#song of clarity/turmoil

[rapha-reads]

Things that make me laugh like a lunatic alone in my room at 3am: reading an article about "the nature of healing in My Neighbor Totoro" while listening to a 1-hour loop of the Song of Clarity/Song of Turmoil from The Untamed. I don't think I'm dong a lot of healing right now.

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter ten

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . not proofread sorry, i had to take a break from writing my dissartaion to write this and i cannot fathom looking at my laptop for any longer tonight. also this chapter is v v angst so prepare yourselves <3 )

Y/N stared at her buzzing phone, her heart pounding in her chest. Mason's name flashed on the screen, a stark reminder of the tangled web of emotions she found herself caught in. She knew he must have seen Max's unexpected PDA on the TV, and she could only imagine the turmoil it stirred within him.��

Part of her wanted to answer, to offer some kind of explanation or reassurance. But another part, the part that had brought her to Monaco in the first place, urged her to leave the call unanswered. She wasn't sure if talking to Mason would only complicate things further, or if it would bring some clarity to the chaos swirling in her mind. 

So, with a shaky hand, she silenced the ringing phone and tucked it back into her purse, her decision made but her uncertainty still lingering like a shadow in the back of her mind, but she tucked her worries away the best she could and went to watch Max’s press conference.  

After Max finished his press obligations, he diligently scanned the bustling area, his keen eyes searching for Y/N amidst the crowd. When he spotted her, patiently waiting for him, a genuine smile stretched across his face, illuminating his features with a warmth that mirrored the affection he held for her. 

Approaching her, he caught her eye, his gaze softening as he reached her side. "Hey," he greeted, his voice laced with genuine appreciation. "Thanks for being here." 

Y/N returned his smile, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You were fantastic out there," she complimented, her voice a blend of pride and affection. 

Max's smile widened at her words, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks," he replied sincerely, his appreciation evident in his tone. "It means a lot to have you waiting for me as I step out of the car" 

As the press area buzzed with activity around them, Max's expression shifted slightly, his demeanor taking on a more serious tone. "Listen," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of concern. "I have to stay late for a few meetings with the engineers. It might take a while." 

Y/N nodded understandingly, though a flicker of disappointment flashed across her features. "Okay," she acknowledged, her tone tinged with understanding. "I'll head back to your house then." 

Max's eyes softened at her response, his gratitude evident in his gaze. "Thanks," he murmured appreciatively. "I'll join you later." 

Just before he turned to leave, Max leaned in, his movements gentle yet deliberate, and planted a quick, casual kiss on her lips. The unexpected intimacy sent a shiver down her spine, leaving her momentarily stunned as she watched him walk away. 

As Max disappeared into the throng of people, Y/N stood rooted to the spot, her mind whirling with a myriad of emotions. The brief encounter left her feeling both exhilarated and bewildered, unsure of how to process the sudden surge of intimacy between them. It was so quick and casual, like it was something they had done a thousand times before. 

Feeling a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her, Y/N decided to divert her thoughts by immersing herself in a familiar task. With a determined stride, she made her way to the nearest supermarket along the route to Max's house. As she perused the aisles, memories of the cozy café in London where she and Max had shared hot chocolates flooded her mind. 

Gathering the ingredients for the comforting drink, Y/N found solace in the routine of selecting the perfect items. She carefully chose the finest cocoa powder, the creamiest milk, and a sprinkle of cinnamon for that extra touch of warmth. With her purchases secured, Y/N made her way to Max's house, the weight of the bag in her hand a reassuring anchor. She greeted Max's two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, with a fond smile before retreating to the kitchen to prepare the hot chocolates. The routine of the task brought her a sense of calm, the rhythmic motions soothing her frazzled nerves. 

As she waited for the milk to warm and the chocolate to melt, Y/N couldn't help but replay the moment of the kiss in her mind. It had been so quick, so casual, yet its impact lingered, leaving her with a flurry of questions and conflicting emotions. She pushed aside the uncertainty, focusing instead on the simple act of gratitude she wanted to express to Max for his hospitality and kindness. 

When Max walked through the door and caught sight of Y/N standing in the kitchen, a wave of warmth flooded his chest. The comforting aroma of hot chocolate enveloped him, filling the air with a sense of home. Yet, as he approached, he noticed a hint of uncertainty in Y/N's demeanor, her eyes flickering with a touch of insecurity. 

Before she could overthink it, Y/N launched into a ramble, her words tumbling out in a rush of nervous energy. "I, uh, wanted to do something to say thank you for letting me stay here, but I can't cook, and I just didn't know what to do. But I know how much you liked the hot chocolate from that café in London, so I thought I could try and remake that, but I'm sure it won't taste the same, and I th—" 

Max gently interrupted her rambling with a soft smile, stepping closer to wrap his arms around her. "Hey," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring. "You didn't have to do anything. But I love it, really. Thank you." 

His words washed over Y/N like a soothing balm, easing the knots of insecurity that had tightened in her chest. With a shy smile, she poured them each a cup of hot chocolate, the familiar ritual grounding her in the moment. 

As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, Y/N felt a sense of contentment wash over her. The warmth of the hot chocolate and the comfort of Max's presence enveloped her, lulling her into a sense of relaxation. Soon, she found herself drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Max's heartbeat a soothing lullaby. 

When she stirred slightly in her sleep, Max gently lifted her in his arms, carrying her to her bed with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. As he laid her down, she murmured softly, her words barely audible in her half-asleep state. 

"Stay," she whispered, her voice tinged with vulnerability. 

Without hesitation, Max nodded, his heart swelling with affection as he settled in beside her. Y/N snuggled close to Max, seeking refuge in his comforting arms. He held her tight, their bodies entwined as they melted into the warmth of each other's presence. In the soft glow of the moonlight, they found solace, their breaths synchronized as they succumbed to the tranquility of sleep, their hearts beating in unison. 

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting a warm glow through the windows of Max's apartment, Y/N gradually emerged from the depths of sleep. She reached out instinctively, her hand searching for the comforting presence of Max beside her, only to find the space next to her empty. Blinking away the haze of sleep, she noticed a neatly folded note on the nightstand, Max's handwriting scrawled across the page. 

She unfolded the note, the words written in Max's familiar script inviting her to help herself to breakfast and join him at the track whenever she was ready. A soft smile graced her lips as she absorbed his thoughtful gesture, a warmth spreading through her at the reminder of his presence. 

Rising from bed, she made her way to the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Max had left everything she needed for breakfast, from cereal and fruit to freshly baked pastries. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she savored the quiet solitude of the morning, the gentle hum of the city outside a soothing backdrop to her thoughts. 

After a leisurely breakfast and a refreshing shower, Y/N dressed quickly, anticipation building with each passing moment. Grabbing her bag and Max's spare pass, she made her way to the track, the excitement of race day tingling in the air. The paddock buzzed with activity as teams made final preparations, the energy contagious as she navigated her way through the crowd. 

Spotting Heidi among the throng, Y/N waved eagerly, her spirits lifting at the sight of her friend. They exchanged warm greetings, their conversation flowing easily as they made their way to a prime viewing spot. As the race began, Y/N found herself swept up in the exhilarating spectacle, the roar of the engines and the thunderous applause of the crowd filling her with excitement. 

With each passing lap, Max's car surged ahead, his skill and determination evident as he battled for position. Y/N cheered him on with fervor, her heart swelling with pride at his remarkable performance. Beside her, Heidi shared in her enthusiasm, their shared love of racing forging a deep bond between them. 

Amidst the chaos of the race, Y/N's phone began to ring, the sound interrupting the roar of the engines. Surprised to see Ben's name flashing on the screen, she stepped away from the crowd, the noise of the garage fading into the background as she answered the call, a sense of curiosity piquing her interest. Her and Ben never really speak to each other outwith the time they spend with Mason or Reece, so she wasn’t sure what Ben could want. 

As Ben's panicked voice relayed the troubling events, a knot of worry tightened in Y/N's stomach. "Y/N, it's Ben," he began, his voice urgent. "You need to hear this. Mason... he... he snapped during the match today. Tried to start a fight, punched someone. He got a red card and just stormed off. Reece and I went to his house right after, but he won't answer the door or his phone. We're really worried about him." 

Y/N's heart sank at Ben's words, her mind racing with concern for her friend. "Oh my god, Ben. Is he okay? Where is he now?" she asked, her voice trembling with worry. 

"We don't know," Ben replied, his voice strained. "His car's outside, but he won't let us in. If there's anyone he'd talk to, it's you. Can you try calling him, check if he's okay?" 

With a sense of urgency, Y/N assured Ben that she would do everything she could to check on Mason. "I'll call him right away, Ben. Don't worry, we'll find him," she said, her voice determined as she ended the call and hurried back to Max's apartment, her mind completely forgetting about the race and Max. All she wanted to do was get to a quiet, private place to check on Mason 

As she made her way through the city streets, her thoughts were consumed by concern for Mason. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled over her since Ben's call, her mind filled with questions and worries about her friend's well-being. 

Finally reaching Max's apartment, Y/N wasted no time in dialing Mason's number, her heart pounding with each ring. "Mason, it's me," she said urgently as the call connected. "Ben told me what happened. Are you okay?" 

As Y/N arrived back at Max's apartment, her fingers trembling with anxiety, she wasted no time in dialing Mason's number, her heart pounding in her chest. "Mason, it's me," she said urgently as the call connected. "Ben phoned me. I'm really worried. What happened?" 

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line before Mason finally spoke, As Y/N listened to Mason's voice on the phone, she could hear the raw emotion in his words, his voice hoarse and strained as if he had been crying. It pained her to hear him like this, knowing that he was hurting. "I don't know what to do, Y/N," he confessed, his words heavy with despair. "It's like everything's falling apart. I don't want to lose you, but... I don't know how to fix this mess. It's all my fault." 

Her heart ached at the sound of his distress, her own worry deepening. "Mason," she said softly, trying to offer him some comfort. "I'll be back soon, okay? We'll figure this out together. But no matter what happens, you won't lose me. You're my best friend, and that will never change. I promise." 

There was a moment of heavy silence before Mason spoke again, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "I saw Max kiss you on TV," he admitted, his tone filled with anguish. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and after a moment of silence, she sighed deeply, the weight of his words settling heavily upon her. "I know," she said solemnly, her voice tinged with sadness. 

"I wish... I wish I could go back a few weeks ago. I wish it didn't take me so long to figure out how I feel about you. I had you, and I threw it all away" 

Y/N's heart sank at his words, unsure of how to respond to his confession. "Mason," she murmured, her voice laced with sadness. "Let Ben and Reece in. When I’m back in London I’ll come and we’ll talk about all of this okay. I’ll be back before you know it okay. But you can’t do that on the pitch okay. Don’t throw your career away because of all of this, it’s not worth it. 

When Mason asked her to stay on the phone for a bit longer, Y/N couldn't refuse. She understood his need for some semblance of companionship in this turbulent moment. "Sure, Mason," she replied softly, her heart aching for her friend. "Just go let Ben and Reece in, and we'll chat for a while." 

Mason agreed, and soon the three of them were engaged in a conversation that danced around the unspoken tension lingering in the air. They talked about anything and everything, deliberately avoiding the elephant in the room. Ben shared a hilarious story about a disastrous date he once had, and they all laughed together, if only to momentarily escape the weight of their troubles. 

However, as the conversation flowed, Y/N's attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of a key turning in the door. Reality crashed back in, reminding her of Max and the fact that she had left the race midway through without a word to him. With a heavy heart, she interrupted the conversation. "Guys, I... I need to go," she said, her voice tinged with regret. 

There was a moment of silence before Mason spoke up, his voice filled with concern. "Everything okay, Y/N?" 

Y/N hesitated for a moment before replying, "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I have to go. Take care, okay?" Without waiting for a response, she ended the call and prepared herself to face Max, her mind racing with uncertainty and anxiety. 

Max entered the apartment with an unmistakable storm brewing behind his eyes. His expression was a mixture of anger and concern, evident in the tight set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. "Where were you?" he demanded as soon as he saw her, his voice laced with frustration. 

Y/N felt a pang of guilt as she faced him, knowing she had caused him worry. "I... I had to go," she stammered, feeling the weight of his disappointment bearing down on her. 

Max's frustration spilled out in a torrent of words. "I got out of the car looking for you, and you were just gone. No message, nothing. Heidi had no idea where you were. She said one minute you were there, and then you weren't," he recounted, his tone laced with frustration. 

He took a breath, his anger softening slightly as he continued, "I brought you here because I wanted to show you what my life was like. But you just left. I was really worried. Nobody knew where you were. I tried to phone you a hundred times, and it kept saying your phone was engaged." 

Y/N felt a pang of remorse wash over her at the realization of how much she had worried him. "I'm sorry, Max," she apologized, her voice laced with regret. "I didn't mean to cause you any worry. But, Mason needed me and i nee-” 

Y/N felt a pang of remorse wash over her at the realization of how much she had worried him. "I'm sorry, Max," she apologized, her voice laced with regret. "I didn't mean to cause you any worry. But, Mason needed me, and I needed to be there for him." 

Max's brow furrowed deeper, his frustration evident in the way he clenched his jaw. "Mason, Mason, Mason," he muttered, his tone tinged with exasperation. "It's always about him, isn't it?" 

Y/N recoiled slightly at the sharpness in his voice, her heart sinking with guilt. "It's not like that," she protested weakly, her words faltering under the weight of his accusation. 

Max's anger flared once again at her response. "Isn't it?" he retorted, his voice rising in frustration. "We spent an amazing week together, and I was feeling really positive about us. But one word from Mason, and I'm dropped." 

Y/N's heart ached at his words, the truth of them cutting deep. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I care about you, Max, I really do. But Mason is... he's my friend, and he needed me." 

Max's frustration was palpable, his anger radiating off him in waves. "I don't know what to do," he continued, his voice strained with emotion. "I want to be with you, but I can't keep competing with him for your attention. What do I have to do? Is there anything I can do or will Mason always come first.” 

Max's question hung heavy in the air, filling the room with an unbearable tension. Y/N felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, but try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, suffocated by the suffocating silence that enveloped them. 

Max watched her intently, his eyes searching hers for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope. But as Y/N's gaze fell to the ground, avoiding his, he felt his heart sink with a profound sense of disappointment. He had laid his heart bare, baring his vulnerability for her to see, but her silence spoke volumes. 

"F- fuck this," Max muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he turned away, his footsteps heavy against the floor. With a sharp exhale, he stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding thud. 

Left standing alone in the wake of his departure, Y/N felt a surge of anguish wash over her, swallowing her whole in its bitter embrace.  

After everything Y/N couldn’t help but think that this what she deserved, to simply be alone.  

Tag List

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[eunseoksimp]

Care For You; Song Eunseok

a/n: posting a lot of my old throwaways because i haven’t had the time to sit down and write anything new yet :(

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend! Eunseok x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff at the end

Description: in the quiet of a fading evening, two souls meet where it all began. emotions simmer beneath the surface, caught between what was and what could be. in the silence, a fragile hope lingers.

Warnings: none

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the sun was setting over the city, casting long shadows across the park where you and eunseok had first met. the memory of that day was a bittersweet ghost, lingering at the edge of your mind as you walked towards the bench where he was waiting.

eunseok sat with his back to you by the old oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the dusky sky, his silhouette dark against the vibrant hues of the sky. his broad shoulders were hunched, a sign of the turmoil brewing inside him. the park was unusually quiet this evening, the usual chatter of children and joggers replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

as you approached him, the tension between you two was almost palpable, like a storm about to break. he turned as the sound of your footsteps neared, his eyes catching the dying light and reflecting a myriad of emotions—anger, regret, a hint of longing. you both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your past hanging between the two of you like an unspoken promise. his gaze was fixed on the ground, his brow furrowed in thought and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, struggling to reconcile the torrent of emotions within him.

‘you really came,’ he said, his voice flat yet loaded with unspoken words.

‘i had to,’ you replied, your own voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. ‘we need to talk.’

eunseok’s laugh was bitter, a sharp contrast to the soft murmurs of the evening breeze. ‘talk? what’s left to talk about? we’ve said it all, haven’t we?’

taking a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs with a clarity you desperately needed, you fight the urge to back down from his sharp gaze. ‘maybe we have. but we never really understood, did we?’

he stood up abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets, his face easily betraying his emotions, of someone who was ready to walk away. ‘understand what, exactly? that we’re stuck in this endless loop of hurting each other? that every time i see you, i feel like I’m drowning in memories I can’t escape? i just want it to be over, to be over you.’

the rawness in his voice struck you like a physical blow, its pain manifesting all the same as it spread through your chest and causing a lump to form in your throat. you understood why he was speaking the way he was, but it still hurt you, to hear that the one you loved wanted nothing to do with you.

‘eunseok,’ you began softly,treading carefully as you watched his chest rise and fall. ‘hate and love, they’re not so different, you know. they’re both deep feelings, and they both show that we care. the real opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference.’

his eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and pain, like he didn’t accept what you were saying. so what are you saying? that because i hate you, it means i still love you?’

you stepped closer, close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the chill in the air.

‘yes,’ you answered quietly. ‘it means you still care. and that means there’s something left worth saving.’

eunseok shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“you always were the optimist, always the person to look on the bright side,’ he muttered, half speaking to himself, but you still heard what he said.

