new book for himself. It was just a quick outing to kill some time while they waited for the others to finish up a meeting neither wanted to attend. They planned on going back to Mad’s place after getting themselves a coffee. Their boyfriends weren’t there so they could help themselves to some extra caffeine and sugar. 

“Want your usual?” Anti asked as they walked into the little coffee shop.

“Yes, please.” Mad smiled as he took Anti’s shopping bag and they split off without another word. Anti went to order and Mad went to claim a table, going with their silent system that worked out perfectly every time.

Almost every time. 

“What the hell?” A harsh voice pulled Mad away from his reading and he looked up to see Anti hissing at a man at the end of the counter, he had one drink in his hand, meaning the other was still getting made. “The fuck is wrong with you?” 

“What is wrong with you?” Mad said before Anti could reply. He stood up and walked over to the two.

“I’m not the one hissing like a cat.” The man scoffed.

“You were trying to take my drink.” Anti’s nose scrunched with his snarl. 

“You look like someone who needs an energy boost.” The man’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“And you look like someone whose only accomplishment was their conception and even then everyone is disappointed with the outcome.” Mad put himself between the man and Anti, feeling a rush of pride at the loud laugh Anti let out. 

“You little-” The man didn’t even get to finish his insult nor his step, eyes widening at the blade pointing at his face. 

“You little what?” Mad echoed with a grin, his mallet in hand. He had a new wave of pride for how smoothly he got his go-to weapon out and the speed and ease of it unfolding and getting in the right place to add to his threat. 

“I have a-” The barista paused, holding the chocolatey coffee drink and nearly dropping it with their jaw. 

“That’s ours.” Anti had a polite smile as he took the drink. “You guys have a great day. You can choke on a rock.” He added the last part to the man and, uncaring of the consequences, glitched himself and Mad away, their shopping bags disappearing as well. “That was so cool!” Anti was back to his loud laughing. “I’m so proud of you!” 

“That’s not a good thing,” Mare said with a sigh from the couch. 

“It is so a good thing.” Phantom chuckled, sitting on the couch with Mare. Jackie was in the room as well, sitting on the ground and between Phantom’s legs, leaning his head back as his hair was played with. 

“Do I need to have someone collect a body?” Dark asked with a sigh as he entered the room, sitting himself on one of the plush chairs. 

“The guy might need a new pair of pants.” Anti giggled, handing Mad the chocolate coffee, and then plopped himself onto Dark’s lap. 

“The guy?” Mare asked, moving himself a little to make space for Mad to sit on the couch with them. 

“Some shithead was giving me hell at the coffee shop and Mad stepped in like a badass,” Anti started the tale. 

“It wasn’t that badass,” Mad muttered with a light flush to his cheeks. 

“You insulted his birth and then pulled out your mallet, it was beyond badass!” Anti spoke with his hands, Dark having to wrap an arm around him to prevent him from falling off and he took the coffee as well since he didn’t feel like wearing it. 

“He was being rude to you,” Mad stated around the straw in his mouth, already drinking his coffee as Anti told the story. 

“I can’t believe we missed the show.” Jackie chuckled.

“You say that like you wouldn’t carry Mad away the moment there was a hint of trouble.” Phantom teased. 

“I can’t control my heroism.” Jackie clicked his tongue. 

“I would have enjoyed the show.” Mare hummed with a grin, playing with Mad’s hair as he imagined the scene Anti had described. “You’re always so cute when you’re serious.” 

“Well-I-I’m-uh-I’m not-” Mad sputtered as the flush on his face deepened into a heavy blush.  

“Could you not?” Phantom made a face of disgust. 

“You’ve been playing with Jackie’s hair this whole time.” Mare protested.

“This is cute and innocent, you’re eye-fucking Mad in front of me.” Phantom shot back.

“I am not eye-fucking him.” Mare said. Mad started slowly sinking into the couch as the brothers argued above him. 

“If I looked at Jackie the way you were, you’d be yelling at me.” 

“You don’t look, you just start making out with him.”

“I do not-”

“Yes you do-”

“Do not!”

“You-” Mare stopped when a loud, sucking sound filled the air. Anti was laughing once more while Dark sighed. Mad was practically lying flat on the couch, his coffee drink already finished. “That was an extra large.” 

“It was good.” Mad popped the lid of the drink off and licked off the remaining whipped cream from it. 

“If he wasn’t eye-fucking him before, he definitely is now,” Anti said with a wink. 

“Why would he-” Mad’s question was cut off by Mare suddenly pulling him into a kiss and in the next blink they were gone. 

“And he says I’m the problem.” Phantom huffed. 

“Does that mean you don’t want to make out?” Jackie asked with a tilt of his head. 

