#this is to the people who were depressed after my last post about her

[bapeach]

Accidental love

Another long fic and I'm honestly very proud of it! I don't know anything about torn ACL's or anything so if stuff is wrong, just ignore it. I hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :) Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 9.1k+  Warnings: depression, life-changing accident, cursing, happy ending Summary: After a life-changing accident, Y/N finds peace in her new life, but when Paige Bueckers faces her own injury, their worlds collide. ------------

Paige Bueckers

Of course, it was a name you knew. You’re a student at UConn, so if you didn’t know of her, well, you’d be living under a rock. Paige Bueckers is UConn’s star player. The golden student. The future of women’s basketball. A legend in the making… 

You could go on and on about the things you’ve heard about her. She always seemed to be present in your life in one way or another. A mumble in the hallway as you go to class, an edit on your TikTok fyp, a celebration post on UConn’s Instagram page…

You don’t know the girl personally, having only been in the same room as her a few times when you went and watched some of her games. You’ve heard a lot of good things about her. You respected her grind, the way she gave her all to basketball and was a great team leader. You’ve also heard she’s a sweetheart off the court and always tries to make people comfortable. She’s also really pretty, which you’re sure is a contributing factor to why she’s so loved. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. 

You’d had your own fair share of admirers because of your looks. You’d caught plenty of girls fawning over you as they ogled your muscles, giggling when you sent them a flirty wink. If you were honest, you were quite the player when you first came to university. You’d messed around with a few girls, never really getting into anything too serious. 

You just didn’t have time for relationships. You were too busy studying biomedical engineering while also having a job and hobbies. And boy, did you have hobbies. Ever since you were young, you were a very active kid. Your parents always had to beg you to come inside, only being able to persuade you with promises of weekends at the indoor playground/kid gym.

Growing up, you stayed active. You went for a run every morning and swimming at least once a week. You didn’t join your school’s sports teams because how could you only choose one? You spend every weekend doing a different sport until you run out, only to start over. Basketball, boxing, soccer, baseball, hockey... you did it all. Your all-time favorite, though? Rock climbing.

You think there’s nothing better in this world than rock climbing after a long week. Wind ruffling your hair as the bright sun shines on your back. Climbing as high as you can, your muscles burning as you strain them to their limit, your chest tight as you gasp for breath. But it’s all worth it, because in the end, when you reach the top and have a full view of the horizon? It feels like you’re on top of the world. Like you’re untouchable and all your hopes and dreams are within reach.

The thought of climbing always filled you with warmth and excitement. Even after climbing the same rocks over and over, you still felt in awe every time you made it to the top. Knowing that no matter what, at the end of the day, you could always count on the dusty stones beneath your fingertips always made a smile grow on your face. 

Well. That was before the accident, at least. Now the thought of it makes you feel a dull throb in your chest. 

The last time you went climbing, you’d gone with some fellow enthusiasts. It was a group of strangers you’d met at the indoor climbing hall. Their little club ranged from new climbers to experts, and you’d clicked with them immediately. The guide you went with was a middle-aged man who had over 20 years of experience, so you were excited to maybe learn some new things. He was a really nice guy, happy to see someone your age be so excited about his favorite activity. When you partnered up with him, you didn’t expect anything to go wrong. Daredevils like yourself never really think too much about the consequences of your actions or things that could go wrong, otherwise you’d be too afraid to do half of the things you do. So that day was like no other. At first at least.

When you had reached 3/4ths of the climb, it happened. Even now, 2 years later, you’re not sure what exactly happened. You only know that one moment you were gripping onto the rocky wall and the next you were falling. When you think about it, it all feels like a dream. It didn’t take you long before you hit the ground, but it somehow felt like ages.

You remember how distraught your guide was when you finally woke up in the hospital. You didn’t understand anything he was saying at first. He was crying too hard, stumbling over his words as he kept apologizing. Something about malfunctioning equipment? 

When the doctor walked in, you immediately knew something was very wrong. Your chest filled with an unbearable ache when you saw the sad frown on his face. After that, everything is pretty much a blur. You didn't hear anything after the words “paralyzed” and “never walk again” were spoken. Everything became muffled as your ears started buzzing. You felt your chest tighten, and this time not in a good way. You were drowning on dry land.