‘have you ever thought that maybe caring isn’t enough? what if we’re just fooling ourselves?”

you reached out, hesitating for a moment before touching his arm, wanting to feel something from him. ‘maybe we are. but I’d rather fight with you and feel something, anything, than walk away and feel nothing. i know we can fix this eunseok.’

for a moment, the silence between you was thick and oppressive, weighed down with anxious thoughts and unspoken words, as if eunseok was sifting through a labyrinth of emotions, desperately searching for the right words to express the turmoil within him. then, slowly, his expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost vulnerable.

‘i don’t know if i can do this again,’ he whispered, his voice barely audible, and in the moment you wanted nothing more than to gently hold him in your arms, to caress his hair as you always did as you comforted him.

‘i thought the same way,’ you admit, your own voice cracking. ‘but i want to try. because even in our worst moments, i never felt indifferent. and that has to mean something.’

eunseok sighed, the sound heavy with years of accumulated sorrow. ‘do you remember the night i left?’ his voice was a whisper, filled with a pain that had never quite healed. ‘you begged me to stay, and i walked away. i told myself it was for the best, that we were toxic together.’

you nod, feeling the ache of that night as if it were yesterday. ‘i remember. i remember the way the door closed behind you, the way my heart shattered into pieces i thought i’d never be able to put back together.’

he looked away, the shadows deepening around you. ‘i thought about you every day. i wanted to call, to come back, but I couldn’t. my pride, my anger, it wouldn’t let me. i hated you for making me feel so weak, so vulnerable.’

‘i hated you too,’ you confessed, voice breaking. ‘for leaving me, for making me doubt everything we had. but the hate was always mixed with love, always tangled up in the memories of the good times.’

eunseok turned back to you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘we hurt each other so much. yet here we are. maybe that means something.’

‘maybe it does,’ you said, heart pounding in your chest. ‘maybe it means we’re not done yet. maybe it means we still have a chance to make things right.’

he took a step closer, closing the distance between you. ‘i’m scared,’ he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘i’m scared of failing again, of losing you all over again.’

you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. ‘we might fail. but we might succeed. and we’ll never know unless we try.’

eunseok’s eyes searched yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of hope. it was fragile, like the first buds of spring after a long, harsh winter, but it was there.

‘okay,’ he said finally, his voice steadying. ‘let’s try.’

you both sat down on the bench, the same one where your journey had begun, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you talked. really talked.

you shared your fears, your hopes, your dreams, and your regrets. there were moments of laughter and moments of tears, but through it all, there was an undeniable connection—a reminder of the bond that had brought you together in the first place.

as the hours passed and the night deepened, you found yourselves leaning into each other, the barriers that had kept you apart slowly crumbling. there was no need for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. it was enough to simply be there, side by side, facing the unknown together.

eunseok’s voice was soft, almost reverent, as he spoke. ‘do you remember the night we danced under the stars? we had no music, just the sound of the wind and our own laughter.’

you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. ‘how could i forget? it was one of the happiest nights of my life.’

he stood up, holding out his hand. ‘dance with me, then. no music, just us.’

you hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. you moved slowly, swaying to an imaginary melody, your bodies fitting together as if they had never been apart. the world around you faded, leaving only the rhythm of your hearts and the gentle whisper of the wind.

in that moment, you realised that love and hate were indeed intertwined, two sides of the same coin. and as long as you cared enough to fight, to try, to hope, there was always a chance for redemption.

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. ‘one day at a time,’ he murmured, echoing your earlier words.

‘one day at a time,’ you agreed, your voice steady with newfound resolve.

as you stood there, wrapped in the darkness of the night, you felt a fragile hope blossom within you. it wasn’t a promise of an easy road or a perfect ending, but it was a start. and sometimes, a start was all you needed.

[beneath-a-moonlit-lake]

Rereading MDZS again and I don't think it really matters at all whether the music changed before or after Nie Mingjue kicked Jin Guangyao down the stairs because the Song of Turmoil was actually a pre-emptive strike that JGY made against NMJ.

Even if the music only changed after NMJ kicked JGY down the stairs, the timeline does mean that JGY had the altered Song of Clarity prepared and ready to use at most a few days directly after after the staircase incident. This means that -

JGY has already broken into the forbidden section of the Cloud Recesses's library and taken advantage of Lan Xichen's trust

JGY had already determined that the death of NMJ was an acceptable/desirable outcome before NMJ became a credible threat to him.

And JGY most certainly was not living in fear of NMJ. A lot of JGY's plans were dependent on the fact that NMJ wouldn't actually harm him. The escape after the murder of the Jin Captain, witnessing the assassination of WRH, letting Xue Yang off the hook, all of it was dependent on the belief that NMJ would relent and give him a second chance. He was actively volunteering to remain within easy reach of NMJ by playing the guqin for him.

It's hard to believe that the 3zun relationship was a real commitment for JGY. I think he chose his father, or at least, the kind of politics that his father was willing to engage in a long time ago. There was a conflict between that and the things that NMJ/LXC believed in, and the 3zun relationship was an acceptable loss that JGY made his peace with long before the cracks in the 3zun became impossible to overlook. Even the LXC/JGY connection is no exception. He might not have wanted LXC dead, but he was certainly willing to betray and discard that relationship. You cannot tell me that the man who had an escape route to Dongying plotted out even at the height of his power and status would not have considered the possibility that LXC might have suspected something.

I actually think the loss of the relationship was Qin Su would have been far more devastating to JGY despite the tiny amount of screentime that she had in the story. His relationship with Qin Su was a real and uncomplicated pleasure that JGY had in his life, with no direct conflict to his ambitions or his father's demands. It was a future and a family that was destroyed when the incestuous connection was revealed.

[reverieparacosm]

Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, slight torture, kidnapping

Chapter 4: Through the Artist's Eyes

(part 1 here)

Summary: Captured by Jhin, you face a final performance of pain and beauty. Will this be Jhin's last act, or just the beginning of something more?

(Note is at the end of the chapter)

A searing pain lanced through your skull, each beat of your heart a hammer blow against it. You fight to open your eyes, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and pain. You blink, the world snapping into focus, revealing a figure bathed in the dim, ethereal glow of a single lantern.

Jhin.

His lips curl into a smile that holds no warmth, only a chilling, unsettling amusement. He moves with a grace that belies the terror he instills, his fingers, slender and elegant, tracing the outline of a wound on your head.

The cloth he holds, pristine white against the darkness, is a stark contrast to the crimson blossoming on it. He presses it gently against your wound, the pressure a searing agony. But there is a strange, almost hypnotic quality to his touch, a calculated precision that feels more like a surgical procedure than a simple act of tending to a wound. Each stroke of the cloth is deliberate, methodical, as if he were an artist meticulously applying paint to a canvas. The blood, once a vibrant red, is absorbed into the fabric, leaving a dark, ominous stain that mirrors the chilling dread that grips your heart.

You try to speak, to scream, but your throat is parched, your voice a mere croak.

"Shh, do not struggle," he coos, dabbing at your face. You flinch at his touch, feeling scrapes where your skin meets ropes. Jhin examines you with a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice, as if savoring discomfort. "You’ll make this worse for yourself," he warns softly, leaning very close.

"Release me," you say sharply.

Jhin throws back his head and laughs, a grating cacophony that sets your nerves on edge. Slowly, he circles you, trailing a gloved finger along your tense shoulders.

"My dear captive, you presume to threaten me?" he croons softly. "It is I who hold power in this dance, not some chirping fledgling gasping in my claws."

Halting before you, Jhin grips your chin in a punishing grip. His veneer of control cracks, exposing raving lunacy beneath.

"No artist lets his muse flee until the opus is complete! I have divined such exquisite torments for our finale. Through your anguished song will I craft my crowning masterwork!"

His long-fingered hand traces your cheekbone, leaving a trail of cold in its wake. You tremble under his gaze, uncertain of what horrors lay in store. 

You struggle against your bonds, to no avail. Jhin observes your movements with interest, like a painter studying his subject. Outside, the sunset paints the decaying walls in hues of orange and gold.

"Through art, all things can be transformed," Jhin continues rapturously. "Your mortal flesh will become something everlasting. I will alchemize your essence until only brilliance remains."

He lifts a glinting tool, and you see it is a sculpting knife, its edge honed to deadly precision. Panic rises in your throat as Jhin studies the play of fading sunlight on the blade.

"Diamonds, like humanity, are born of turmoil. Extreme heat and pressure fuse the chaotic cloud into clarity. So too shall you be remade." His voice rings with messianic fervor. "Soon, you will shine eternally as my greatest creation. The transformation begins...let the ceremony commence!"

As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, more details of your surrounds emerge. Crumbling brick walls are papered with faded posters advertising long-forgotten shows. A thick layer of dust covers the worn floorboards; your chair stands center-stage in a decrepit house.

Overhead, tattered curtains sway in the breeze drifting through broken windows. Beams of dying sunlight pierce the gloom, illuminating spinning dust motes like flecks of gold. It is a place suspended between creation and ruin - the perfect setting for Jhin's dark vision. 

The artist himself paces before you, muttering excitedly to himself.

"The lighting is perfect, the composition sublime," he muses. "All that remains is to complete my masterwork."

Jhin's hands flit restlessly over his assortment of strange artifacts: gleaming surgical tools, arcane tomes bound in human skin, vials containing viscous liquids and mysterious powders. His meticulous artist’s mind sorts rapidly through options.

Finally, he selects an instrument resembling a paintbrush, but its bristles end in thin blades. He tests the edge delicately against his finger, nodding in approval at the bead of blood welling forth. 

"First, we strip away your outer shells," Jhin declares, tracing the blade lightly over your cheek. "Only then can your truest essence shine through, polished to dazzling radiance.”

Jhin steps close, looming over you with the metallic bristles poised at your throat. You thrash against the ropes binding you, heart pounding, to no avail.

"Peace, my subject," Jhin soothes. "Struggle will only prolong your suffering. Remain still, and I can elevate you to glory." 

His gaze bores into you. With a surgeon's precision, he drags the blade slowly down your neck. You cry out as beads of blood rise in its wake, crimson against your skin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the blade presses deeper. You inhale sharply but do not cry out - you will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

A bead of blood wells and Jhin leans in, tongue darting out to sample your essence on his lips.

"Sweet," he groans, eyes fluttering closed. When they open once more, wild hunger blazes within. Jhin looms closer still, trapping you with his gaze as the knife dances over your hammering pulse.

Jhin makes a small noise of pleasure, tilting his head to observe his handiwork. "Exquisite. The raw material reveals its luster."

"Transformation is seldom pleasant," Jhin comments clinically. "But pain birth beauty, as fire shapes the jewel."

"I knew from the start what lurked beneath your silken words and gifts," you say coldly. "The way you twisted Hwei's heart to suit your depraved games, used his passion as just one more sick puppet in your shows."

Jhin's gloved fingers suddenly wrap tight around your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His touch is cold yet burns your skin all the same. 

Jhin cocks his head, regarding you with a curled smile. "The petal thought he understood my art. In time, he too would have become a masterpiece."

His patronizing tone only fuels your fury. "I saw how you fed on his love like some parasite, how you twisted his mind until he was but a shadow, living only to feed the void within you."

Chuckling softly, Jhin runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. "And what of you, my feisty little songbird? Do you also fly willingly into the fox's waiting jaws?"

You meet his eyes steadily. "Your acts of violence and violation do not move me. I understand you better than you understand yourself - you who knows only how to feed chaos and feel nothing."

Jhin's smiling mask shatters, giving way to something ravenous and raw. "Feel nothing?" he snarls, seizing your face in a crushing grip. "I feel it all, each exquisite moment - the passion, the rapture, the divine perfection of destruction! Through my art alone do I truly live!"

Releasing you, he draws back, composure sliding neatly back into place. But his eyes hold a new calculation.

"And what makes you think you know my intentions, my dear?" he whispers, voice low and deadly. Bloodlust swirls in his eyes yet something else flickers there - intrigue, admiration for your spirit.

You swallow yet hold his stare, defiant to the last. "I see the emptiness within you. Your 'art' is but a shallow mimicry of passion, meaningless destruction performed for an audience of one."

Jhin laughs softly, a mirthless sound. His flawless mask cracks, revealing the gaping void beneath, the ache that drives him to create through carnage alone.

Leaning impossibly close, he breathes against your trembling lips. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, my clever sparrow. If shallowness is what you perceive...then let me show you the inferno that consumes."

With that, his mouth slants hard over yours, ravaging with a desperate hunger to feel - to feel anything amid the numbness. You gasp into the kiss, your heartbeat answering his like clashing symbols in a dark symphony.

For a stolen moment, passion transcends intention as you drown in sensation. But when Jhin pulls away, craving and madness have resurfaced in his eyes once more. The tender illusion shatters, and you know - this was but one more manipulating performance in his grisly design.

He rises and paces, gesticulating wildly.

"That kiss was but another brushstroke on the canvas of our drama together. Through it, I sought merely to elicit emotion - yours, and of the audience that surely hangs on our every moment."

Pausing, Jhin gazes down at you. His perfect features twist into a ghastly mockery of affection.

"Did you feel, little songbird, as I tore open your heart? Did you tremble with anguished rapture, swept along in the ecstatic tide of annihilation?"

His mocking laughter rings through the dusty room.

Jhin grips your hair forcefully, pulling your head back as he breathes against your neck, his warm breath sends shivers racing down your spine. You feel your back arch involuntarily.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your skin as he slightly bites down on your neck, the sensation both pleasurable and painful.

His hand glides down your arms, fingers trailing lightly as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The touch feels possessive, yet there’s a strange tenderness in his movements. You can’t help but feel the tension building between you, a dance of power and vulnerability. He then shifts his attention to the bindings on your wrists, circling your wrist with his thumb in a deliberate manner, as if testing the strength of your restraints. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if he’s loosening them just enough to let hope flicker to life.

But the moment is fleeting. You turn your head away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the feelings swirling inside you. Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, he takes your face in both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes softly against your lips.

"That, my dear, is the only 'passion' I know—the opus of agonies I craft through my works," he whispers, his voice smooth and chilling. "All else is but pale imitation. Remember that… should any wisp of feeling dare cloud your judgment."

With a savage grin and swish of his cloak, Jhin is once more lost to his dark imaginings, leaving you questioning all you thought you knew of this depraved artist.

As Jhin turns away to arrange his infernal stagecraft, you gather every ounce of strength and begin to struggle anew against your bonds. The ropes bite cruelly into your wrists, yet you twist and strain with wild desperation. 

Jhin pays you no mind, lost in his own deranged mutterings as he lays out gleaming utensils.

Seeing your chance, you redouble your efforts with a frenzied yell. The ropes fray and tear—and with one final wrench, your hands rip free!

Jhin whirls at the sound, anger flaring in his eyes at being denied his dark muse. But you waste no time gawking at the monster—you launch from the chair at him.

Off-balance, Jhin crashes to the dust-caked floorboards. His blade skitters away into the shadows.

Not sparing a glance at him, you sprint for the splintered exit with renewed vigor. Black night swallows your retreating form as you pour every ounce of will into escape.

Laughter and rage and the sound of pounding footsteps chase on your heels.

Your lungs burn as you push your exhausted body further into the desert night. Jhin's maniacal laughter still echoes behind you, though the sound is fading with each step. You dare not look back, knowing his twisted grin will be etched in your mind if you do. All that matters is putting as much distance between him and yourself as possible.

Up ahead, a faint glow peeks through the sparse trees - an oasis. New adrenaline surges through your veins at the sight of what might offer refuge. Sand kicks up with each footfall as you rush toward the glowing pool of water. Palm trees whip past you in a blur, their branches outstretched like beckoning arms guiding you to safety.

Bursting into the small oasis, you stumble to a halt beside the water's edge. Your hands brace against your knees as greedy lungs drink in air. Through the shallow pants, your ears strain for any sign you are still being pursued. Only the gentle lapping of waves meets them, the normal night sounds of the desert serenading the sparse trees.

Slowly, muscles uncoil from their clenched state. The immediate threat seems past, at least for now. You lower yourself fully to the cool sand and let the sight of glittering water soothe frazzled nerves.

Soft moonlight dances across the surface, dappling the shore in an ethereal glow. Clarity returns along with your breathing, allowing reality to truly sink in.

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the desert chill.

Pushing to unsteady legs, you shuffle closer to the pool's edge. Your parched throat begs for refreshment after the exhausting escape. Cupping greedy hands, you bring the cool liquid to chapped lips. Too soon, the last droplets fall from your palms. Thirst barely slaked; other needs demand attention in your weary state.

Scanning the sandy shore, your gaze lands on a cluster of palm fronds piled near the trees. With any luck, they might offer cushion and cover for the night. One problem at a time - rest now, plans later. Heavy feet carry you to the pile and you collapse into the fronds with a sigh. Cool surrounds quickly lull frayed senses as lingering adrenaline fades into exhaustion.

Darkness pulls you under like a comforting blanket.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The desert night is alive with the constant song of insects and wildlife. A sliver of moon drifts overhead amid patches of scattered clouds, casting the oasis in a dim glow.

As you drift in the space between sleep and waking, a shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the cool night air. 