“Oh, I always want to~” Phantom giggled and, just like Mare and Mad, he and Jackie were gone in a blink. 

“I feel like we have to make out now, just to match energies.” Anti wiggled his eyebrows as he moved Dark’s arm so he could take a sip of his drink. 

“Do we now?” Dark chuckled, helping himself to some of the coffee. 

“At least a little.” Anti half-sang and Dark decided to ‘match energies’ and sent the two of them away, leaving the room empty aside from Mad’s dropped coffee cup.

----------

@bookwormscififan @rattyboyisemo

[ronqueesha]

I'm using the latest Rogue Trader patch to (hopefully) solidify some of Nasosi's canon decisions. Especially in the early game when she is at her most dogmatic, inflexible and fanatically loyal-to-the-emperor asshole self.

I love that so many quests have the companions show genuine dislike of the Lord Captain taking personal interest in setting foot in dangerous situations or settling issues among the lower class. But at this point in the story, Nasosi is still more of a Commissar than a Rogue Trader. And taking personal interest in the problems of the "rabble" was precisely what she did every single day. If only to hand out harsh discipline and get the soldiers in line before the next battle.

I'm actually wondering if I want to recruit Jae at all. Given her blatant heresy in trading xenos goods. On the other hand, it might be the first time Nasosi sees a bigger picture, and sets her old dogma aside in favor of greater prosperity for the realm.

Likewise, there's a part in act 2 when Idira succumbs to demonic voices. And before the story can even begin, Argenta raises her gun to shoot Idira. The dogmatic choice is to let Argenta take the shot, ending things immediately. But this removes a companion from your roster. It also happens after recruiting Yrliet (at least it does for me because I rush to get her), which is a huge turning point for Nasosi's growth as a person.

I know that there is no chance that Nasosi will ever recruit Marazhai. I'll have to wait to play another character to see his story unfold.

[bhikhta]

The Therapy in a Motorcycle Ride

There’s something grounding about the rumble of a motorcycle. The way the engine vibrates beneath you, the way the wind slices through your thoughts; it’s a tangible reminder that you’re alive, here, in this moment. And while the internet might romanticize riding as the ultimate therapy, a cure-all for every ailment of the soul, I don’t see it that way. It’s not therapy. It’s a balm, a temporary hush to the noise inside my head. Nothing more, nothing less.

The past week has been wonky, to say the least. The kind of days where time feels like it’s moving backward and forward simultaneously, but never quite forward enough. There was a night, not long ago, when I found myself on a dark highway, throttle open, the engine roaring against the quiet of the world around me. At 120 km/h, there wasn’t room for overthinking. My brain couldn’t wander; it had to stay in the moment, hyper-focused on the road, the wind, the sound. For those few minutes, everything else faded away. But I knew, even then, that this wasn’t the solution. It wasn’t the fix I needed, just a pause. Like alcohol, it dulls the edges for a while but doesn’t change the shape of the blade.

What motorcycling does for me isn’t about escapism, it’s about recalibration. It reminds me that there are tools to quiet the chaos, but those tools aren’t always the whole answer.

Lately, I’ve been rediscovering the tools I had forgotten, the ones I had set aside when life got messy. Photography, for one. I had almost forgotten how much I love walking outdoors, camera in hand, watching the world unfold through the lens. I’ve started taking these walks alone, no destination, no plan– just me, my camera, and the quiet rhythm of my own footsteps. There’s a peace in this solitude that I hadn’t expected to find. I’ve always enjoyed being alone, but now I’ve realized it’s not about isolation; it’s about contentment with my own company.

The distinction between being alone and feeling lonely was one I didn’t always understand. I used to think solitude meant loneliness, a gap waiting to be filled. Now I know it doesn’t. I’ve come to appreciate the difference, to recognize that being alone can be a choice, a gift. Still, I’ve learned that I like having a presence nearby, someone close enough to remind me I’m not floating untethered in the world. I don’t need engagement or conversation, just the comfort of knowing someone is there.

Cooking has also become a quiet ritual for me. It’s no longer about necessity or even performance; it’s about the simple act of creating. Chopping vegetables, stirring dal, layering flavors, it’s meditative, a way to steady myself. There’s no rush, no pressure, just the joy of making something, even if it’s just for me. It’s a small thing, but it feels like reclaiming a part of myself that I’d neglected.

Reading, too, has found its way back into my days. There’s something comforting about sinking into a book, letting someone else’s words pull you away from your own for a while. It feels like a quiet rebellion against the constant churn of screens and notifications.

These small acts– cooking, photography, reading, riding– are more than just hobbies. They’re lifelines, anchors in waters that can feel murky and uncertain. Together, they’ve kept me grounded, kept me sane, as I’ve ridden through moments where the ground beneath me felt shaky.