The next months were some of the darkest moments of your life. You felt like your world was ending. And it kind of was. Everything you thought you were, gone in a matter of seconds. Bound to a wheelchair for the rest of your life. You shut everyone out at first, but soon realized you couldn’t bear all of this alone. Your family was your greatest support. They were your greatest fans, always celebrating your wins, and now they were here to mourn your greatest losses with you as well. 

You lost quite a lot of friends after the accident. It was hard being friends with your sporty friends when you could only think about how you wished you could join them. Your friendships didn’t all end on a bad note, though. You knew that if anything was wrong, you could still call them, and they’d show up in a heartbeat. 

You also gained a few friendships. Some people you met at therapy, support groups, online forums,... You also found a friend in the guide you were with that day. While you hated him at first, too filled with pain to think clearly, you’d talked to him at a later point. He apologized profusely once more, but you forgave him quickly. It’s not like it was his fault. Besides, it was hard to hate him, the way he looked at you with so much guilt. He had kind but wise eyes, prominent smile lines, and his hair was graying a little, but he was still full of life and filled with passion. You knew this accident would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he didn’t deserve that, so you made sure to stay in touch with him. If only to let him know you were doing well and make sure he was too.

You still often think about the days when you could be wild and free. In the two years since the incident, you’ve changed a lot. You’ve calmed down greatly, becoming a lot more mature and wise. While you used to be the go-to friend for a crazy time, you were now the friend people came to for advice. You missed your younger self, but still felt like she was a part of you. You’d gone through so much, the change was only natural. And honestly? You were proud of the person you’d become. Sure, you weren’t perfect and still had your days when you felt like you couldn’t breathe and like the world was against you. But overall, you were at peace with your life. It’s also not like you’d fully lost your playful self. You still loved teasing your friends, pulling pranks, and causing mischief.

So yeah, while you didn’t know Paige personally, you definitely felt like you knew a lot about her from the media, the people around you, and even some of her friends. You’d met Azzi a year ago when she got injured during a game. She’d been destroyed when she realized she wouldn’t be playing again any time soon. Having to find something new to do, she’d made her way to the library, where she bumped into you. You started talking, and before long you two became pretty good friends. You listened to her situation and told her what you’d been through. 

At first, she’d apologized profusely, feeling bad about how she complained about not being able to play for a few months while you’d never get to do your favorite things ever again. You’d made sure the younger girl knew it was okay, and that you didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t be upset just because you’d also gone through something. You’d spent hours with the girl talking about the adventures you used to go on and how much your life had changed. You made sure to tell her how happy you were despite everything, letting her know that no matter what, she’d be okay. 

While you don’t talk as much as you used to anymore, now that she’s back on the court, you still text each other every so often, smiling as you pass each other on campus. You didn’t blame her for becoming busy, you were excited to see her play with that bright smile on her face. You made sure to cheer her on and text her congratulations on her wins and “You did well” messages when the team lost. The girl appreciates you more than you know. Without you, she wouldn’t be where she is now. She’d learned so much from you.

Somehow, during your whole friendship, you’d never really met the team. Not that you really felt the need to. She had her friends, and you had yours. There was no need to mix up the groups. That being said, you didn’t really think you’d ever meet Paige or become close with her.

You were curious, though. As you wheel out of the library, you hear Paige’s name all around you. Two girls leaning in close as one gasps her name. A group of guys with their mouths dropped open as a video on their phone says the star athlete’s name. A professor walking past with a frown, mumbling, “... yeah, Paige Bueckers…”. 

When you reach your dorm, you open your laptop and search “Paige Bueckers” on Twitter. You immediately feel a pit in your stomach. The first tweet you see is a video with the caption “I’m gonna cry, I feel so bad for her”. You click the video and see why the basketball player was being talked about everywhere. At first, it looks like a normal clip from their most recent game. You see Nika passing the ball to Aaliyah, who passes it to a sprinting Azzi, who finally passes it off to Paige. You blink, and suddenly the blonde is on the floor, clutching her knee as tears stream down her face. You can see the worry and fear on her teammates’ faces, and the distraught but knowing look on Paige’s. A torn ACL. No doubt about it.