Something is different. An energy tingles at the edge of perception, faint yet familiar. Slowly prying open weary eyes, you lift your head from the nest of palm fronds.

Rippling across the surface of the water is a blur of colors, dancing in hues too vibrant to be natural.

A paintbrush comes into focus, wielded by a figure kneeling at the pool's edge. Colored wisps trail his movements like an artist’s ashes, each strand levitating impossibly in the air.

There is no mistaking Hwei's magical brush at work, weaving ephemeral illustrations that shimmer on the water's canvas.

His eyes, iridescent even in shadow, find yours across the shore. Recognition lights within those prismatic orbs before flickering with an emotion you can’t place. Concern? Relief?

With fluid grace, Hwei rises and strides to your side. Up close, faint scents of oils and pigment cling to his frame. His gaze roams your form, lingering on patches of torn cloth.

"You're hurt." His voice is soft yet carries an undercurrent that raises the hairs along your nape. Fingers gently grasp your wrist to examine your wounds. You suppress a wince at the contact.

"It's nothing serious." Your assurance does little to quell the tempest raging behind Hwei's eyes. Releasing your arm, he pulls his brush from where it is strapped across his back. Colors sprung to life along the bristles at his beckon, bleeding together into a soothing teal wash.  

Without a word, Hwei dips the brush’s edge into the shimmering paint. Your breath hitches as cool bristles make contact, tracing delicate lines along your wounds.

Where pigment spreads, numbness follows in its wake, deadening pain.

Fascinated, you watch reddened skin knit together before eyes, leaving fresh and unmarred in the healing liquid’s wake.

Magic, or simple a gift of Hwei’s brush? Impossible to say where abilities end and the artist begins.

You gaze up to find his focus intent on the task, lips parted slightly as his skill purifies damaged flesh. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks under such devoted care. Your heart, already quickened from your closeness, threatens to burst from your ribs. 

The last abrasions disappear under careful strokes. Hweis' eyes lift to yours, their depths reflecting colors and emotions too deep to comprehend.

One arm encircles your waist and pulls you against his slender form, the other brushes tousled strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingers and caresses the line of your jaw with tenderness.  

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Hwei’s hushed murmur causes lids to flutter closed, lost in the soothing rumble of his voice.

Lips meet yours then, slow and searching as if committing every facet to memory through touch alone.

With utmost care, he gathers you into his lap to cradle against his chest. One hand soothingly combs through your hair while the other takes up his brush anew. Upon the oasis sands, Hwei begins to paint in colors of serenity.

Lush blooms spill from under his talented strokes—petite lilies burst with dewdrops; morning glories unfurl translucent petals. Their vivid hues shine all the brighter in the shadows of night. As detail after detail comes alive, the flowers' sweet fragrance joins the cool desert air.

Instead of darkness, visions of sunlit gardens dance behind your closed eyes. Hwei watches vigilantly, brush never ceasing until the last stem stands vibrant and whole. Only then does he set the magical implement aside once more. You feel relaxed and calm.

Gently, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. Hwei gazes for long moments, memorizing each fleeting emotion buried beneath fatigue. His hands cup your cheeks with care.

"Let me share this burden," Hwei murmurs, breath soft against your lips between words. "I would bear it all if only it rids you of pain."

Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to yours in a kiss filled with promise and devotion profound as the stars above.

Art is the highest form of hope.

All thoughts flee under that tender onslaught. Your hands tangle in his tunic, clinging to escape the nightmares of past hours in his grounding presence.

Within the circle of his embrace, reality seems but a distant dream. Here, in Hwei's arms, you know only comfort, protection... and love that shelters your heart, always, from any threat in the waking world.

As the stars light creeps over the dunes, you stir in Hwei's tender embrace. Beneath palms and stars, the remainder of night has passed in comforting solace.

Gaze meeting Hwei's own, you ask in hushed tones, "How did you find me here?" A rueful smile touches his lips, fingers lifting to brush aside disheveled locks. "Worry not over such details, my heart. What matters is you're safe now." 

Still the unknowns nag, his knowing eyes betraying depths beyond casual passersby. "Through your magic, wasn't it?” Hwei's nod grants affirmation, though guarded concern now creases his features. A painter's sight can unveil truths better left buried; it seems...

"Tell me what horrors drove you to this place," he bids softly, voice roughened by rising emotion kept barely leashed. And so, haltingly, the tale spills forth —of Jhins plan, his machinations to make you "a creation beyond compare." 

How Jhin's maddened machinations seek to immortalize your agonized demise. How by fortune or fate, an opportunity arises allowing escape from dire design. Yet escape is not the end, as horrors haunt memory still... 

At the story's close, Hwei grows deafly silent.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The journey back is a somber one. Smoke rises on the horizon long before Koyehn's Temple simple spires come into view, an ominous shroud hanging overall.

But no prayers can prepare you for the hellscape that awaits.

As the temple comes into sight, it is engulfed in angry orange tongues that devour sacred scrolls and timber alike. Embers swirl chaotically on smoldering thermals, borne aloft to spread ruin further still.

Hwei reins in with a sudden gasp, leaving you to brace against his back. You clutch him tight as anguished cries escape his lips, giving voice to the torment writ large across his features. Never do you see such depths of anguish from the stoic painter, who schools his passions into disciplined lines and fluid strokes.

"No..." Hwei's choked whisper tears at your heart. This place is his sanctuary, his home—now reduced to cindering ruins. You grasp his arm for support as much as offering console, finding only tremors wracking his lithe form in return.

His soul bleeds… and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows him whole.

His brush falls unheeded, magic sparking errant between clenched fingers as if begging release. Yet for all the chaos within, no colors escape Hwei's tight rein—not here, not for this.

Sliding to the ground, you pull him into your arms as tears carve trails down soot-stained cheeks. You stand locked in mournful embrace until the sobs begin to still, the conflagration within banked to smoldering embers once more by love's balm. Lips press against your hair, murmuring apologies for all that can never be regained.

As morning's light lifts the ashen pall shrouding all, the full horror of the night comes into grim clarity. Where once lived and worked over fourscore brothers and sisters, now only broken shells of walls remain amongst the rubble.

You pick your way over the ruins, hoping against hope that some sheltering alcove or secret chamber may offer refuge to even a sole survivor. But as the sun climbs overhead with no signs of life stirring, grim certainty takes root.

You stand alone as the last remnants of an order consigned now to memory alone.

Hwei searched the longest for any survivors, as if refusing to accept the bitter truth laid bare before your eyes. When he finally sinks to his knees in defeat, wracking sobs echo the agonized screams that must have filled the night air as flames claimed their victims. You pull him close, but no comfort of yours can staunch the flood of his grief.

In time, his tears run dry, leaving in their wake an exhaustion of body and spirit you fear no rest can repair.

Hwei wanders as one dead, seeking solace that forever eludes him amongst the ruins. Nights find him waking in terror, reliving each moment of devastation in vivid and gruesome detail no hand can capture.

One such night, a glint of color amidst the cinders draws his numbed feet. Lifted free, it reveals a fiendish trap, its petals splayed open in grinning mockery—a lotus blossom none, but one artist could have crafted.

Understanding dawns in those hollow eyes, a cascade of emotions stirring their murky depths once more: terror, sorrow, betrayal... and a dreadful fascination you know all too well.

The ruins fall silent once more as Hwei gazes unblinking upon that noxious blossom. You dare not break his reverie, dreading what shadows might take root should he linger too long in contemplation of such madness... and the dark allure it holds, even for one whose gift is life and color, not decay.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The crackling fire does little to cut through the tavern's smoky chill. You nurse a mug of ale, staring into the fire as if they might hold answers to questions plaguing Hwei's mind.

It has been moons since you left the smoking remnants of Koyehn behind you. Amongst the ashes, you find renewed purpose—your art brings messages of hope and restoration to weary communities... but sometimes also of destruction. But with each new dawn, fresh mysteries call Hwei ever onwards.

You glance to where he sits apart, brush hovering restlessly as always. His eyes, once home to passion's vibrant spectrum, now seem but windows onto an abyss churning with shadows.

Hwei seeks understanding through revelation of torment—by replicating each scene of suffering until its essence bleeds forth. You fear such intimacy with evil may leech away what remains of his light.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the tavern’s wooden beams, you sit beside Hwei, captivated by the way his brush dances across the canvas. Each stroke is filled with emotion, transforming the blank surface into a vibrant landscape of colors. Hwei pours his heart into the painting, bringing to life a sun rising triumphantly over a gentle sea, its rays bursting forth like tendrils of warmth. Hwei is completely absorbed in his painting.

Truly, no artist tolerates reality.

You lean closer, intrigued by the imagery. “Is it a sunset or a sunrise?” you ask, admiring the way the light plays in his eyes. Resting your chin on Hwei's shoulder, you feel a warm connection, as if the moment stretches into eternity.

Hwei pauses, his brush hovering above the canvas as he turns to you, a soft smile blooming on his lips. “It’s a sunrise,” he replies, his voice warm and tender. “A new beginning. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

His gaze lingers on you, and in that moment, the world outside the tavern fades away. You feel a magnetic pull, an unspoken connection that draws you closer.

The ambiance is thick with the scent of paint and the calming whispers of the sea outside.

You close your eyes as his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb softly traces your bottom lip. As he leans in closer, you can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, mere brushes of contact that leave you craving more. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against his form.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands to tilt your head to a better angle. His kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. When his tongue sweeps along your lip, you grant access eagerly. As your tongues meet, a soft moan escapes you.

All the while, his hand on your cheek begins a slow descent. Over your jaw, down your neck, it comes to rest on your waist. His fingertips graze under the edge of your shirt, sending sparks across your skin. You cling to him more tightly, lost in the bliss of his lips moving with yours.

When you finally part for air, he does not go far. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as you both pant, lost in the moment. His hand never strays from your waist, thumb making gentle strokes across the sensitive flesh. In his embrace, you have never felt so wanted, so cared for. It is here, in his arms, that you are meant to be.

Hwei opens his eyes and whispers, “Some people are artists. Some themselves, are art.”

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look into his eyes, which shimmer with joy and intensity. But as you glance back at the painting, something catches your eye. Dark, shadowy figures seem to writhe within the vibrant hues, lurking just beneath the surface of the canvas. They flicker in and out of existence, vanishing as quickly as they appear.

A shiver runs down your spine. “Hwei, do you see that?” you ask, pointing to the canvas.

His expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. “I—I’ll protect you,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, his grip tightening around you. The remnants of the massacre at the temple echo in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness he has faced.

“I know you will,” you reassure him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, the weight of his past hangs heavy in the air. He leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence grounding him. “You’re my light,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the firelight dances upon Hwei's face, you trace gentle fingers along his jaw, brushing aside an ebony strand fallen askew.

Hwei leans into your touch with a soft sigh, clasping your fingers in his own. "I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. I feel like art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.”

His lips graze your knuckles, stirring memories as vivid as yesterday's joyous discoveries. For a moment's respite, all traces of grief and care dissolve beneath remembered rapture...

...Until a sharp rap at the door shatters remnants of days past like spun glass.

You open the door. A single lotus flower lays on the ground.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The memories of Hwei's past weigh heavily on him, each loss a haunting echo in his mind. Yet, as he paints, the burdens begin to lift. His art speaks of grief and longing, capturing the essence of his experiences in hues and textures that transcend language. With every stroke, he communicates the inexpressible—an intimate connection to those who suffer alongside him.

While words can falter, art holds the power to bridge the chasms of isolation. It is a silent language, one that resonates deeply within the hearts of those who behold it, conveying feelings that can never be articulated. The beauty of creations offers solace, a reminder that even in the depths of despair, connection is possible through the shared understanding of emotion.

Art can speak for one, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In a world rife with pain, it becomes a guiding light—a universal form of communication that unites hearts across boundaries.

Though silent, art speaks volumes. In this moment of catharsis through creative expression, one begins to find healing. Art provides an empowering and voiceless language to communicate intimate feelings beyond what words can say.

Especially in times of deep suffering when words fail, art becomes a "silent language" to express the inexpressible emotions of a soul.

Through art, one always finds a way to express the inexpressible, to share a silent language with the world.

Art's Silent Language.

Note: Well, here it is—finally the grand finale of my fanfic! 🎉 Did you notice that this is the fourth chapter and the whole thing clocks in at 14,444 words? I mean, come on, Jhin would definitely be proud of me for that little numerical homage. Four is his jam, right? Haha! So, about the ending... it’s kind of a happy one, or at least an open one. I did toy with the idea of killing off the protagonist—just a little cheeky thought, you know? Hehe. Oh! And I hope you caught the title drop at the end, “Art’s Silent Language.” Subtle, right? Or maybe not so much, but I tried! Now, I did mischaracterize Jhin a tad for my down-bad heart (shoutout to all my fellow simps!), but I did my best to keep him lore-accurate. This chapter is dedicated to all my broken artists out there. 💔 Don’t let life get you down—pick up the pieces and create something beautiful! That’s the real message here. Art can express feelings that words sometimes can’t. As I wrote, "Art is the highest hope." And for the Van Gogh fans, I hope you recognized some of his quotes sprinkled throughout! I love Van Gogh, and honestly, Hwei gives off major Van Gogh vibes. Plus, he has that surrealist flair, so it felt natural to weave in some of that genius. If you’re curious about my theories on Hwei, check out my theory account (https://www.tumblr.com/hwei-theories?source=share). And if you want to see more of my chaotic thoughts, here’s my main account (https://www.tumblr.com/reverieparacosm?source=share). Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep creating! 💖

[slytherheign]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS | daniel ricciardo

PART 4/4 OF BROKEN GLASS AND HONEY SERIES.

CAN ALSO BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT.

PAIRINGS: ex!daniel ricciardo x fem!reader, max verstappen x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

SUMMARY: sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone’s on their knees and asks you.

WARNINGS: rejection, false hope, infatuation, feelings of hurt and overwhelming pain. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 16+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. we have reached the end of the series! sorry if i hurt some of you emotionally. btw, there are a lot of references to the previous parts in this.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Rejection.

A word that carried so much weight in matters of the heart. It hit him with a force he never saw coming, leaving him breathless, bewildered, and questioning every decision he had made.

The pain of rejection cut deep, undermining the confidence he once had, and casting shadows over the hopes and dreams he dared to envision. 

Rejected.

Rejected from McLaren.

Rejected from a Red Bull seat.

And now, he was rejected once again.

In an instant, his world felt shattered, and he questioned just how worthy he truly was of love and affection.

He poured his heart out, baring his soul in that vulnerable moment when he knelt on one knee. He thought you had shared something meaningful, a connection that was genuine and real.

He thought it would be enough.

Daniel’s car traveled home with one less person inside that night. But even if he was already in his garage, he refused to step out of his car. He stayed so he could sit there in his hurt. 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil within him.

It was hard, almost impossible, not to take it personally, to wonder what could have gone wrong. Was it something he said? Something he did? Or perhaps it was simply a matter of timing and circumstance, beyond his control.

He ran his hand through his hair, his face reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation.

He could say that he longed for clarity, a glimpse into your thoughts and reasons, but that would be a lie. Because in all honesty, he kind of saw it coming.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that you picked Max or the fact that there was a part of him that always knew you would pick Max.

Why did he even try?

Oh, right.

Hope.

Because of hope.

He tried because you showed him hope.

You showed him hope—a glimmer of light that he hadn't seen in ages. Life had become monotonous, blending into an array of muted gray, until you came along. Your entry into his life was like a vibrant burst of color, injecting new life into his weary soul. He dared to hope, to believe that he had found something extraordinary.

It was a peculiar feeling. To be caught between longing and despair, to have his heart both soar and shatter within the same breath. The intoxicating aura of love was both a beacon of hope and a cruel illusion, and he found himself entangled in that painful paradox.

With a final deep breath, he left his car, ready to face his family who were staying in his home just for this special night. He told his family for a reason, he just couldn’t keep it in.

But now he wished he didn’t.

Cheer and applause were what met him when he entered the door. His family had huge smiles plastered on their faces, clearly excited about the news they were expecting. 

Until it stopped.

It all stopped when his lips trembled, trying to fake a smile. 

It all stopped when they saw the tears on his face.

They didn’t even need to ask what happened. They already knew.

His sister splashed out the bottle of Dom Perignon, but no one was celebrating. 

"She would've made such a lovely bride. What a shame she's fucked in the head," his father said. His mom’s ring was still in his pocket, and your picture was still in his wallet. But love… 

Love slipped beyond his reaches.

There was nothing to celebrate.

Max was walking you home, still holding the umbrella to protect you from the rain. Neither of you spoke and neither of you really cared. Max knew, from the way your lips shook, eyes cried, and the whimpers that left your mouth, that you did not want to speak at that moment. He respected and understood that.

He was more understanding now than he was before.

You were speechless. Your mouth could not utter a single word, but your mind made up for it by clouding itself with overwhelming thoughts.

You remembered that one night when fate played a part in your first meeting with Daniel. 

That night, he asked you to dance and you refused. You refused because you knew he was asking you to dance to a song of love and new beginnings.

But after a single conversation, it was you who asked him if he was still willing to dance.

You always knew that dancing was a dangerous game. But that night, you started it when you offered your hand to Daniel.