Recently, I’ve also been reconnecting with old friends from school. These are people who knew me before life got complicated, before I started losing parts of myself in the whirlwind of adulthood. Meeting them again feels like finding fragments of my past that I thought were lost for good. It’s been a reminder of who I was, a way to reweave threads that frayed along the way. We laugh about old jokes, share stories from a time when the world felt simpler, and in doing so, I feel a little lighter, a little more like myself.

There’s something grounding about reclaiming those connections. It’s not about nostalgia; it’s about regaining the sense of belonging that I didn’t realize I’d missed. It’s another step in rebuilding, in finding a steadier footing.

There’s been a lot of introspection in these months, a lot of confronting parts of myself I had long ignored. I’m trying to fix things– about myself, about the way I move through the world. And while it hasn’t been easy, I’ve made peace with some things. A breakup can cost you more than just a relationship; it can strip away the friendships and connections that once defined your life. But after a lot of time and reflection, I’ve come to terms with that loss. It doesn’t sting the way it used to.

I’m flawed, deeply so, but I’m also learning to embrace those flaws. To face them, to work on them, to keep growing. It’s messy and imperfect, but it’s mine. The motorcycles, the hobbies– they aren’t a cure, but they are a reminder. A reminder that even when everything else feels uncertain, there are things that can bring me back to myself.

So no, riding a motorcycle isn’t therapy, not in the way people claim. It doesn’t fix anything, but it does quiet the noise long enough for me to hear what I need to work on. It’s not about escaping my thoughts; it’s about finding the space to sort through them. And that’s enough.

In the end, I’m not looking for answers anymore. I’m just learning to be okay with the questions. To find beauty in the small things, one ride, one meal, one photograph, and one conversation at a time.

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[linuxgamenews]

Unveiling The End of The Sun Debut: A Time-Travelling Adventure

The End of The Sun release for the first-person, story-driven mystery adventure game is coming to Linux, Mac, and Windows PC. Thanks to the creative minds behind The End of the Sun Team. Due to make its way onto Steam and Humble Store. Mark your calendars, folks! On January 29, 2025, The End of The Sun release is finally happening. If you’re into story-driven adventures full of mythology and exploration, this one is ready to launch on Linux. Developed by a two-person indie team with a lot of heart, this game throws you into the role of Ashter, a time-travelling Slavic sorcerer on a mission. Due to piece together mysteries that stretch across different seasons and lifetimes. Yeah, it’s as good as it sounds.

Step into a World of Myth and Mystery

The End of The Sun isn’t just another exploration game release. It drops you straight into a village with some eerie vibes – burnt-out bonfires, strange symbols, and a heavy sense of the past lingering in the air. The world is inspired by real Slavic rituals, legends, and traditions, making it feel like you’re stepping into a living, breathing piece of folklore. You also have the power to manipulate time, letting you watch important events unfold from different angles. Think of it like rewinding your favorite show, but instead of Netflix, you’re messing with the fabric of reality.

Time Travel, But Make It Slavic

Time travel isn’t just a gimmick here – it’s a core part of the experience. You’ll jump between four distinct time periods, each tied to one of the seasons. One minute it’s spring and the village is alive with hope, and the next you’re trudging through winter, uncovering long-buried secrets. And these aren’t just snapshots in time. Years pass between each season, letting you see how the choices you make ripple through generations.

The End of The Sun - Official Release Date Trailer

What Makes The End of The Sun Release Stand Out?

Photorealistic Worldbuilding: The devs used photogrammetry to bring real-life Slavic villages and artefacts straight into the journey. The level of detail is wild. Entire buildings, tools, and even tiny bits of pottery were scanned to make everything feel authentic. It’s like playing through a museum exhibit, but far more fun.

Explore at Your Own Pace: No rush. The The End of The Sun story releases as you explore, letting you uncover hidden layers and piece things together in your own time. If you like wandering around and soaking in the atmosphere, this is for you.

Dynamic Environment: The weather, lighting, and even the time of day change in real time. One moment the sun’s shining, and the next you’re caught in a thunderstorm. It keeps you on your toes and adds a whole new level of immersion.

Slavic Folklore Comes Alive: From forgotten rituals to mythical creatures lurking in the woods, the game is full of little nods to ancient Slavic culture. It’s like a history lesson but far less boring.

Ready for the Adventure?

The End of The Sun release hits Linux, Mac, and Windows PC on January 29, 2025. Whether you grab this story-driven mystery on Steam or Humble Store, you’re in for an adventure. If you like rich storytelling, exploring unique worlds, or just want to dive into something fresh, this is your ticket. So, buckle up and get ready to step through the bonfire – who knows what you’ll find waiting on the other side?