For a moment, your own accident flashes in your mind. The weightlessness as you were falling. Waking up and realizing you can’t move. You shake away the thoughts, blinking the haze from your eyes. You grab your phone to text the girl something, anything to make her feel better, but you pause. Right now, the last thing she’ll care about is a stranger texting her she’ll be okay when they probably don’t have any idea what she’s going through. Your thumb hovers over Azzi’s contact, but you end up closing the app. The brunette is probably too busy to talk, being too worried about her best friend. “I’ll talk to her soon,” you think to yourself before going on about your day.

You were right about talking to her soon. Only a week after the latest UConn tragedy, you see her. You were tucked away in your favorite corner of the library, a worn copy of your favorite book lying in your lap. You were surrounded by colorful pens, post-its, stickers, and tabs as you added new scribbles in the margins of the book (don’t worry, you’d gotten your own copy after the first time you read it).

Finishing a tiny doodle on the inside of the cover, you look up and see the younger girl. Beaming that wide smile of hers that could light up a dark room. The type of smile that makes you return the gesture before you even realize what’s happening. When she reaches your table, she greets you happily before looking back. It’s only then that you realize she’s brought company.

There she is. UConn’s basketball miracle in all her glory. Paige Bueckers. 

You look her up and down. She’s wearing her blue UConn tracksuit, her hair is in a bun, and she’s holding two crutches under her arms. Her usually bright blue eyes have become a darker color as a frown is set on her face. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be in her room, wallowing in her bed with a pint of ice cream. She doesn’t understand why Azzi felt the need to drag her out of the comfort of her own dorm to go meet some stranger that would give her the same stupid pitying looks she’d been getting from everyone around her. 

“Hey Ace,” you send her a grin before looking back towards the injured girl. “Hey, I’m Y/N,” you nod at her. She only frowns at you until Azzi turns and sends her a pointed look. “Paige,” the blonde sighs. You hide your amused smile, knowing she’d get even more annoyed if she thought you were making fun of her. 

“I figured it was finally time some of my favorite people met!” the brunette beams. When you catch her eye, you have a silent conversation with her. You knew why she was here with Paige. She was hoping you’d be able to help her best friend the way you’d helped her. You can tell by Azzi’s body language that she’s slightly on edge, not sure how you’d react. You send her a reassuring wink as you start talking, “About time! I’ve heard a lot about you, Paige,” you say gently. The girl only hums in response. 

You see Azzi frown for a second before her signature easy smile makes its way back to her face. “I was thinking we could all go for coffee,” she says, looking at you with hope in her eyes. “Sounds good to me!” you grin as you start packing up your stuff. Once you’re done, you glance over at Paige, who is looking around with a bored expression. You’re not offended at her not wanting to spend time with you. You knew what it was like to feel your world crash, and you’d also tried pushing people away. The blonde maybe didn’t want to be around you right now, but you’d make sure she realized that she’d be okay.

You put your bag on your lap before wheeling your way around the table so you could be right beside the basketball players. You see Paige’s eyes widen as she takes you in, only now having realized you were in a wheelchair. You let her observe you for a moment, seeing her emotions swim in her eyes. You could tell she was shocked and a bit embarrassed, but you also saw her frustrations as she clenched her jaw and started frowning again. “So that’s why Azzi wanted me to meet her. Just so she could tell me that whatever I’m going through is nothing compared to what she has to live with,” Paige thinks as she tries not to roll her eyes. 

You simply send her a smile. You don’t mind the anger that seems to radiate off of the girl. You know she’ll probably say and do stuff she doesn’t mean in rage, and you don’t mind being the person all that fury is aimed at. You know that at the end of the day, she won’t mean any of it, and you’d rather she tries to hurt your feelings than her sunshine best friend.

“Let’s go then, shall we?” you say with a raised brow and a tiny smirk before you start wheeling away. You lead the way through campus to your favorite coffee shop, making small talk with Azzi. You try to include Paige as well, but you don’t talk to her all that much, not wanting to overwhelm her. When you arrive at the shop, the brunette holds the door for you and Paige with a smile, her eyes twinkling. You thank her before following the blonde in. 