The dance continued. 

But now, you dropped his dance while dancing. Left him out there, crestfallen on the landing with your champagne problems.

One for the money.

Two for the show.

You never were ready.

So, you let him go.

And you left him alone.

You just didn’t know the answer until he was already on his knees and asked you.

You couldn’t even give him a reason.

His proposal should have brought you joy, excitement, and a feeling of being cherished. But instead, you had found yourself struggling, torn between the present and the ghosts of your past.

The same exact past that was walking beside you right now.

It was not that Daniel wasn't kind or loving, he truly was. He possessed all the qualities one could desire in a partner. But your heart lingered elsewhere.

There was someone before him. Someone who awoken a flame within you, a love so fierce and profound that it felt like it could withstand anything. And then, life happened, you drifted apart, and your paths diverged towards separate horizons.

But even as the seasons changed, and new opportunities came knocking at your door, that love never truly left you. It remained etched in the deepest recesses of your being, an indelible mark upon your soul.

Accepting his proposal would have been a betrayal, not only to him, but to yourself as well. It was a painful decision to make, but you owed it to yourself and to him, to be honest and not settle for anything less than a love that was pure. For one can only truly give their heart to another when they are whole themselves.

His heart was glass and you dropped it.

You didn’t even notice you reached your apartment until Max opened the door for you. He sat you down on your couch, before leaving you for a moment to heat some water and prepare a bath for you. 

He went back right after, crouching in front of you so he could see your face. You were looking down, still crying. He placed a finger under your chin, moving it upwards so you could face him. And then he fixed the wet hair that covered your face, wiped your tears, and kissed your forehead.

The heart wants what it wants, and yours was still beating in an unbreakable rhythm alongside the person in front of you—Max.

You suddenly recalled what Daniel told you before, when he told you an advice his father gave him and then he explained it.

“Time matters, yes. But the length is subjective. Love is not supposed to be a competition where time is the sole judge. Sometimes, longer doesn’t mean healthier, and shorter doesn’t make it insincere or artificial.”

He said that love was not supposed to be a competition. And he was not wrong about that.

It wasn’t a competition because it never was a competition in the first place.

You loved Daniel, but you were in love with Max.

It was always Max.

He poured his heart into that proposal, believing that you were the one. He had envisioned a future together with you, filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. But perhaps fate had different plans in store for him. And though it stung him, he must pick up the pieces and keep moving forward.

His heart ached now. Those promises whispered in the darkest hours, the dreams woven with tender hands, they all shimmered with the possibility of a love that transcended boundaries. He clung to those words, as fragile as glass, praying that they would withstand the test of time.

Yet, here he was, lost in a labyrinth of broken dreams. The reality bit bitterly, gnawing at the frayed edges of his shattered heart. False hope, they called it. A cruel game of chance that you unwittingly roped him into. He knew, deep down, that you didn't do it intentionally. And that knowledge is what steeped his sorrow in a pot of bittersweet brew.

Because despite the pain that seared through his veins, he couldn't summon an ember of anger towards you. Love had a way of blinding people to the faults of those we held dearest. And so, he found himself teetering on the precipice of resentment and forgiveness, unable to fully commit to either.

It was a lonely place to be trapped in, the emotional escape room in his heart that didn't have an escape. The echoes of once-hopeful conversations reverberated through the hollow chambers of his mind, each word etching deeper into his wounded heart. 

Though the pain felt overwhelming now, Daniel knew that time would heal his wounds. It may take days, weeks, or even months, but he would pick up the pieces, rebuild his shattered heart, and learn to love again.

NETHERLANDS. AUGUST 25, 2024.

Daniel was running down the paddock, planning to head to the pitlane when a curious photographer stopped him to ask a question.

“Sorry for asking this, but I think I speak for all of us,” the photographer pointed to the fans behind him who were clearly recording this exact moment. They cheered the moment Daniel looked at them and he smiled. “When I say we are all curious about what really is your relationship with Y/N?” the photographer continued.

He chuckled. “Why did you want to know that?”

“Well, she hasn’t been beside you for months and then we just saw her with Max hours ago before you came.”

He could only smile, a genuine one.

“Y/N and I are friends, really close friends like what we’ve always been.”

“Really? Some of us thought you were dating because she was seen a lot with you before,” a fan shouted.

He laughed.

They didn’t need to know.

“What? I can’t have a female friend now?” he joked.

“Now that I’m thinking about it… you never launched anything,” the photographer mentioned.

Right. Even after dating you for months, you didn’t want to be affectionate with him in public. That was another telltale sign he chose to ignore. That was the reason he decided to propose in just under 6 months of being in a relationship with you. It was because he was in a rush, he thought that if you became engaged, you would finally let him tell the world about the two of you.

Now that he thought about it, maybe what he had was just an infatuation. An infatuation so intense that it hurt like the real thing. Maybe for so long, he just wanted to feel something and you came along at the right time. He didn’t even know anymore. And he didn’t want to know. It was all in the past.

“That’s right,” Daniel nodded. “Because we have nothing to launch.”

Just as he said that, you and Max entered his view. You two were holding hands and Max was laughing at something you said.

Daniel smiled.

“Look at them,” he gestured to you and Max, the photographer and the fans looked at who he was pointing to. “Max and her are literally meant for each other.”

“I’ve never seen Max laugh like that before,” the photographer said.

“Well, Y/N is the only one who could make him laugh like that if we’re being honest,” he chuckled again. “They make a great couple, they make each other so happy. And I’m happy for them,” he said.

Love wasn't a dead-end road; it was a winding path, full of twists and turns. Rejection was a part of that journey. For deep within, beyond the realms of rejection, dwelled a longing for love that refused to extinguish. He believed there was someone out there, someone who was meant to be for him, just as you were meant to be with Max.

There was one more thing Daniel always believed in other than taking chances.

It was that everything happens for a reason.

You and Max caught his eyes. Max nodded at him, he nodded back. 

If he could turn back time, he wouldn't change a thing.

He may not have found the love of his life, but he did find another best friend. 

He smiled at both of you, and you returned his smile.

You both knew Daniel would find the real thing instead.

She would patch up the tapestry that you shred.

And he wouldn’t even remember all your champagne problems.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

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[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 4

summary: Cassie awakens grappling with a hangover and the consequences of her reckless curiosity from the previous night. As truths about Rutshire's tangled relationships and her own doubts resurface, she finds herself questioning the weight of her family name and the expectations tied to it.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Themes of Corruption, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension, Realism in Media Industry, Self-doubting

w.c: 12k

notes: hey, so sorry for the delay everyone!!! i’ve had final projects for college, exams, working during my break, and dealing with a million things over these holidays!! i’ve been trying for ages to find time to finally finish this chapter! but here it is, i haven’t forgotten cassie!! we’ll definitely see a lot more of her, hopefully!! i hope you haven’t forgotten about her either. enjoy the read!

[prologue], [chapter one], [chapter two], [chapter three], [here]

o4. please tell me who i am

Cassie woke with a start, the soft glow of morning filtering through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm haze over Freddie’s guest room. It wasn’t a graceful awakening—more of a slow, groggy stumble into consciousness, the remnants of restless dreams clinging to her like mist. The soft glow of morning filtered through the gauzy curtains, spilling over the warm, homey décor of Freddie’s guest room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from somewhere, a stark contrast to the turmoil in the young woman’s head. She groaned, shielding her eyes from the invading light, the hangover pressing down on her skull like a vise.

Sinking deeper into the plush bed, Cassie tried to piece together the night before. Snippets of conversations danced in her mind: Freddie’s calm assurances. Lizzie’s knowing smile. And that ridiculous, reckless question about Valerie. A question that had spilled out not from clarity, but from too many drinks and the false courage they provided.

Why had she asked him that?

She sat up slowly, her temples throbbing as she glanced around the room. Freddie’s guest space was comfortable in an unpretentious way, filled with little reminders of the life he’d built—books scattered on shelves, a clock ticking on the wall, and a blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The smell of coffee floated through the air, grounding her further in the present.

Before she could wrestle with her thoughts any longer, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by Lizzie’s voice.

“Morning, sunshine. Or should I say... Hangover Queen?”

The door opened just enough for Lizzie to step inside, balancing a mug of coffee and wearing that signature smirk that always made Cassie feel both supported and entirely called out. Lizzie set the mug down on the side table and perched on the chair beside the bed.

Cassie sighed, rubbing her temples. “Go ahead, get it over with.”

“What? The teasing?” Lizzie arched her brow, clearly amused. “I don’t need to. Your face says it all.”

“Great,” Cassie muttered, reaching for the coffee.

“Do you remember much from last night?” Lizzie asked, her tone more curious than judgmental.

“Enough. And... Not enough.” She sipped the coffee, savoring the way it cut through the fog in her head. “I remember asking Freddie something really stupid.”

“Define stupid.” Lizzie tilted her head, a crease formed between her brows as her lips pressed into a contemplative line. She leaned back in the chair slowly, her fingers drumming on the armrest, a subtle rhythm that hinted at thoughts she wasn’t quite ready to voice.

Cassie hesitated, her fingers clenching around the warm mug as the memory resurfaced with painful clarity. It was both embarrassing and shameful to remember having bluntly said such a stupid thing to him.

“Something you also wouldn’t have enjoyed,” she replied quietly.

The question she’d asked Freddie hadn’t come out of nowhere, though it had spilled from her lips without the restraint she might have exercised sober. Despite being a stupid thing to say, it was the truth.

It had been brewing for some time, rooted in the way she’d seen them—Freddie and Valerie—trapped in a marriage that seemed more like a formality than a partnership.

As all the marriages in Rutshire.

She thought of Valerie, a woman who was polished to perfection yet distant, her interactions with Freddie clinical at best. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen them exchange a genuine smile, let alone anything that felt remotely like affection. Their life together, as far as Cassie could tell, was lived parallel but apart.

And then there was Lizzie.

Cassie had observed the way her uncle’s guarded expression softened around her, how his wit softened when Lizzie was in the room, like some dormant part of him came alive in her presence. The same seemed true for Lizzie, whose laughter with Freddie felt freer, lighter, than with anyone else—including her husband, James.

The young woman had never understood what Lizzie saw in that pompous man, whose charm was as superficial as his dedication to their marriage.

That damn stupid question had been sitting in the back of her mind ever since she moved to Rutshire, gathering weight until it finally spilled out of her, uninhibited by sobriety or tact.

“I asked him why he doesn’t leave Valerie and marry you.” The words escaped from her before Cassie could stop herself, her voice wavering between the same two feelings: embarrassment and shame.

She had seen the way Freddie and Lizzie were together, the way they shared something beyond the surface—a connection that felt more real than anything Cassie had witnessed in the strained relationship between her uncle and Valerie.

It was impossible that they hadn’t thought about it, right?

Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but her reaction wasn’t one of shock—it was more like someone hearing a truth spoken aloud that they’d long since made peace with. She leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxing as a small, knowing smile played on her lips. It was the kind of smile Cassie had seen before, the one that softened her guard just enough for the words to slip through, unfiltered.

“Why doesn’t he leave Valerie and marry me?” Lizzie repeated, her voice light but with an edge Cassie couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sarcasm that stung; it was what hid beneath it. “You really don’t pull your punches, do you?”

Cassie flushed, her grip tightening around the mug. The heat of the coffee didn’t warm her, but the discomfort in her chest only grew. She looked away, her mind spinning in a blur of thoughts she didn’t know how to voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she mumbled, her voice faltering. “It’s just... I see how he is with you. How you are with him. And with Valerie, it’s not like that. It’s—”

“Different,” Lizzie finished for her, her tone softer now but no less firm. Her gaze shifted, her expression unreadable as she crossed her legs. “Trust me, Cassie, I see it too. But it’s not that simple.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the air dense with unspoken truths. Lizzie leaned back in her chair, a wry smile ghosting across her lips. It was the kind of expression Cassie had come to associate with her—a carefully constructed shield, sharp enough to deflect but never too revealing. Her gaze settled on Cassie, unreadable yet somehow piercing.

“Doesn’t it feel like a waste?” Cassie murmured, the words spilling out before she could stop herself. She stared into her mug, as if the swirling remnants of her tea might hold the answer. “He deserves better than this... This cold, perfect life with Valerie. And you deserve better than James.”

Lizzie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You don’t think I know that?” she asked, her tone cool but not unkind. Her words cut through the silence with precision, like a scalpel peeling back layers of pretense. “Freddie deserves better, yes. But what does that mean? Better for him, or better for me? It’s not that simple, darling. It never is.”

Cassie glanced up, startled by the edge in Lizzie’s voice. It wasn’t anger—not entirely. It was resignation, tempered by the quiet ache of unspoken longing and the exhaustion of navigating expectations that never seemed to change. Years of compromise, of managing the roles they were expected to play, had left their marks.

“You’re saying you’re okay with this?” Cassie’s voice cracked slightly, her frustration bleeding through. “Just... Letting it all stay the same?”

Lizzie’s laugh was soft but bitter, laced with a kind of knowing Cassie hadn’t yet earned.

“Okay with it?” she repeated, shaking her head, “Hardly. But life isn’t a neatly wrapped package, Cassie. It’s messy. People like Valerie don’t just disappear because we want them to. And Freddie, for all his charm and wit, is stuck in a role he doesn’t know how to break out of. And no bold declaration will change that, believe me, I know.”

Cassie flinched, the weight of Lizzie’s words sinking in.

“It feels like you’re both... Waiting for some big moment where everything will fix itself,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Lizzie’s expression softened for the first time, the sharp lines around her mouth easing into something more vulnerable. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, the motion unguarded but deliberate.

“Maybe he is,” Lizzie admitted, her voice carrying a note of resigned acceptance, “And I don’t blame him. Sometimes waiting is all you can do. You wait, and you hope that when the moment comes, you’re ready for it.”

Cassie fell silent, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug. She wanted to argue, to say waiting wasn’t enough, that action was needed. But Lizzie’s calm, her quiet conviction, held her words at bay. It felt like stepping into a current she didn’t quite know how to navigate.

Lizzie shifted then, her gaze drifting toward the window. The morning light filtered through the glass, casting soft patterns on the wall. For a moment, it seemed as though she was looking for something far away—an answer, perhaps, or the courage to voice what she was about to say.

“I’m not waiting for everything to fall into place, though,” she said, her voice steady, “I sent James the divorce papers this morning. Told him the house is mine, and he’ll need to find somewhere else.”

Cassie’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, disbelief etched across her face.

What?

“You did what?” she asked, her tone laced with incredulity.

Lizzie met Cassie’s wide-eyed disbelief with a steady look, her voice calm and unflinching.

“I sent him the papers, yes,” she repeated, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back in her chair. The motion was smooth, practiced, but Cassie didn’t miss the flicker of vulnerability that passed through Lizzie’s eyes before she masked it again, “James and I have been living this charade long enough. It’s exhausting, Cassie. Pretending, performing... Existing in parallel lives that don’t touch. Sound familiar?”

Cassie’s fingers tightened around her mug, but she didn’t answer. Lizzie wasn’t really asking.

Of course it sounded familiar, it was some kind of pattern in Rutshire. Many marriages there were about pretending, her father and mother were a proper example. There was a reason why her mother had gone to Chicago when her father was still alive.

“You asked why Freddie doesn’t leave Valerie,” Lizzie continued, “Why did I stayed with James as long as I did? And the truth is... Sometimes it’s easier to keep the structure standing than to deal with the mess of tearing it all down. Especially when the world is watching, waiting for you to falter.”

“So what changed?” Cassie asked quietly.

Lizzie tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile.

“I realized I couldn’t keep waiting for someone else to make the first move. I told James it was over because it needed to be done—for me. But with Freddie...” She trailed off, her gaze slipping toward the window again, the morning light reflecting faintly in her eyes. “That’s his decision to make. Not mine.”

Cassie hesitated, her voice a little smaller as she asked, “But doesn’t it hurt? Knowing you’ve made your choice and he hasn’t?”

“Of course it hurts,” Lizzie’s laugh was short and humorless, her gaze snapping back to Cassie, “But life isn’t fair, darling, and love doesn’t come with guarantees. Freddie and I have something, yes. But it’s not something I can force into existence beyond what it already is. And I’m not willing to sit around, waiting for scraps.”

Cassie blinked, feeling her own defenses unravel slightly under Lizzie’s candidness.

“I just thought... Maybe it could be different,” Cassie confessed, her voice soft with vulnerability, as if finally giving air to a wish she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. It sounded silly in her head, but saying it aloud felt like acknowledging a truth she had been holding back.

Lizzie didn’t hesitate, her gaze steady and not unkind.

“So did I,” she said quietly, the bluntness of her words disarming Cassie, “But different doesn’t happen by wishing. It happens by doing the hard thing. And sometimes, even then, it doesn’t change anything.”

Her voice was tinged with something close to regret, but there was no trace of self-pity in her tone—just the reality of a decision made, and a life that was still being navigated.

Cassie sat back as Lizzie’s words sank in, settling around her like the still air of the room. She thought about her father, about the split between him and her mother.

The way their marriage had deteriorated long before he died. How her mother had packed up and left for Chicago when Cassie was still too young to understand the intricacies of their broken home… Leaving her with her father, as if the distance itself could untangle the mess that had been left behind.

She’d been too young to remember much of it, but she remembered the emptiness that filled the spaces when they were apart. She never fully grasped what had gone wrong between them. And all of it became worse when he died and she had to be her mother’s responsibility again.

In some ways, she thought, this was all too familiar.

The way Lizzie and Freddie circled around each other, staying just out of reach. It wasn’t that they didn’t care—it was that the world they lived in made it impossible for either of them to take the leap. They stayed in their own self-made prisons, not daring to shatter the fragile construct they’d both built.

Her mother tried to get a new life without her and her father and, in the end, it didn’t work exactly as she had planned.

“I used to think... Maybe, if you loved someone enough, you could make it work,” Cassie continued, more to herself than to Lizzie, “But it’s like you said, isn’t it? It is not that simple. We can’t make people change. Not really.”

“No, you can’t make someone change,” Lizzie leaned forward, her eyes flicking to Cassie with an unspoken understanding, “But you can choose whether or not you’re going to keep waiting for them to do it. And sometimes, you’ve got to let go of the idea that you can make things right, and just accept that they’re not right.”

The words lingered in the air, settling over Cassie like a heavy fog, obscuring any easy answers she might have clung to.

“But you don’t just... Give up on the person you love,” Cassie whispered, her thoughts swirling, lost in the complexity of what she was saying, “How do you walk away from someone who means so much, even when you know it won’t work?”

“You don’t walk away from love, Cass,” Lizzie looked at her for a long moment, as if searching for something in Cassie’s face, “You walk away from the idea of what it could be. Because sometimes, the love itself isn’t enough, no matter how much you want it to be.”

Cassie felt something settle in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the conversation, the heavy truths Lizzie was speaking, or just the exhausting burden of everything she hadn’t yet figured out.

The silence stretched between them, and in the quiet, Lizzie added, “You’ll get it, eventually. You’ll understand what I mean.”

After a brief period of silent reflection, Cassie exhaled deeply, her hands still wrapped around the warm mug as if it were the only tangible object in the room.

“I shouldn’t have spoken up,” she murmured, “It’s not my place.”

Lizzie regarded her with a softened expression, yet her words remained pointed.

“You’re asking questions, Cass. That’s a good start,” Lizzie reassured Cassie, a smile adorned her face. “It means you’re searching for answers, and maybe that’s enough to ensure you won’t have to face the same struggles your uncle and I are tangled up in.”

Cassie traced the rim of her empty mug, her thoughts tangling and untangling like a knot she wasn’t quite ready to cut. Lizzie’s words echoed in her mind—a thread she couldn’t quite grasp yet couldn’t ignore. They settled into the corners of her mind, quiet but insistent, nudging her toward truths she didn’t want to name.

Love was complicated, wasn’t it? A web that stretched across her life, inescapable and sticky with memories she tried not to disturb. Thinking about it meant pulling at threads she’d long since left knotted—threads tied to her mother and father's sad story, to the spaces they had left unspoken between them.

The house seemed to mirror her unease. The silence pressed closer, thick and watchful, broken only by the hum of Freddie’s voice from downstairs. It rose and fell in careful rhythms, too muffled to understand, but carrying a tension she could feel. It prickled against her skin, subtle but sharp, like a draft that found its way through cracks you didn’t know existed.

Cassie’s gaze flicked toward the window, the soft gray light filtering through like a promise she couldn’t decide whether to trust. A part of her wanted to get up, to move, to shake off the weight that was settling around her shoulders. But she stayed where she was, her hands resting lightly against the worn ceramic of the mug, tethered by thoughts she couldn’t yet untangle.

“Freddie’s probably pacing again,” Lizzie quipped, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, “He does that when Rupert’s around. It’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, “Is Rupert here?”

“Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied, her smile turning wry, “They’re discussing Venturer’s business. But Rupert has a way of making everyone feel like they’re a step behind. It’s his gift. You met him last night—you probably noticed.”

Cassie thought back to the previous evening. Rupert’s grin, so polished and charming, had carried an undercurrent of something sharper, something designed to disarm.

“He’s…” She paused, searching for the right word to capture the strangeness of him, the way he had exchanged those discreet glances with Taggie O’Hara, “Something..”

Too cautious. She’d already said more than she should, and she didn’t intend to repeat that mistake.

Lizzie chuckled softly, setting her mug on the table. “That’s one way to put it.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled both their attention. Freddie appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the room effortlessly. His eyes swept across the two women, lingering briefly on Lizzie before settling on Cassie.

For a moment, there was something in his expression—surprise, perhaps?—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Not at all,” Lizzie said smoothly, her tone light, “We were just chatting. Sisterly bonding, you might say.”

“Sisterly, huh?” Freddie’s brow arched, his lips curving, “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” Cassie quipped, her laugh masking her unease.

She was praying for Freddie to think she didn’t remember what she had told him last night, because one thing was to discuss it with Lizzie… Another thing was to have a sober conversation about it with her uncle. She would rather bury her rather in horse’s shit.

Freddie’s attention shifted fully to Cassie, his arms crossing loosely over his chest.

“How’s your head? Feeling sober enough to talk about Venturer?”

No questions about last night or weird looks… Good, perhaps she was safe.

“I think so,” Cassie answered, though her voice wavered a bit.

“Good,” Freddie replied with a nod, his tone shifting into something steadier, almost businesslike, “Rupert and I just got a call downstairs—Cameron wants a meeting. Now.”

Cassie blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.

“A meeting?” she echoed, setting her mug down a bit harder than she intended, “About what?”

“About you,” Freddie hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to Lizzie before landing back on Cassie, “About the possibility of hiring you.”

Cassie’s stomach twisted, her thoughts racing. She wasn’t even sure she wanted this—though admittedly, she wanted it more today than she had yesterday. But the idea of Cameron, a woman she hadn’t even met yet, already calling a meeting about her? It sent an uneasy ripple through her chest.

Lizzie noticed the discomfort in Cassie’s expression and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Cameron can be intense, but she’s practical. If she wants to talk about you, it means she sees potential.”

“Or it means she’s already decided I’m a liability,” Cassie shot back, her tone edged with bitter humor. She crossed her arms tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweater. “I’m not even sure about this, and yet here I am.”

Her mind spun. She hadn’t even made up her own mind about joining Venturer. Sure, the idea was clearer now than it had been yesterday, but the thought of someone like Cameron—someone who didn’t even know her—sitting in a room analyzing her every move made her chest tighten.

I’m not even sure about it, she thought bitterly, even though I want it more today than I did yesterday. And Cameron, the woman I haven’t even met yet, already wants to pick me apart.

She exhaled sharply, forcing the air out of her lungs as she tried to settle her racing thoughts.

“So, what? You will all sit around a table and vote on whether or not I’m worth the gamble?”

Freddie crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with hers.

“No one’s voting on you, Cassie,” he took the empty mug off her hands, leaving it on the corner table next to them, “This isn’t about proving yourself. It’s about... Navigating the optics. Rupert and I are heading to Venturer now to figure out how this fits.”

“Optics.” The word felt sour on her tongue. “So this isn’t about whether I’m good enough. It’s about whether I look good enough.”

“Cassie,” Freddie started, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Freddie. I know exactly what this is.” She gestured vaguely, as if the answer was obvious, “This isn’t about my work. It’s about my name.”

Freddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew the truth better than her.

“Yes, the name is part of it.” He admitted. “But you’re more than just Matthew Jones’ daughter, or my niece, and you know that.”

Cassie wasn’t sure she believed him. She felt Lizzie’s gaze on her, trying to comfort her without saying the words out loud.

Her thoughts went back to Declan’s words the night before, to the way he had framed her story on his show with such precision. That moment had given her clarity she hadn’t expected, but clarity didn’t erase the fear that had crept in since then. It didn’t erase the feeling that she was walking into a trap.

Despite wanting to participate and be a part of the team, she didn’t know if she was ready for the first newspaper starring her as the daughter of Matthew Jones.

She could already see the headlines.

“They didn’t even invite me,” Cassie muttered, shaking her head once again, “You’ll be talking about me, deciding my future, and I won’t even be in the room.”

“That’s because this meeting isn’t about deciding anything final.” Freddie stood up, his posture still tense. “It’s about laying the groundwork, making sure everyone’s on the same page. Cameron is... Thorough, to say the least.”

From what little Cassie had heard about Cameron, “thorough” sounded like a gross understatement. She imagined someone cold, clinical—the exact kind of person who would see her as nothing more than a risk to be mitigated. A liability.

And, sincerely, she thought Cameron would be right to think so.

The possibility of joining Venturer felt both intoxicating and suffocating. It was the kind of chance that could elevate her career, but it could just as easily crush her under the weight of expectations she wasn’t sure she could meet.

Cassie rubbed her temple, the beginnings of a headache threatening to resurface. The weight of the conversation, the lingering doubts, and the prospect of a meeting where she’d be dissected like a business proposal—all of it was too much. She glanced at Freddie, who was watching her closely, his concern barely hidden behind his usual calm.

“Can you take me home on your way there?” Cassie asked softly, her voice almost apologetic, “I just... I need some space to think.”

Freddie paused, studying her for a moment before nodding.

“Of course. Let me grab my coat.” His brows furrowed slightly as he turned to Lizzie. “I’ll take you to your place too, Lizzie.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard.

“Oh,” she stammered before recovering with a small smile, “Thank you, Freddie. I appreciate it.”

As Freddie left the room, Cassie exhaled, relieved. She glanced at Lizzie, who gave her an encouraging look, though there was a faint crease of worry in her expression. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as her thoughts churned.

She wasn’t angry, not at Freddie, not at Rupert or Cameron, not even at Declan—though his name lingered in her mind longer than she liked. She was just tired. Tired of the questions, the scrutiny, the way her father’s shadow seemed to follow her into every room.

I’m not even there yet, she thought bitterly, and they’re already treating me like a liability—or worse, an asset.

Lizzie reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, you know. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

Cassie gave her a small, tired smile, “I know.”

Freddie reappeared, coat in hand, his movements brisk but unhurried. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at Cassie.

“Ready when you are.”

She nodded, standing and gathering her things with deliberate slowness. Lizzie stood too, giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she passed.

As they descended the stairs, the house seemed quieter than before, the faint hum of conversation from the kitchen reduced to murmurs as if respecting her mood. The faint aroma of Lizzie’s tea lingered in the air, blending with the sharper tang of Freddie’s cologne as he walked ahead. Cassie trailed behind, her steps slower, as though gravity had grown heavier.

“Where’s Rupert?” Cassie asked as they reached the foyer, her eyes scanning the space where he had been earlier.

Freddie glanced briefly out the window.

“Left a few minutes ago,” he said with a shrug, “Probably halfway to Venturer by now. Cameron won’t like to be kept waiting.”

Lizzie raised a brow, “He’s probably doing his best to charm her before the meeting starts. He’s good at that.”

Cassie huffed a small laugh, though her thoughts churned uneasily. Outside, the crisp morning air hit her skin like a bracing splash of water, the sun casting sharp shadows across the driveway. Freddie unlocked the car with a soft beep, his movements deliberate as he held the door open for her.

She hesitated for a moment, catching his eye.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than she intended.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about me.”

Lizzie slipped into the backseat, giving Cassie an encouraging smile before leaning back into the seat. The car rumbled to life, the hum of the engine filling the air. Cassie leaned her head against the window, watching as the city blurred into streaks of gray and muted color.

The silence inside the car was heavy but not uncomfortable. Lizzie broke it with a soft murmur.

“You’ll figure it out, Cassie. You always do.”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately. Her thoughts were a storm of doubt and determination, fear and clarity. Freddie’s steady presence at the wheel and Lizzie’s quiet support behind her felt like the only anchors keeping her from being swept away.

The newsroom carried the distinct sound of controlled chaos. Producers darted between desks clutching papers, interns scrambled to keep coffee from spilling, and camera operators reviewed their setups for the next broadcast. It was a well-oiled machine built on deadlines and adrenaline, but there was always an undercurrent of tension—especially on mornings like this.

Declan strode through the room with a practiced authority, his mind half-focused on the day’s agenda and half on the conversation looming ahead. The faces around him—Seb gesturing animatedly near the teleprompter, Charles arguing over a graphic error—were familiar yet blurred as his thoughts sharpened. His gaze flicked toward the glass-walled conference room, where the meeting he’d been dreading was about to begin.

Inside, Cameron perched on the edge of the table, her posture as rigid as the sharp lines of her blazer. She exuded the kind of tension that made even the most confident producers tread lightly. She wasn’t just Venturer’s co-executive producer; she was its gatekeeper, guarding the platform’s integrity with an intensity that was both admirable and exhausting.

Despite admiring her unwavering commitment to the show, Declan couldn’t shake the sting of their argument the night before, just after his broadcast. Cameron had cornered him, her tone low but brimming with frustration, over his decision to use Cassie’s evidence against Mr. Willow without giving her a heads-up. He could still hear her words echoing:

“You’re not just playing with stories here; you’re playing with credibility.”

Declan knew she wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t stop the bitterness from creeping in. This meeting, he suspected, was the fallout.

Rupert, as always, was the foil to her precision. Lounging in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, he looked as though he’d wandered into the wrong room by mistake. But Declan knew better.

Behind Rupert’s air of nonchalance was a sharp mind that thrived on finding the cracks in any argument—Cameron’s, Declan’s, or anyone else’s.

Declan wouldn’t lie to himself: it was one of the many reasons he admired Rupert. But admiration came with its price. In moments like these, Rupert’s sharpness reminded Declan of his own insecurities—the kind that had lingered since they’d first worked together.

Rupert Campbell-Black  was the type who could slice through a room’s tension with a single, well-placed quip, while Declan sometimes felt he was still proving himself.

Last night at the Spencer’s Gala had only sharpened Declan’s simmering insecurities.

The revelation of Rupert giving Taggie a ride had cracked open a door to fears he thought he’d long since locked away. He’d spent so much time trying to rebuild their bond—years of missteps followed by countless apologies and promises to do better. But seeing her turn to Rupert instead of him for something as simple as a ride wasn’t just a slight; it was a glaring reminder of how far he still had to go.

It wasn’t just the choice of transportation that stung; it was everything Rupert represented. The man exuded charm, the kind that made people gravitate toward him, made them feel seen. It was the same quality that had driven Declan to admire him professionally—Rupert had an uncanny ability to command a room. But when that same ease slipped into Declan’s personal life, filling spaces where Declan felt he’d fallen short, it was unbearable.

He replayed the moment in his mind. Rupert and Taggie at the gala, her laughing at something he’d said, the two of them effortlessly at ease in a way that felt foreign to Declan. He knew he had no right to begrudge her moments of levity—God knew she’d earned them—but still, it gnawed at him. The what-ifs buzzed like static at the edge of his thoughts. What if she turned to Rupert because she saw something in him that Declan lacked? What if Rupert understood her in ways Declan never could?

Shaking himself out of the spiral, Declan let his focus narrow on the present. The Venturer newsroom had its own kind of chaos, a rhythm he understood better than most. As his gaze landed on the glass-walled conference room, his thoughts shifted from family to the professional minefield ahead.

Inside, Freddie stood by the window, his back to the room, his shoulders squared in a way that gave no indication of where he stood on the issue at hand. Declan had worked with Freddie long enough to know the signs. The deliberate stillness, the subtle tilt of his head—Freddie was preparing himself. He had a knack for waiting until just the right moment to speak, his words cutting through noise like a knife.

As Declan stepped into the room and closed the glass door behind him, the atmosphere shifted.

Cameron didn’t wait.

"Finally," Cameron began, her voice clipped. "Let’s address the elephant in the newsroom."

Her eyes swept across the room, landing briefly on Declan before settling on Freddie. The unspoken accusation simmered in her tone, a jab at the brewing controversy over Cassie.

“By elephant,” Rupert interjected, lounging in his chair, “you mean the niece of a broadcasting legend and the star of an exposé that made national headlines? Quite the pachyderm.”

Cameron shot him a withering glare, “We’re not here to trade quips, Rupert. This is about perception, and I don’t need to spell out the risks of nepotism.”

“We’re not hiring Cassie because of her last name.” Declan, standing near the edge of the table, folded his arms, “Her work speaks for itself—her investigation into Crawford alone proves that.”

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Cameron retorted. She tapped her pen against the table, her movements sharp. “She’s already a lightning rod. Tying Venturer’s reputation to hers puts us in a precarious position.”

Freddie shook his head, tutting.

“It’s not just about risk; it’s about the opportunity,” He leaned forward, a torn smile on his face, “Cassie has the skills, the instincts, and the grit to bring something new to Venturer. We’re talking about talent, not handouts.”

Cameron’s gaze softened, though her tone remained pointed.

“Freddie, I get it. You want to support your family. But this isn’t just about her qualifications—it’s about the optics. How do we justify bringing her on without it looking like favoritism?”

Rupert, always quick to diffuse tension, raised his cup in mock agreement.

“True, optics matter. But let’s not overlook the bigger picture. Cassie’s presence—her credibility—could elevate Venturer in ways we can’t predict yet.” he added with a sly grin, “Besides, Declan was the one who introduced the idea after Freddie mentioned it months ago, right? If he is so keen on her, I’m inclined to trust his judgment.”