“Your usual?” Azzi asks as she walks in behind you. “Yes please, thanks Princess,” you say with a playful wink, a wide grin on your face. The brunette shakes her head in amusement, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. You make your way towards a free table in the back, waving hi to the barista that always calls you his favorite regular. Paige follows not long after, while Azzi waits in line to order the drinks. Once Paige sits down with a huff, slightly out of breath as she rubs the spots where she leaned against the crutches, you don’t say anything at first. The silence isn’t exactly fun, but it’s not a bad silence either.

When your friend makes her way to your table, you smile softly at her as you accept your drink. “Thanks, Ace.” “Of course,” she replies, her voice soft. She looks over at Paige for a moment before clearing her throat. “Listen, P, I know you’re hurting. Not just physically but mentally too. And I know how you feel like it’s the end of the world, but I promise you, it’s not. When I went through my injury and couldn’t play, I spiraled too. But then I met Y/N, and she made me realize that everything would be okay. I know you’re not happy about being here, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not allowed to be sad, but please just… talk to her. Y/N is an amazing friend to have, not just because she knows what it’s like to lose stuff, but just because she listens. She really listens, and she has a way of making you feel a little lighter on days when things seem impossible.” 

You look at her as she’s speaking, your smile soft as your chest feels warm. It was nice to hear her say such sweet things about you and trust that you’ll be able to help someone else she cares so much about. 

Azzi turns to you before continuing. “And Y/N, please don’t think we’re only here because I want you to help P. I’ve always wanted to introduce you two. I feel like you two could be great friends!” You lean over to grab her hand and give it a little squeeze. Of course, to anyone else it might’ve looked weird, the way you and Azzi hadn’t spoken in a while, and she only seemed to come back to you for help. You knew that wasn’t the case, though. The brunette was the definition of kindness. I mean, she has the nickname “The People’s Princess” for a reason. You didn’t feel offended at all, knowing this only proved how much she trusted you and how much you’d helped her in the past.

Paige’s jaw stays clenched a little longer, her brows furrowed. “I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help,” she thinks angrily to herself. When she looks up at her best friend, however, she falters. She knows Azzi doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. “I guess… if Azzi speaks this highly of her, then… she can’t be that bad.” You see her soften as she gives the brunette a soft nod. She turns to you, sighing softly before giving you a tentative smile. You grin at her as mischief swirls in your eyes. “Yeah, we’re gonna work out just fine,” you think.

As you drink your coffee, you talk about everything that’s been happening in your life lately, asking Azzi for details on what she’s been up to since you last talked. You make sure to ask Paige questions too, getting to know her more as well. You keep the conversation away from basketball or your own accident. There was a time and place for that conversation, and it wasn’t here and now. 

You stay in the coffee shop for hours, just chatting about everything and nothing. You manage to make both girls laugh a lot, one time even making Paige laugh so hard, her coffee comes out of her nose. She’d looked pretty embarrassed, her face turning a bright red, but she couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face. 

You’re in the middle of telling Paige a story about something you and Azzi had done a few months ago when the brunette’s phone went off. You pause your conversation as you look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Oh shoot! I gotta go, uh, do you guys mind if I head out?” she rambles, already getting up. You look at Paige, who’s already looking at you. You grin at each other before turning to Azzi. “Don’t worry, we’ll play nice,” you smirk. 

Once the brunette leaves, you think for a moment Paige will go back to her quiet self, but you’re wrong. “So? What happened next?” she asks, her eyes wide in a childlike wonder. Warmth blossoms in your chest. The people weren’t wrong when they praised the type of person the star athlete is. She was sweet, paid full attention to what you were saying at all times, and she was funny as hell. 

You continue the story, making the blonde chuckle and shake her head in disbelief. “There’s just no way Azzi did that.” You shrug with a smirk, “It’s all true.” She looks at you a little longer, eyes squinted, as she tries to find out if you're lying. When she realizes you’re not, she chuckles again as she leans back. 

You continue to look at her and notice her demeanor change. Her smile slowly leaves her face as her body becomes tense again. Somehow you’d managed to not make her think about basketball or her injury the whole time you were at the coffee shop, but now it seemed to all come back in one big wave. 

She frowns, leaning forward as she hesitantly meets your eye. “So… Are you finally gonna tell me to just suck it up and stop moping about my knee? Because at least there’s a chance I’ll still be able to play?”

You look at her for a moment. “Nope.” You push away from the table as you start rolling your wheelchair to the door. “W-Wait, what?” You hear Paige stutter, her chair screeching from how hard she scoots it away from the table. You grin, hearing the clattering behind you as the blonde struggles to grab her crutches to follow you. You thank the girl holding the door open for you as you roll into the warm afternoon sun. Paige huffs as she finally reaches you, a frown on her face. You can tell she’s not really upset, though, the way her lips are curling into a small smile.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm… well… wheel you to your dorm…? Wheel to your dorm as you hobble along…?” Your eyebrows are furrowed as you rub your chin, trying to find the right wording. You hear Paige snort beside you as she starts moving. “Oh my god, bro, just shut up.” 

You stick your tongue out in response before speeding up a bit to match her pace. You two don’t talk for a moment, enjoying the nice breeze as birds whistle around you. “I had fun with you today, Paige,” you smile up at the girl. She smiles back at you. “I had fun with you too… I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, it’s just… it’s been really hard,” the frown from earlier makes its way back onto her face.

“Don’t worry about it, P,” you say with a smile. The girl returns the gesture, hearing you call her her nickname. “So uhh, you don’t want to tell, y'know, all that stuff about how it’ll all be okay?” She asks hesitantly. “Would you believe me if I did?” You ask without any judgment in your voice. “I’m not sure… probably not,” she says as she looks over sheepishly. “Then there wouldn’t be any point to it, would there?” You tease. 

She looks back ahead of her, but you stare a little longer. “I’ll tell you about my accident some day, but not right now. I don’t wanna tell you and have you just end up feeling bad, y’know? We had a good day, let’s not ruin it with my sob story,” you grin as you send her a wink.

Once you reach the blonde’s dorm, she looks at you with reluctant eyes. She doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet. “Give me your number, we’ll text,” you demand, not really giving her a chance to say no, but you both know she wouldn’t. You see her relax a little as she hands you her phone. Once you’ve put your number in and added a cheeky contact name, you give her back her phone. 

“Text me, alright? I know where you live now, so if you don’t, I’ll come find you,” you say with a teasing wink. “Yes, ma’am,” she grins. You two say your goodbyes before you make your way to your own dorm. You haven’t even made it out of the basketball player’s hallway before you hear your phone ding. Your stomach flutters and your chest feels warm. You were excited about your new friendship and were looking forward to getting to know the legendary player on a deeper level. 

Over the following weeks, you two continue to text every day, hanging out in the coffee shop a few more times too. Sometimes Azzi joins you, but more often than not, it’s just the two of you. You learn more about Paige’s family and friends and how life was living in Minnesota while she also gets to know you more. 

You can’t say every day you spend with the blonde is an amazing day. The girl’s injury was still fresh, so she was often grumpy and sad and found it hard to enjoy having to sit still in some coffee shop or library when she’d rather be out there playing ball. You never got upset with her though, you’d been there before, and you knew she just needed some silent support. 

One afternoon, your phone rings, bringing a smile to your face. You know who’s calling before you even look. “Hey, P,” you say, your grin clear in your voice. “Hey Y/N/N, whatcha up to?” she mumbles. “Just hanging out in my dorm, watching a show. What ‘bout you?” you reply, leaning back on your bed as you stare at the ceiling. “M’bored, you should come over… Some of the girls are coming over later… You should meet them,” she says. When you close your eyes, you can see her sitting in her room, one hand holding her phone as the other rubs her neck shyly.