Cameron scoffed, leaning back in her chair with a sharp shake of her head.

“So we’re supposed to ignore the optics?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over Rupert’s figure, “Freddie’s niece, Matthew Jones’ daughter, the face of a major scandal—what part of that screams credibility to you?”

Rupert’s grin faltered, his posture stiffening as he leaned forward. Declan, standing at the head of the table, remained silent for a moment, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. Freddie’s gaze flicked between the two of them, his calm exterior masking the churn of unease beneath.

No one seemed to have any cards left to play—at least, that’s how it looked to Rupert and Freddie.

But Declan? Declan had something.

“What screams credibility is the fact that she did the right thing,” He stepped closer to the table, leaning forward just enough to command their attention, “While others were sitting on their hands, she was exposing the truth. If we’re afraid of the optics, then we’re no better than Crawford’s FM.”

The room fell into silence, the only sound the groan of activity from the newsroom beyond the glass walls. Cameron’s fingers tightened around her pen, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t immediately reply. Rupert tilted his head, his gaze shifting between Declan and Cameron, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

Freddie was about to speak when a sharp knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. A producer stepped in, her expression tense, clutching a tablet.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice brisk, “but there’s breaking news. A whistleblower just leaked internal documents on water contamination near that factory in Suffolk. It’s spreading across major networks.”

Cameron frowned sharply, “Suffolk? That’s the same case that’s been bubbling up for weeks now.”

But it was Freddie’s reaction that turned heads. His posture went rigid, and his face paled ever so slightly. The pieces clicked together in his mind faster than he cared to admit.

Suffolk… Water contamination… Cassie.

His thoughts flashed to the morning he got her out of prison, the morning he got her out of prison, the same day they got to her all her missing calls… Didn’t one of them have something to do with water issues near a factory?

Her name was Sarah, right? After that morning, Cassie had spent hours on the phone with him telling him what she had in hand with those contacts, even telling him more about this one specially.

Sarah Halverson… That was her full name.

A local from Suffolk who had provided crucial leads in her investigation.

“Bloody hell,” Freddie muttered under his breath, drawing every gaze in the room. He turned back to the producer, “Thanks for the update.”

As the producer exited, Declan raised a brow at Freddie’s sudden shift in demeanor, “Care to enlighten us?”

“Cassie’s investigating this.” Freddie’s lips thinned. “She already has a witness and a pile of evidence.”

Cameron froze, her pen hovering mid-air, “Are you telling me that your niece was already investigating this whistleblower?”

“It’s not a ‘might.’” Freddie leaned on the back of an empty chair, his tone steady but charged with conviction, “I don’t know the details of this leak, but Sarah Halversoni is one of Cassie’s primary contacts. She is a local who lives near the factory, Cassie has been talking with her for weeks now.”

Rupert whistled low, shaking his head, “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?”

Cameron’s skepticism was immediate.

“And you didn’t think to mention this before now, Freddie?”

“Well, it wasn’t in my bingo that a whistleblower would come forward the same morning we're debating whether Cassie is worth it,” Freddie massaged his mustache, his frustration showing in his measured tone, “But here we are.”

Declan, processing the revelation, spoke carefully.

“If this leak confirms Cassie’s investigation…” He paused, letting the news sink in completely, “Then we have more than just a story—we have a reason to bring her in. She knows the case. She knows the players. And she knows how to follow the threads.”

“And we have a media storm brewing,” Cameron countered, “A storm that could sink her—or worse, us.”

Rupert steepled his fingers, his grin replaced with an expression of thoughtful calculation.

“Or it could propel us forward. This is the kind of opportunity that defines networks, Cameron. If we act decisively, we control the narrative.”

“And we have to act.” Declan nodded. “If we hesitate, someone else will break the follow-up first. We’ll lose the momentum.”

Cameron sighed heavily, clearly wrestling with the decision, “So what’s the plan? We hire her on the spot?”

“On a trial basis,” Freddie suggested, “She already has a foot in the door with this story. Let’s see what she can do with the rest.”

Rupert leaned back in his chair, cracking a small smile, “Now we’re talking.”

Cameron still didn’t look convinced, but she relented with a curt nod.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a deviant smile tugging in her lips. She could lie all she wanted, but she enjoyed debating with the three idiots. “But if this backfires, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”

However, she wouldn’t let her friendship with the men interfere with her career.

“It won’t backfire,” Declan said, meeting her gaze directly.

The late afternoon sun lingered low, its warm, amber light draping the countryside in golden hues. Cassie adjusted her posture on Jester, the familiar sway of the gelding's steady pace grounding her in the moment. The rhythmic clop of hooves against the packed dirt trail seemed to echo her own heartbeat.

She stole a glance at Bas, who rode ahead, his dun horse, Rocky, moving with an easy confidence that matched his rider's. The contrast between his usual carefree demeanor and the quiet intensity of her own thoughts couldn’t have been starker.

Freddie’s voice echoed in her mind, the conversation from earlier replaying itself in snippets. He’d given her the gist of the meeting once it ended: Cameron had finally relented after considerable debate, agreeing to a trial run contingent on the developing Suffolk water contamination story. Cassie’s contact—Sarah Halverson—had leads that now aligned with a whistleblower’s explosive revelations.

Venturer wanted her on board not just for her name, but for the narrative she’d started to unravel.

She only had to go visit them and say yes.

But that wasn’t what kept Cassie up the entire afternoon. It was the outcomes—the way her father’s legacy loomed over everything she touched. She couldn’t help but wonder if this opportunity would bring her closer to stepping out of that shadow—or cement her place within it.

Jester’s ears flicked back as if sensing her unease, and she reached down to pat his neck absently.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him or herself.

Cassie shifted her weight in the saddle, the familiar sway of Jester’s gait grounding her. The tall chestnut gelding moved with an energy that mirrored her own—restless, but controlled. The crisp evening air filled her lungs, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as she and Bas rode side by side along the winding trail.

Around them, the countryside stretched out in soft greens and browns, the rolling fields edged with clusters of oak and hawthorn.

Ahead, Bas leaned forward on Rocky, his dun horse’s ears flicking back toward him as if listening to the idle hum of his rider’s voice. His posture was as casual as ever, but Cassie didn’t miss the glint in his eye when he turned to glance at her.

“You know,” Bas began, breaking the silence, “Jester’s looking particularly spirited today. Probably because he knows his rider’s overthinking.”

Cassie smirked, patting Jester’s neck, “Overthinking is a survival skill in my family.”

“Ah, but darling, there’s a difference between surviving and living,” Bas shot back, his grin sharp and playful. He urged Rocky into a smooth trot, the dun horse responding effortlessly. “Speaking of which, how’s the decision-making process coming along?”

Cassie rolled her eyes, guiding Jester to match Rocky’s pace, “I wasn’t aware there was a deadline.”

“Oh, there’s always a deadline,” Bas teased, his voice carrying easily over the sound of hooves. “Especially when Cameron’s involved. Or Declan, the man’s been in a mood, you know. Something about an opportunity slipping through his fingers.”

Her grip on the reins tightened instinctively, though she kept her expression neutral, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Bas drawled, his tone turning deliberately conspiratorial, “that Declan’s not exactly the patient type. He sees something—or someone—with potential, and he doesn’t like to waste time. You’ve been the topic of quite a few conversations lately.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, her voice dry, “Am I supposed to feel flattered?”

“Flattered? Absolutely,” Bas said, his grin widening. “But also aware. Declan doesn’t push for just anyone. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

Jester snorted beneath her, and Cassie leaned forward to steady him, her thoughts turning inward. The idea of being a pawn in someone else’s game—no matter how well-meaning—made her stomach twist. She’d spent too long trying to carve out her own space, free of the shadows cast by her father’s legacy.

The trail curved gently, opening into a sun-dappled clearing. Bas slowed Rocky to a walk, letting the horses stretch their necks. He turned to her, his expression softening just slightly.

“Look,” he said, his tone losing some of its usual bravado, “I know you’re not the type to jump at something just because it’s offered. But this—Venturer, everyone’s backing—it’s not just another job. It’s a platform. A bloody big one. And if anyone can make something out of it, it’s you.”

Cassie didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching the warm tones of Jester’s coat. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool air.

“I already have my answer, that isn’t why I am overthinking” she said finally, her voice quiet. “Because, it’s not just about me, though, is it? It’s about what people expect. What they assume. My name, my family—it’s a package deal whether I want it to be or not.”

Bas tilted his head, studying her with an almost brotherly fondness, “And you think that’s a bad thing?”

“I think it’s a complicated thing,” she admitted.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the rolling Rutshire countryside. Cassie and Bas rode side by side, the rhythmic clopping of Jester and Rocky's hooves the only sound breaking the tranquil evening. The scent of damp earth and blooming hawthorn filled the air, a reminder of the world beyond their immediate concerns.

Bas, ever the embodiment of charm and mischief, glanced at Cassie, his dark eyes gleaming with sincerity.

"You know, Cass," he began, his voice smooth yet tinged with earnestness, "Venturer isn’t just looking for a pretty face or a famous name. We want someone with real vision, someone who can shake things up."

“And let me guess,” Cassie met his gaze, her expression a blend of curiosity and caution, “You, Rupert, Declan, my uncle... Everyone there had agreed in today’s meeting that’s me?”

Bas shrugged with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, yet the twinkle in his eye betrayed his enjoyment of her reaction.

“Something like that,” he said, smirking, “But really, it’s not about them deciding anything. It’s about you.”

Cassie exhaled, pulling Jester into a slow trot as the clearing narrowed again into a wooded trail. The light shifted, the shadows of the trees dappled against the horses’ sides.

“It’s not as simple as you make it sound,” she muttered.

Bas clicked his tongue, urging Rocky closer.

“Nothing’s ever simple to you, Cass,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “You can’t let that stop you. Venturer is a platform. And you... You’re a storyteller. This could be the way you tell them—on your terms for once.”

She shot him a look, unsure whether to be flattered or annoyed by his knack for cutting through her layers of doubt.

“You make it sound like I’ve already said yes,” she pointed out.

Bas tilted his head, his smirk returning.

“Haven’t you?”

Cassie didn’t respond, her grip tightening on the reins. He knew damn well that she had, indeed.

“Besides,” Bas continued, his tone lightening again, “it’s not like Freddie would let you say no… Or Declan. Hell, that man’s persistence is borderline pathological. You’d better prepare yourself for relentless charm and dramatic monologues about justice and accountability.”

That earned a small laugh from her, though she quickly stifled it, shaking her head.

“You’re insufferable,” she said.

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back, flashing her a grin.

The sound of hooves crunching against the gravel filled the silence between them, a rhythmic backdrop to the thoughts tumbling through Cassie’s mind. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted—not entirely. But for the first time, the weight of indecision didn’t feel as suffocating.

Bas guided Rocky toward a small rise overlooking the fields, his movements relaxed but purposeful. He turned in his saddle to look at her, his expression suddenly serious.

“Cass,” he said, “I’m not saying this because Declan told me to, or because Freddie would love it, or even because Rupert is secretly betting on it—though he probably is. I’m saying it because I believe in you. You’ve got something the rest of us don’t, and it’s not just your name.”

Cassie blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“What is it then?” she asked, her tone quieter now.

Bas paused, his gaze sweeping over the horizon before settling on her again.

“You see people,” he said simply. “Not just their stories, but them. And that’s what Venturer needs right now. Someone who can cut through all the noise and make people feel like they matter.”

For the first time that day, Cassie felt something close to hope. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there.

Maybe Bas was right.

Maybe this was her chance to step out of the shadows.

Maybe it was time.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, unsure.

The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the path. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and the earthiness of the trail.

Bas guided Rocky toward a small rise overlooking the fields, his movements relaxed but purposeful. Cassie noticed how the dun horse seemed attuned to Bas, its ears flicking back at the slightest shift of weight. Jester followed willingly, his chestnut coat gleaming under the sun, though his steps were slower, mirroring Cassie’s own contemplative mood.

When they reached the rise, Bas turned in his saddle to look at her, his expression suddenly serious. The playfulness she had come to expect from him had softened into something weightier, more deliberate.

“You know,” he began, his voice casual but with a thread of excitement, “Venturer’s invited you to the studio tonight. They want you to see how everything works—meet the team, feel the energy.”

Cassie’s hands tightened on Jester’s reins as she glanced at him, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

“You’re late,” she said, her tone half-teasing.

“Late? How am I late?” Bas blinked, caught off guard, “This was supposed to be my big moment.”

“Freddie told me already,” she smirked, patting Jester’s neck, “Right after he got back from Venturer.”

Bas groaned dramatically, throwing his head back as if deeply wounded.

“Of course he did,” he muttered, “Can’t even let me have the joy of being the bearer of exciting news.”

Cassie laughed softly, shaking her head.

“He’s my uncle, Bas. Did you really think he wouldn’t tell me first?”

Bas let the silence linger between them for a few beats, his gaze following the path ahead as Rocky ambled forward. Cassie stayed quiet too, her thoughts turning over his words like smooth stones. It wasn’t just his confidence in her that made her pause—it was the ease with which he assumed she could step into the chaos of Venturer and emerge unscathed.

“So,” Bas said, breaking the silence, his tone lighter, “Does that mean you’re going to accept? Or is it the reason for your overthinking?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie sighed, her expression softening into something more thoughtful. “Freddie told me a little about the meeting and how Cameron eventually agreed. As you may already know, they want me to work on something related to that Suffolk factory scandal—apparently, it’s picking up momentum. I know I’ll say yes eventually, but...”

“But what?” Bas pressed gently, steering Rocky closer to her.

“I’m not sure how it’s going to play out,” she admitted, almost in a whisper, “My name is already tied to so much—my dad, Crawford, everything I’ve done so far. What if this just... Adds to the noise? In a bad way?”

Bas studied her, his usual humor tempered by something more earnest.

“You’re right—there will for sure be noise., good and bane one.” He agreed, humming as he pondered about it, “But there’s also going to be a hell of a lot of substance. You don’t get to the good stuff without making waves, Cass.”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile, though the doubt lingering in her eyes didn’t entirely dissipate.

“That’s what Freddie said too, in his own way,” she murmured.

“Well,” Bas replied, his grin returning, “Great minds and all that.”

“Or annoying ones,” Cassie teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

Bas laughed, urging Rocky forward as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his chin forward to hurry her along, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Cassie shook her head lightly at Bas’s audacity, the reins slipping comfortably through her fingers as Jester paced forward, closing the small gap Rocky had created.

“At least this time,” she said with a teasing edge, “you’re warning me before barging in uninvited.”

“See? Progress. I’m evolving.” Bas turned in his saddle, grinning wide. “Besides… You didn’t say ‘no’.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smirk that tugged at her lips. The golden light of the setting sun played over the soft sway of the field grasses, and for a fleeting moment, she felt grounded. But the reality of the evening ahead loomed heavy in her mind.

“And so, what?” Cass lifted a brow, trying to mask the faint flicker of amusement beneath her skepticism, “There was room for a ‘no’?”

Bas tapped his chin dramatically, his expression the picture of mock deliberation.

“Hm... No. Not really.”

Cassie let out a soft laugh despite herself, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. The wind teased strands of her hair as Jester fell into an easy rhythm beside Rocky.

The young Jones hovered just outside the sleek, glass-fronted building of Venturer, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Under the fluorescent glow of streetlights, the building loomed, its sharp edges and modern facade exuding an intimidating presence. The reflective glass panels mirrored the city’s bustling energy, yet inside, through the transparent walls, she could see a hive of controlled chaos—the newsroom buzzing with purpose even at this late hour.

She shifted on her feet, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, but the tension in her chest made it hard to focus on anything but the daunting scene ahead. Every flicker of movement inside felt magnified, from producers gesturing animatedly to camera operators adjusting equipment with precision. The scale of it all was staggering, a far cry from the quiet solitude of her own investigative work.

Beside her, Bas leaned casually against the edge of a nearby planter, arms crossed and a small, amused smile playing at his lips. His relaxed posture was a sharp contrast to the knots in her stomach.

“Nervous?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her. His tone was light, but there was a knowing quality to it that made Cassie glance his way.

“What gave it away?” she replied dryly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her unease. Her fingers gripped her bag strap tighter, as if it might anchor her to the ground.

“Just a hunch,” Bas chuckled, “Relax… Today they were in a good mood, I doubt that something might have changed that.”

Cassie forced a thin smile but said nothing. Her chest tightened as she glanced back at the building.

Through the transparent walls, she saw the frantic energy that radiated from within—producers huddled over glowing monitors, interns rushing between desks with trays of coffee, and the glow of screens flashing breaking news. It felt like another world entirely, one where every movement had purpose, every glance carried weight.

The atmosphere was completely different from the radio.

It felt like stepping into a different universe, one where every movement had purpose and every glance carried purpose. The controlled chaos of the newsroom was nothing like the quiet intimacy of the radio station she had left behind. That had been a space where her voice had been her only tool, her thoughts carefully constructed before they reached the world.

Here, everything seemed raw, immediate, and relentless.

Her stomach churned as she followed the employees with her eyes. These were people who thrived on the electric buzz of breaking news, the high stakes of live broadcasting.

“There he is,” Bas said suddenly, nodding toward a familiar figure emerging from the revolving doors.