“Sounds nice,” you murmur. You hear a soft sigh of relief on the other end. “Yeah?” Paige’s voice crackles through the phone, her tone hopeful. “Mhm,” you hum, “I’ll be there in like… 20 minutes?” “Ugh, 20 whole minutes?” she whines as you chuckle at how childish she could be. “Oh, I’m sorry? Do you want me to put my wheelchair in turbo mode?” You joke. “Oh my goddd, stoppp,” she groans, muffling her chuckles behind her hand. 

When you first made jokes about your injury and wheelchair, Paige had completely frozen, not knowing how to react. It had taken her a while, but now she was used to your stupid little jokes and knew you made them because you liked making people laugh.

You laugh softly at her reaction before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. You get out of bed, hopping into your wheelchair with ease, having been through this whole thing what feels like a million times before. You quickly get ready, grabbing a book Azzi had been wanting to borrow for a while and putting it in your bag before heading out. 

You were excited to see Paige and Azzi again and were curious to see what their other friends were like. You were pretty nervous, though. You’d be the odd one out in their usual little bubble. You didn’t let that stop you from going over, though. You’d never really been afraid to take leaps, and weren’t going to start now either.

When you make it to Paige and Azzi’s dorm in record time (the wind must’ve helped you make it there so fast…), you let your presence be known with your signature knock. Paige opens the door almost immediately with her trademark grin. “Hey P,” you smile as you wheel your way inside. “Hey Y/N/N,” she replies. “So, when’re the others gonna be here?” you say as you follow her towards her room. “Don’t know. Half an hour maybe?” she shrugs as she plops down on her bed. You nod your head as you look around. 

You’d been in the blonde’s room a few times already, but you still liked seeing if anything had changed. Her room was filled with the usual clutter, clothes thrown on the chair in the corner, a few water bottles next to her bed,...

She pats the space next to her, inviting you in. You wheel closer before heaving yourself onto the bed. Blue eyes follow your every move, ready to jump into action if you need help. Once you’re comfortable, you lean back and smile at her. “Grey's Anatomy?” you ask, your head tilted in question. Paige’s face immediately lights up as she leans over to grab her laptop. You continue the show where you’d left off last time before you hear commotion in the living room. 

You look over at Paige, who looks back at you with a pout on her face. You chuckle, sitting up a little straighter to hop back into your wheelchair. Once you’re seated, you wait for the blonde to grab her crutches and lead the way. You laugh softly at her huffing and puffing, knowing she’d rather watch her show right now than hang out with her team.

When you make it to the living room, you see KK, Nika, Ice, and Azzi chatting as they shrug off their jackets. When they notice Paige and you, they quiet down. “Y/N! Hey, I didn’t know you were here,” Azzi beams at you. “Guys, this is Y/N, the girl I’ve told you about, the one that helped me during my recovery,” she says cheerfully. KK, Nika, and Ice smile kindly at you before introducing themselves. 

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” you smile. “Only good things, I hope?” Nika teases. “Meh,” you reply with a smirk. The girls laugh before finding a spot to sit as you guys hang out. They leave 2 spots open on the couch for Paige and you, making you send them a thankful smile. 

You sit down and get to know the girls a little better. You could see why the UConn team was such a close-knit group. The girls were funny, sweet, and protective and treated each other like family. 

After a while, KK and Ice get bored and decide to turn on Paige’s PlayStation to play Fortnite. You continue to talk to everyone, laughing at the funny stories the girls tell you about Paige, trying to embarrass her. The blonde’s face turns a bright red as she complains about them being jerks, but her bright smile doesn’t leave her face. Your heart feels like it’s grown two sizes with how happy you’re feeling.

“Oh wait, Ace, I’ve got that book you asked for,” you say. You look towards your bag, seeing it near KK. “Hey KK, d’you mind grabbing my bag for me?” you ask the gaming girl. “Hm?” she hums distractedly. “Grab it yourself, bro,” she says, completely focused on the game. You see Azzi open her mouth to say something, but you hold up your hand to stop her. You send her an evil grin as mischief swirls around in your eyes. You make your face neutral, maybe even a little pouty, as you let out a sad sigh, “Alright.” 

You grab onto your wheelchair a little louder than necessary as you lean forward to move into it. KK’s head whips around so fast, you think she might’ve given herself whiplash. “WAIT, NO!” she yells, her eyes wide as she scrambles to get up to grab it for you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone move as fast as her at that moment. 

The girls around you slap their hands in front of their mouths to stifle their giggles. The younger girl looks at them with a pouty frown, feeling bad for forgetting you couldn’t easily get up to grab something. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she hands you the book. You send her a wink and a grin, letting her know you were just joking. You weren't offended about the fact she seemed to have forgotten. It showed you that the girls didn’t just see you as someone with a disability.

She sits back down next to Ice, sticking her tongue out at the still laughing girl. “s’not funny,” she mutters, staring at the TV as she continues the game. You could get used to hanging out with these girls. You loved the way they constantly teased each other, but never went too far. Many people were too scared to make any type of jokes around you, too focused on your impairment to realize you were also just a person. 

20 minutes go by before a phone rings. You recognize the ringtone as Paige’s and look towards the sound. Her phone is lying on the table near Ice and KK, who both look over for a split second before their attention goes back towards the TV. “KK, gimme my phone,” Paige demands, leaning forward to grab it from her. “Get it yourself,” the younger girl quips back, not even glancing at the blonde. Paige looks over at the other girls for a second, a “Seriously?” clear on her face. 

She grins before copying you. Sigh. “Fine,” she mutters, grabbing onto her crutches, making them bang against each other. KK looks back and deadpans at her. “Go ahead,” she says dryly, turning back to her match. 

“Bruh, what the hell,” Paige huffs as she gets up to grab her phone. You let out a deep belly laugh at the annoyed look on her face. The blonde turns to you with an unamused frown, as you send her an innocent smile and a shrug. 

You guys hang out for a few hours before it’s time to head back to your dorm. Your chest feels light when you say your goodbyes. Each girl gives you a hug with the promise of hanging out again soon. When you make it back to your room, you see you already have 2 texts from Paige. “had fun 2day, thanks for coming over” and “think KK likes you more than me”. 

That night, you go to bed with a wide smile on your face.

Days go by, and you stay in touch with all of the girls, but you mainly hang out with Paige. Today was another one of your planned hangouts, this time at your dorm, but the second the blonde arrived, you knew it wouldn’t be all fun and games. She’d just gone to physical therapy for her knee, and her face looks thunderous. She hadn’t slept well, constantly waking up because of her knee, she’s sick and tired of not being able to play, and physical therapy had gone horribly. 

When she walks in, she wordlessly flops down on your couch as she stares at the ceiling, a frown etched into her face. You go over to your fridge, grabbing a bottle of water for the both of you before returning to her side. You give her the bottle and wait patiently for her to talk. “I fucking hate this,” she fumes. “It’s been weeks since the game, why is everything still so… so… ughhhh,” she groans, unable to find the words. You give her arm a squeeze in support, but she shrugs you off, shooting upright as she continues her heated rant. 

You stay calm as you listen to her, knowing she needs this moment to blow off some steam. When she quiets down, heaving from all the talking, you quietly try to comfort her. “I know it sucks, P, but you need to just keep going, don’t give up. You’ll be on the court again soon enough, and it’ll be like you never left-” you can’t finish your sentence before Paige interrupts. 

“NO, YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT!” she yells, her frustrations high. You wince slightly at the volume but don’t say anything. You give the blonde a moment to calm down and let everything sink in. You’re not offended, you know people say things they don’t mean in moments like this. 

Once she realizes what she just said to you, the one person who understands more than anything, she looks at you with guilt in her eyes. Her blue eyes having become a shade darker as they look at you sadly. You see tears starting to well up before she leans forward, putting her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers in shame. You lean forward again, softly grabbing her wrist to take her hands away from her face. You hold one hand between yours as you catch her eye. You give her a gentle smile, letting her know you’re not upset.

“I shouldn’t have yelled… I shouldn’t’ve said that,” she mumbles regretfully. “It’s okay, P,” you murmur, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re not mad?” She looks at you like a kicked puppy. You shake your head with a smile, “I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive a pretty girl raising her voice at me.” She gives you a tiny, sad smile, leaning her forehead against your entwined hands.