Freddie strode toward them with the steady confidence of someone entirely at home in his domain.

“Right on time,” Her uncle said as he approached. He spared a brief glance at Bas, “What’s going on with Rupert? Lately, it seems like you’ve traded him for Cassie — she’s the one glued to your side now.”

“I like to keep Rupert guessing," Bas grinned, clearly unfazed, ”Besides, he’s been busy these past few days, and, well, someone has to keep me entertained. And she’s much better company.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, “By force. Every time we meet, it’s because you’re either already there or you’ve swung by my place uninvited, luring me out with promises of free food or drinks.”

Bas laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender, “What can I say? I know your weaknesses.”

Freddie shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“Ready?” He asked, his tone gentler now, though his eyes searched hers carefully.

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Come on. Let’s get you introduced.” Freddie’s expression softened, though his composure remained intact.

He led the way, and Bas gave Cassie a quick pat on the shoulder before falling into step behind them. As they stepped through the revolving doors, the cacophony of the newsroom enveloped her.

The air was thick with the scent of coffee and printer ink, underscored by a persistent buzz of energy that seemed to pulse through the walls. It was electrifying and overwhelming in equal measure.

Cassie’s gaze darted around as they walked deeper into the newsroom. Desks were scattered with papers and half-empty coffee cups, while monitors displayed live feeds and scrolling headlines.

Some employees huddled in intense discussions, their voices blending into a low hum of urgency. While others darted between workstations, their movements swift and purposeful as they carried stacks of papers and trays of drinks.

Every corner of the room seemed alive with purpose, each person contributing to the intricate machinery of Venturer’s operations.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Freddie asked, glancing back at her. His tone was conversational, but there was a hint of pride beneath it.

Cassie nodded, though her stomach churned, “Overwhelming might be the better word.”

“You’ll find your rhythm.” Freddie’s lips curved into a brief smile, “Everyone does.”

As they rounded a corner, Cassie’s attention was drawn to a cluster of monitors displaying various live feeds. One screen showed a rehearsal for an upcoming segment, the anchor’s voice crisp and confident as she practiced her lines. Another displayed vibrant animations breaking down the day’s financial news. The sheer professionalism on display was staggering, and Cassie couldn’t help but feel like an imposter.

They approached a glass-walled studio, where a small group had gathered just outside. Cassie’s pulse quickened as her gaze landed on a tall woman in a sharply tailored blazer. Cameron Cook.

The co-executive producer’s reputation preceded her, and the no-nonsense authority in her posture made Cassie’s nerves spike.

“Ah, our newest addition,” Cameron said as they approached, her tone clipped but polite. Her sharp gaze raked over Cassie in a swift assessment.,“Cassie Jones! Welcome, Cameron Cook.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” Cassie extended her hand, her grip firm despite the tightening in her chest, “But I believe I still have to sign the contract to become the addition.”

“Of course, and soon you will,” Cameron’s smile was brief, a perfunctory gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes.,“Freddie’s spoken highly of you. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

Before Cassie could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“There she is!” Rupert Campbell-Black strode over, his grin as disarming as ever, “Our rising star.”

Cassie stiffened slightly, but Rupert’s easy charm was hard to resist. He greeted her with the familiarity of an old friend, though they’d barely exchanged more than pleasantries last night.

“You’ve met Cameron,” Rupert said, gesturing toward her before leaning conspiratorially closer to Cassie, “Don’t worry—she’s only terrifying on Wednesdays.”

Cassie’s lips twitched despite herself, though she caught the flicker of irritation in Cameron’s gaze.

“Let’s move along,” Bas cut in smoothly, redirecting the conversation before Rupert could continue his theatrics.

Freddie seized the moment, nodding toward the studio visible through the glass walls, “There’s something I want you to see.”

Cassie followed him into the studio, her heart pounding as she stepped into the epicenter of Venturer’s operations. The space was meticulously organized, every detail fine-tuned for efficiency. The anchor desk gleamed under the studio lights, cameras positioned like sentinels around it. Technicians adjusted microphones and lighting, their movements precise and practiced.

“They’re recording the night’s financial segment,” Freddie explained, his voice low as they stood at the edge of the activity, “You’ll see how everything comes together.”

Cassie watched in awe as the anchor took her place, her composure unwavering. The teleprompter’s glow reflected in her glasses as she scanned her lines one last time. A producer signaled the countdown, and the room fell silent except for the anchor’s voice, steady and authoritative as she began her segment.

Her gaze shifted to the control room visible through another set of glass panels. Inside, directors and producers communicated through headsets, their voices calm yet commanding. Monitors displayed multiple camera angles, graphics overlaying the live feed seamlessly. It was a symphony of coordination, and Cassie felt both awed and intimidated.

On the radio, everything had been raw—immediate. There were no glowing teleprompters or perfectly lit sets.

Her words had to be sharp enough to cut through static, to grab attention without the benefit of polished visuals, in and outside her show. She had relied on her voice alone to hold an audience, to convey urgency and emotion. Here, everything seemed engineered for impact, every detail meticulously arranged to tell the story in high definition.

Everything there circled around her mind as she thought about the invitation to join Venturer. The prospect of stepping into this polished, high-stakes world was both thrilling and terrifying. It was an opportunity she hadn’t dared to imagine—one that could elevate her work, yes, but also tie her name to an institution where everything she did would be under a microscope.

She had seen what her father went through and where it had led him… Was she ready for that?

Freddie glanced around, someone waving at him called his attention. He sighed before turning back to Cassie.

“I need to handle something,” he said, his tone apologetic but firm, “Stay here and watch. This is the best way to understand how we operate.”

He offered her a brief, reassuring smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Before she could reply, Freddie slipped away, weaving through the controlled chaos of the studio. Cassie turned her attention back to the action, though the absence of his steady presence left her feeling exposed. She adjusted her bag strap, trying to ground herself amid the swirl of activity.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Cassie turned to see a young man around her age, standing next to a sleek camera rig. He was tall, with a mop of dark curls that frame a sharp but friendly face. His posture was relaxed, his expression open and inviting, as though he’d seen enough of the world to be confident but not enough to be cynical.

“You’re Cassie Jones, right?” he asked, lifting a brow.

Caught off guard, she nodded, “That’s me.”

He smiled, leaning against the camera rig he was adjusting, “Freddie mentioned you might be joining us. Said you were interested in understanding how it all works—from behind the mic to in front of the camera.”

“Did he now?” Cassie smiled, remembering what she had said to him last night, “He makes me sound more ambitious than I am.”

The cameraman chuckled, shaking his head.

“He didn’t,” he clarified, “Said you’d be a good fit, especially with the way you dig into stories. I had heard of you before and, seeing you now, I don’t doubt him.”

Cassie tilted her head, the compliment both flattering and unnerving. One thing was to hear from her uncle, but it always was strange and new to hear such compliments from faces she had never seen before.

“Thank you,” she said, the words cautious but sincere. Her gaze softened as she added, “I hope you’re right.”

He grinned, pushing himself off the camera rig.

“And you are…” she prompted, letting her words trail off as her curiosity piqued.

“Elliot,” he supplied, offering a quick but genuine smile, “Cameraman, occasional tech support, and unofficial snack hoarder of Venturer Studios. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliot,” Cassie couldn’t help but laugh softly, “I hope we can team up against Rupert’s stash. I hear he guards it like it’s the crown jewels.”

“Oh, he’s relentless about it. But I’ve got my ways,” Elliot grinned, his eyes lighting up with shared humor, “Stick with me, and you’ll have access to the good stuff—chocolate biscuits, crisps, the occasional gourmet coffee. Perks of being the unofficial snack whisperer.”

Cassie chuckled, the playful warmth in his tone easing some of the tension that had been gnawing at her.

“Gourmet coffee, huh?” She nudged his shoulder lightly, “You really know how to win people over.”

“Well,” he said, leaning casually against the camera rig, his gaze lingering on her just a moment longer than necessary, “You don’t strike me as someone who’s easily won over. But I like a challenge.”

Her cheeks warmed at the subtle edge to his words, but she covered it with a light laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment—though I should warn you, I’m more of a tea person.”

“Noted,” Elliot replied smoothly, his grin unwavering, “I’ll keep that in mind for the next snack heist.”

Cassie found herself relaxing further, the camaraderie in his tone an unexpected balm to her nerves. She glanced around the studio, her gaze sweeping over the meticulous choreography of Venturer’s operation. The controlled chaos of producers gesturing at screens, the soft murmur of urgent conversations, and the sharp focus of camera operators adjusting equipment—it was daunting and mesmerizing all at once.

“You’re in for a ride, you know?” Elliot said, nodding toward the bustling studio floor. His voice carried an undercurrent of sincerity now, grounding the levity from moments before. “This place doesn’t slow down for anyone. But I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah?” Cassie tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What makes you say that? My reputation? Bloody Harrier and all?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, “Your reputation, sure. But it’s more than that. You’ve got the look—the kind that makes people stop and listen. Not everyone can pull that off.”

The words were casual, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—an understated confidence, a hint of flirtation that wasn’t overplayed but was impossible to ignore.

Cassie opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a familiar voice cut through the moment with effortless precision.

“Elliot,” Declan O’Hara’s steady baritone cut through the moment, turning both their heads. His presence, even at the edge of the bustling studio, carried an unmistakable authority that made the surrounding activity seem to quiet slightly, “We need you in the control room.”

Elliot straightened from his relaxed stance, flashing Cassie an easy grin before stepping away.

“Duty calls,” he said lightly, giving her a quick wink, “But don’t worry—I’ll keep my word and save you a biscuit for the next heist.”

Cassie managed a small laugh, muttering a thanks as Elliot disappeared into the chaos. The moment of levity he’d offered was gone, replaced by the weight of Declan’s steady presence as he stepped closer.

Her eyes flickered to Declan as he approached, cutting through the controlled chaos of the newsroom with the kind of ease that only came from living in its rhythm. He didn’t rush; his steps were measured, purposeful, as though he knew everything would pause just long enough for him to arrive.

It was impossible to ignore the way the room seemed to tilt in his direction, as if drawn by the quiet gravity he carried.

He wore a dark, tailored suit, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the low studio lights. His tie was loosened just enough to hint at the relentlessness of the day, and there was a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw that Cassie could only describe as deliberate—calculated imperfection.

“Settling in?” Declan’s voice seemed to cut through the noise around them without effort. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, like he’d spent years mastering how to command attention with the bare minimum.

Cassie adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing over the worn leather as she sought an anchor.

“As much as anyone can in ten minutes,” she replied, her tone even, though the edges of her nerves showed.

His lips curved into a faint smile—not enough to soften him, but enough to suggest he’d expected the response.

“Ten minutes is enough to know whether you’re intrigued or terrified,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

“Can’t it be both?” she countered, her voice lighter than she felt.

Declan tilted his head, as if considering her words, “Fair. But I’d guess you’re more intrigued than you’re letting on. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Cassie’s breath caught briefly, the casual certainty in his tone unsettling. It wasn’t arrogance—it was an understanding that felt earned, as if he’d seen her hesitation before she’d even recognized it herself. She straightened slightly, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“Sincerely,” she sighed, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Declan raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t interrupt. His silence felt deliberate, giving her the space to continue.

“I want to be part of it, truly, despite the outcome,” Cassie confessed, glancing at Declan. “It is the right thing and the right step for my career, but I can’t stop the feeling that I didn’t earn it. My name did, my relation to my uncle and father did it.”

Declan’s expression didn’t shift dramatically, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—not pity, but a quiet intensity, as though he were weighing her words. He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the desk beside him.

“Maybe the name got you in the door,” he said, his tone calm and deliberate, “But it’s not why you’re still here. That’s on you.”

Cassie’s lips parted as if to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her shoulders sagged, his words settling alongside her own doubts.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, “Do you know why Crawford hired me? He discovered Freddie is my uncle, that was enough for him to consider giving me a show. He didn’t get to discover about my father, but I can only imagine that he would have considered it quicker.”

Declan stepped to her side, his movements deliberate but not hurried, as though giving her the space to process. When he spoke, his voice was softer, just as yesterday.

“Do you know when I started seeing you?” he asked, searching for her eyes, “It wasn’t when Freddie mentioned someone who could work here—honestly, I don’t even remember him saying your name that day. No, it was when you invaded your ex-colleague’s show and made it your own, two days ago, perhaps?”

Cassie blinked, her brows knitting together in surprise.

“Do you truly mean it?” she asked, her voice hesitant, as if unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer.

Declan’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I do,” he said simply, “It wasn’t just the audacity of it—though I’ll admit, that caught my attention. It was the way you held the room. The way you spoke, not just with conviction, but with care. You weren’t just talking to fill airtime. You had something to say, and people listened.”

Cassie’s throat tightened, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. She didn’t know what to say, so she looked away, her gaze flitting over the newsroom as though it could offer her some escape.

“I know you feel like you didn’t earn it,” Declan continued, his voice steady but low, as though speaking to her and her alone, “That it was handed to you by Freddie. But I’ll tell you this: I’ve been bidding for you since the day you did that last show on Crawford FM. It’s only been a few days, and I know it might sound presumptuous, but I believe in your potential. Not your name. Not your connections. You.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and charged. Cassie felt her lungs drained, lacking oxygen despite her breathing in and out. It wasn’t the anxiety this time, but something else, something sharper and more difficult to define.

Slowly, she turned back to him, her gaze meeting his.

The sincerity in his tone unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She searched his face for something—arrogance, calculation, or even flattery, as most of the men in their field would pursue—but there was none.

Just a steady conviction that made her feel simultaneously seen and exposed.

What am I even doing here? The question clawed at her thoughts. The newsroom buzzed with a purpose she wasn’t sure she could match, the weight of expectations pressing down on her chest. She wanted to believe Declan’s words, to let them pull her out of the mire of self-doubt, but the shadows of her past choices lingered.

Her mind raced back to Crawford FM—the nights she spent pouring over documents, the restless urgency of exposing what everyone else seemed content to ignore. It had been exhilarating and terrifying, a tightrope walk where one misstep could cost her everything. And now, here was Declan O’Hara, a man whose reputation was built on sharp instincts and unshakable confidence, telling her she was worth the gamble.

“Why?” she asked, “I did ask you this yesterday, when you were in my house, I believe. If not, I’m asking now. Why do you believe in me? You had said yourself that you had only searched about me, like—two days ago.”

It felt strange, vulnerable even, to ask such a thing outright. But she had to know.

Declan’s lips curved into a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes but felt genuine nonetheless.

“Because what I heard that day wasn’t a name or a legacy.” He shrugged, as if he was saying the simplest thing in the world, “It was someone who cared enough to find the truth and tell it, no matter the cost. That’s what matters. That’s what lasts.”

For a moment, Cassie couldn’t speak. The weight in her chest shifted, lighter now, letting the oxygen fill her lungs despite the lingering pressure in them. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she straightened.

Declan’s words lingered, resonating in a place she didn’t know existed—a fragile space between doubt and possibility. She wanted to dismiss him, to chalk up his praise to strategy or manipulation, but there was nothing in his demeanor that suggested pretense.

Her mind raced back to the endless hours at Crawford FM. The nights she burned through research, the relentless pace of deadlines, the way her chest tightened every time she hit “send” on a risky story. The way she learned to steel herself against the inevitable pushback.

It had been lonely, exhausting work, but it had been hers. She wasn’t sure if Venturer—or Declan—was ready for someone like her, or if she was ready for what they might expect.

And yet, his words wouldn’t leave her.

“You’re not afraid that I’ll ruin what you’ve built?” Cassie glanced at him, her gaze sharp, “That bringing me on will taint Venturer’s reputation? You’ve just escaped from someone like Tony Baddingham. I don’t exactly have a clean slate myself.”

Declan’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he seemed to grow more resolute. He leaned in, his voice low but unwavering.

“If I worried about reputations, Cassie, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.”

She held his gaze, searching for cracks in his conviction, but found none. There was something almost disarming about how steady he was, how unshaken by her doubts.

“What I care about,” Declan continued, “is the work. The truth. You’ve proven you care about that too, even when it costs you. That’s the kind of person I want on my team.”

A knot formed in Cassie’s chest, her breath catching as a tangle of emotions surged within her—gratitude, fear, hope, doubt. It was rare to hear someone speak about her with such unwavering certainty, and rarer still to believe it might be true. Lately, the only ones who had been her constant pillars were Freddie, Lizzie, and Bas.

In the past few months, they had been the steady figures in her life—the ones who knew her best, who saw her struggles without needing explanations. So, having someone who had once been a distant figure, a name on a screen, now looking at her with such unwavering trust felt surreal.

It was disorienting, this shift from admiration to recognition, from idol to… She didn’t know yet how to label him.

But it was different, it was nice.

“Do you already have a contract?” she asked suddenly, interrupting her own thoughts this time.

Declan didn’t answer right away, he narrowed his eyes at her figure as he tried to understand what she meant by the random question. Yet, when their eyes met again, there were no doubts left in his expression, only certainty.

As in hers.

[thisizznotizzy]

So I was bored and looked up the meaning to one of the theme songs Gege assigned Geto (big mistake), in this character theme song thing he did for the jjk characters awhile back. Well one of Geto’s songs, “Come back home” by Two Door Cinema Club is about the emotional turmoil and longing for reconciliation after a relationship has ended. The theme of the song touching on regret, missed opportunities, and the struggle to find strength and clarity in moving forward. Basically talking about the pain and healing process of dealing with a lost love.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough I looked up one of Gojo’s theme songs (another big mistake), “Shame on Me” by Avicii. The song talks about a relationship gone sour due to partners infidelity and deceit. The lyrics describe a situation in which the protagonist is love with someone who cheats on them multiple times. They still love them though despite this because they can’t live without them. In the end though the protagonist realizes they need to leave, and they have to come to terms with the end of a once promising relationship.

Didn’t look up the meanings to the other songs they had listed for them, but yeah just felt like sharing :,)

Probably not the first one to point this out, and I could have def got the meanings wrong but I just really wanted to share this because I never heard anyone talk about this. Anywho have a nice day!

[linos-luna]

New family 🥀

Bang Chan x Reader

Warning: mention of abuse and sexual trauma

(Pt. 1) — (Pt. 2)

————————— 🥀 ————————

Home life was toxic and your childhood was rough. It’s only recently that you moved out of your mom’s house and since then, you only really keep in contact with your siblings.

The whole family dynamic was toxic. From your immediate to extended. Your mom was verbally abusive. Your our dad… well we don’t even talk about him. He went to prison when you were a baby and that’s all you know.

Although you did grow up with a stepdad. A straight up abusive narcissist. Your sibling were your half siblings so you were the stepchild to him. And he abused you on the daily. Verbal, physical, and even sexual… until you finally reported him. But even then, he just moved out.

Living with your mom as an adult was also tense as you two never got along

Eventually you had a moment of clarity. Realizing that this isn’t normal. So you tried cutting them off. It’s hard and you deal with the turmoil of that constantly…

~~~~

You had a friend named Chan, well actually his name was Chris but Chan was a nickname he liked. You met him in college and have been a little more than friends ever since. You never officially dated for a while, only flirting really. Although you suppose you’re dating now since he’s taken you home to meet his family already…

He was so kind. The sweetest guy you’ve ever met. Always so patient with you and loving. He knows your boundaries and always checks in on you.

You’ve told him about your family and he listens, knowing that some people just want someone to listen.

He also supported your dreams, heck his whole family did. He was a producer, and a good one at that, so when you told him that your dream was to be a dancer, he was excited for you and did everything he could to help you. This is the most support you’ve gotten from someone in your whole life.

Often times you felt like a burden. You weren’t the most physically affectionate and you needed constant reassurance that you’re not annoying.

One day you were having it particularly rough. You weren’t sure exactly what it was but your depression was really hitting hard.

Your boyfriend had sensed something was wrong when chatting on the phone with you so he came over.

He did his best to cheer you up. On his way there he picked up your favorite boba drink and some food.

You were happy to see him and gave him a tight hug the second he stepped in.

As you ate lunch, he asked you what was up.

“My mom called me…” you said with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“It just… wasn’t good.”

“I understand.” He said while patting your hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You nodded and continued eating. “How’s the new song going?”

“It’s great. Almost finished!” He replied with a smile. “This is definitely going to be one of my best works.”

“All your work is the best.” You said with a giggle.

“Yeah well, how’s my pretty girl doing? Any auditions lately?”

“Yeah I’m gonna be a back up dance in another music video. I just got the call yesterday.” You said with excitement.

“And you didn’t tell me?” He said in a teasing voice.

“Well I didn’t want to bug you, Channie.”

“You never bug me babygirl.” He replied with a sigh. “Never ever.”

After lunch you both went to the living room to relax. Sometimes you just liked laying with him. He was so warm.

A buzz from your phone, got you distracted from a moment. You looked at the text message and got quiet. It was from your mom.

> Why can’t you just be happy?

You hate when she says that. Always disregards your feelings. You got up and went to your room. Chan was confused and followed after you, just to see you crying on the bed.

“Babygirl, what happened?” He said while sitting next to you.

“Why is she like this?!” You cried. “She can’t just leave me alone!”

Chan looked at the message and hugged you.

“It’s okay, baby—”

“No it’s not!” You blurted out while standing up: “I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!!”

You shook your head, seemingly trying to pull your hair out.

“Okay. Okay.” He said calmly while taking your hands. He was still sitting and had you stand in front of him. “Babygirl, don’t hurt yourself. Look at me…”

You paused and only looked at him with a pout.

Chan wiped your tears and frowned. He hated seeing you like this. He wants to take you away from all this. He wants you to live with him and leave everything behind.

As you continued crying, you sat on his lap and hugged him, crying and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Do you want a new family?”

“What…?” You asked while pulling back.

“A new family. One that loves and supports you.” Chan said while rubbing your cheek. “You know, my parents have always liked you… and my siblings… and extended…”

You teared up. The idea of a family… a non toxic and loving family just taking you in as their own… it was a lot.

“A family that… loves each other… and supports each other….?” You said, more thinking out loud. “N-no bad touching… n-no yelling at me…?”

“No family is perfect but they do love you and will never hurt you like…”

“… like mine…”

He sighed and you instantly hugged him again.

“Yes… yes!” You cried while holding on tight.

“I’ll make that happen, babygirl. Don’t you worry…”

He pulled you back and kissed your forehead before letting you silently cry into his shoulder. He held you as well. The feeling was so warm and secure. You always felt safe with him. You felt so loved when with him. You always wondered if you even deserved that love.

How was this going to work? Well Chan had been planning to propose to you for a while. He’s already been looking at rings. But now he thinks he should speed it up a little. Sooner the better. He wants you to be happy. He knows his family will take you in. They will welcome you with open arms. And he’ll take care of you for the rest of his life…

————————— 🥀 —————————

This is the dream I had where I woke up crying. And my mom did say that to me. Just not thru text. My depression been pretty bad lately…

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა  / HEAD IN THE CLOUDS II PLOTS PT 2 ; plots based off songs on 88rising's head in the clouds ii

walking / muse a wants muse b and badly. they keep asking what it will take for muse b to give them a chance, for what is needed for them to progress a relationship. muse b is hesitant but muse a keeps saying all the right things. every time they talk muse a is spewing words and words of things to muse b to give in and give their relationship a chance. it's a dance of will they won't they. breathe / muse a and muse b are both in a dead end relationship but neither of them can admit that. neither of them want to be the person to cut it off because they have been together for so long that they aren't sure what life is without the other. muse a is asking for clarity on what muse b wants as muse b is always avoiding difficult conversations as they know it will lead to the end of them as as a couple. shouldn't couldn't wouldn't / muse a is begging for muse b to commit to their newfound relationship. they've been dating and hooking up for a while but muse b is reluctant to put a label on anything. muse a doesn't want to be friends and is making it clear that the only thing they want is commitment or nothing at all. muse b is running laps around the conversation when it comes up but it's down for muse a to force an answer out of muse b. muse b constantly calls muse a up for another hook up but muse a wants more than booty calls. just used music again / muse a is in the music industry and muse b is their on and off ex. every time muse b comes running back to muse a, they end up getting their heart broken again which creates another best selling album. it's a joke in their fandom that they almost thank whoever is hurting them for more and more songs but muse a hates the turmoil they are in with muse b. not only is muse a trying to protect themselves but they are also trying to make sure their fans do not find out who muse b is, as they are a normal person with a private life. muse b knows they are wrong but can't stop themselves from going back constantly.

[daytaker]

Tunes with Satan

Satan: MC, I found a song from the human world that resonates with me. MC: Oh, really? Satan: It's about someone struggling to rise above their identity as it was crafted by someone with so-called good intentions, and the alternate emotional turmoil and emotional silence they experience as a result of the expectations placed on them. MC: Wow. I see how that clicked for you. What is it? Satan:

MC: Satan: Well? Doesn't it capture my personal angst with remarkable clarity? MC: *pats him on the shoulder*

But really.

Satan, in the innocence of his not understanding that this song is basically just a meme, reading the lyrics and feeling fully and unironically understood. I just hope no one ever reveals to him that "Numb" by Linkin Park is basically mandatory 14-year-old in the 2000s angst material.

I was just going to make the top part of this post but I checked the lyrics. I'm laughing but damn?

I'm tired of being what you want me to be Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface Don't know what you're expecting of me Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

Every step that I take is another mistake to you (Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)

I've become so numb I can't feel you there Become so tired So much more aware I'm becoming this All I want to do Is be more like me And be less like you

Can't you see that you're smothering me Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control? 'Cause everything that you thought I would be Has fallen apart right in front of you

Every step that I take is another mistake to you (Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow) And every second I waste is more than I can take

I need to commission artwork by someone who's better at it than me to draw Satan brooding in his bedroom with 2000s emo band posters on the walls.

[welivetodream]

Dazai X Would've could've, should've (Taylor Swift)

If you would've blinked then I would've

Looked away at the first glance.

If you tasted poison, you could've

Spit me out at the first chance

If I was some paint, did it splatter

On a promising grown man?

And if I was a child, did it matter

If you got to wash your hands?

And if you never saved me from boredom

I could've gone on as I was

But, Lord, you made me feel important

And then you tried to erase us

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts

Memories feel like weapons

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be

The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind

I regret you all the time

I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep

The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign

I regret you all the time

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts

Give me back my childhood (girlhood), it was mine first

I regret you all the time

I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep

The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign

I regret you all the time

(ps: NO I am NOT implying any sexual abuse done by Mori to Dazai or anyone else. This is purely about the emotional and mental abuse Dazai went through as a child by being in the Port Mafia under Mori's mentorship. It is clear, him being in the Mafia really messed up his already mentally ill brain. Mori as a doctor should be held responsible for what happened to Dazai and so many other Port Mafia kids, regardless if they worked consensually or not, kids should be protected in all situations from both physical and mental turmoil.

Ofc the original intention of the song by Taylor and what it meant for her and the things she went through is very different, but as a song itself we can interpret certain parts of it in different ways. I do not think the two situations are any similar but it is only an artistic way of looking at these lyrics to convey a difficult subject matter)

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

I'm surprised to see that Kokichi and Miu don't frequently talk about the topic of ***dumpsters all the time.

//Miu and Kokichi’s current relationship is a strange one.

//In the past, it’s been strange always, but it’s mainly they stay connected because Kokichi was always there to serve her insults like they were playing emotional tennis.

//But then when she came back after dying, and found out what Kokichi had done, that changed things for her.

//It’s not like Miu ever liked Kokichi or had any respect for him, but even for someone like Miu, hearing the truth behind things gave her kind of a moment of clarity of sorts. As we know, she didn’t really take the killing game seriously, and is one of those characters that really is just out for herself before anyone else.

//But I like to imagine that Miu DID like Gonta. I think everyone likes Gonta to a certain degree, but the fact Kokichi murdered Miu through her made her see Kokichi as something more conniving and threatening than some, as she puts it, “lying little abortion.”

//So when Kokichi came back, she did whatever she could to keep the hell away from him, especially because of what he did to Keebo on top of that. Even if his goals were somewhat noble, sacrificing Keebo to achieve them is something that really pissed her off, and we see how badly the emotional turmoil has gotten to her during “The Tower.”

//As things stand currently, everyone in the V3 group is kind of on the fence about Kokichi considering everything he did, but the acknowledge that he’s done good things for them, and fought alongside them when it mattered. Miu also knows this, but compared to the other characters who have a sort of…acceptance for Kokichi, considering how much he’s done to physically and emotionally hurt her, she basically doesn’t want to associate with him anymore.

//She doesn’t want to hurt him back, because current Miu has gone through a character arc where she’s learned that the present and what she has now is more important than the future or the past, but the best way to make sure no one is hurt during their spats is to distance herself, because the days where they do their little song and dance are over.

-Mod

[critter-genfic-events]

Doty! Take this down. We have six excellent fics today- all chronically the wondrous adventures of one Taryon Darrington! Check them out under the cut, and of course - comment and kudos if you like them!

Love Letters of Convenience by elissanerdwriter (1103,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Lady Kima of Vord

Kima and Taryon run into each other at a bar. They help each other out.

Reccer says: This is a pairing I would have never expected or thought of but the wlw and mlm solidarity vibes are immaculate. They should hang out!

i'll know my song well by actualflower (1149,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Cassandra de Rolo

A short conversation between Cassandra and Tary

Reccer says: I love outsider pov and the clarity about the world it brings, and this little bit of bonding between these two

Out of Favor by mythomaticallydelicious (5551,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington/Percival de Rolo

An AU where Taryon fails his persuasion roll against his father.

Reccer says: It's not completed, but it delves into the details of Taryon's relationship with his father and features heart-to-heart conversations with Vax and Percival.

this antique’s rustic eulogy by Princex_N (5213,General) Warnings: Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Doty

He wants Doty. He wants Doty and instead all he has is the gaping empty space at his side where he's supposed to be and the intrusive images of him being pulled to pieces in the nine hells where he is and Tary hates it.

Reccer says: I liked it

Arranged marriages and families of choice by multifandom damnation (1570,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Vox Machina

He learns two things during that meeting with his father, Howaardt falling apart before him and Vox Machina a steady presence against his back; firstly, they're improvised, and secondly, he has always been nothing but a pawn in his father's games.

Reccer says: Amazing look into what it might have been like for Tary to have Vox Machina at his back during the confrontation with his father

And two recs for:

Where We're From and Where We're Bound to Go by CitizenMocha (3318,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Vex'ahlia

In what will likely be a less physically-demanding expedition but still harrowing and fraught with emotional turmoil like all the best adventure stories are, the heroes make their way through bleak countryside framed by the distant snowcapped mountains to confront the father of their beloved and full-fledged member Taryon Darrington, who is… Not doing so hot at the moment, to be perfectly honest.

Reccer #1 says: The friendships between Tary and the rest if Vox Machina is very sweet, even when they are joking around. It's also got some great character introspection for Taryon as he sits down and they talk about this thoughts. Reccer #2 says: Just the right amount of humor (poorly) covering some angst and feelings, and great voices all around

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

October 15th, it'll be time for Alternate Meetings - followed by Beau, One shots, and then Imogen!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit! If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[kefiteria]

Imperfect Love

character: Kaveh x reader

tag: a sprinkle of angst, self doubt, he's in trauma yeah trauma, sprinkle of acceptance + comfort at the end.

🍨 A/N: i can't help it SVT's lyrics are just too immaculate and give me inspiration for more fanfics. it's always been "what if this song + this character" ehehe~

As Kaveh gazes at the majestic Pharos Lighthouse, a symbol of Sumeru's architectural prowess, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He's tasked with renovating and preserving this iconic structure, yet the burden of last year's bankruptcy looms heavily over him. Thoughts of budgets and financial constraints flood his mind, threatening to drown him in anxiety.

The lively stress, intrusive thoughts of his father's death haunt him relentlessly. “What do I do…what would father think if he knew I'm like this…what if?” The relentless barrage of “what ifs” threatens to erode his sanity, each one a painful reminder of his past mistakes and unresolved guilt.

His footsteps echo hollowly, a haunting accompaniment to the cacophony of his tortured thoughts. The vibrant pulse of the luncheon hour mocks his inner turmoil, a cruel juxtaposition to the desolation consuming him from within. “Imperfections are part of artistry.” he whispers bitterly, but for him, they serve as relentless reminders of his inadequacies each flaw a testament to his self-condemnation.

As he quickens his pace, desperation gnaws at his soul and the fear of rejection clawing mercilessly at his heart. Will he ever find solace in the acceptance of his ideals, or will he remain forever shackled to the suffocating expectations of his reputation? The weight of his burdens grows heavier with each step, threatening to crush him beneath the weight of his self-doubt.

Kaveh is but a ghost, haunted by the specters of his past guilt for his father's death, shame over his financial ruin, and the relentless pursuit of an unattainable perfection. His heartbeats reverberate like funeral dirges, each pulse a painful reminder of the tomb his life has become. Will his legacy be nothing more than a tragic tale of unfulfilled dreams and shattered ideals?

With each pounding step, Kaveh's heart leads him back to the familiar comfort of your home. His mind races, consumed by doubt and despair, a desperate longing for solace in the warmth of your presence. As he stands before your door, the weight of his burdens momentarily lifts, replaced by a rush of emotions long suppressed. “Even if she comes to me, who's useless…it'll remain as a deep scent.” he murmurs, his resolve solidifying with each passing moment. With trembling hands, he reaches out, knocking softly on the door.

“There wasn't a single day in which I wasn't sincere to her, yet I'm...” he whispers to himself, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “I'm not perfect, I'm too flawed…but for today, I want to be greedy.”

As you open the door, a wave of relief washes over him, and he finally allows himself to surrender to the warmth of your smile. “Hi, Kaveh! It's been a while since you came to visit. Let's have some tea, shall we?” you greet him, unaware of the tumult raging within him.

At that moment, as he steps into the familiar embrace of your home, Kaveh experiences a sudden clarity a realization that amidst the chaos of his doubts and fears, it is the simple moments of connection and companionship that offer true solace. “Ah yes, because of her.” he whispers to himself, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “every day, I get greedy again.”

[random-mdzs-thoughts-dumpster]

Jin Guangyao, probably: Song of Clarity implies the existence of darker, sexier Song of Turmoil.