You start telling her your story. The story of how you grew up, playing every sport under the sun, up until that one dreadful day. You tell her about the dark, depressive hole you fell into after you woke up paralyzed, the way you pushed everyone away, and how you thought nothing would ever be okay again. The whole time you’re talking, she looks you in the eyes, barely blinking as she listens intently. Her jaw clenches as her eyes become glassy when you talk about your depression. When you finish talking about what it was like the first few months after the accident, you pause for a moment, letting everything sink in.

“How’d you do it…?” She asks, her voice cracking with emotion. “It was hard… really fucking hard,” you start. “I pushed everyone away at first, but my family never gave up on me. They helped me realize that while it really fucking sucked… I was still alive. And I would find new things to care about. And I did!” You smile. “With all my free time, I started looking for new hobbies. I found out pretty quickly that I don’t have the patience for puzzles, and I poked myself one too many times to enjoy cross-stitching,” you say with a playful grin, making the athlete breathe out a little laugh.

“I learned that I have pretty good rhythm, so I was able to pick up playing the guitar and the piano pretty easily. I realized that doodling really helps me unwind after a long day, which is funny because it’s the complete opposite of how I used to relax. I got better and better at drawing and tried out a bunch of different mediums, but my favorite is still pencil drawings. I’d always loved reading but never made enough time for it, but now I try to finish at least one book a week… Uhh, I bought a PlayStation which I play on maybe a little too much, but you know what that’s like, Ms Fortnite addict.” You tease. She rolls her eyes, but you can tell that she’s no longer feeling so bad, a tiny smile decorating her face. 

You let silence fill the room for a moment. “I’m not saying this in a way of being like, ‘Stop complaining and get over it’, but I promise P, things will be okay. You’re the Paige Bueckers… It’s gonna take a lot more than a torn ACL for you to stop being you. Have some faith.” You send her a comforting smile as you squeeze her hand. She nods at you, her muscles relaxed as she finally lets out a relieved sigh. “Thanks… for everything,” she breathes. You shake your head with a smile, thinking it’s silly she’s thanking you for being her friend. “You don’t need to thank me for that… but you’re welcome. And thank you for including me in your group of friends… I don’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun.”

You two talk for the rest of the afternoon, ordering a pizza when dinner time arrives. After you’re done eating, you migrate to your bedroom, letting a movie play in the background as you keep talking about everything and nothing. You’re sitting on your bed, telling Paige a story, waving your arms animatedly as her blue eyes stare into yours. “... And then she looked at me and I almost passed out from laughing! You should’ve seen the look on Ace’s face!” you say, hiccuping a little from laughing. The blonde laughs along, her chest feeling warm at the sound of your laugh.

“So what’s up with that nickname anyway?” she questions as she leans her head on her hand. “Ace?” You ask. “Well, her name’s Azzi, but people call her Azz, so then I started calling her Ace, as in A C E, like in a deck of cards. The ace cards are the highest cards in the deck, and I think of her quite highly,” you explain.

“Okay, but doesn’t it depend on the game?” she asks, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “Hm?” “Well, isn’t the ace card the lowest in certain games?” she says with a raised eyebrow. You can’t help laughing as she says that. “God, are you always this negative?” You tease, giving her a little push. She rolls her eyes as she scrunches her nose, sticking her tongue out. 

You continue talking until the sky becomes dark. Paige looks out the window, a slight frown growing on her face at the thought of having to leave. “Do you wanna stay the night?” you ask nonchalantly, but you feel your heart beat a little faster. Her bright blue eyes find yours immediately as she looks to see if you’re joking. “Yeah, sure, if that’s cool with you,” she says as she fiddles with her necklace. You smirk at how nervous she seems. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t, now would I?” She slaps your arm lightly to shut you up. “Go ahead and grab some clothes from my closet,” you tell her, hopping into your wheelchair to go get ready for bed in your bathroom.

When you return, you freeze for a moment, your heart swelling at the blonde dressed in your clothes. When she looks over at you, you start moving again, letting her use the bathroom as well. A few minutes later, she returns, looking around a little sheepishly. You pat the bed next to you, sending her a calming smile. You continue talking a little longer, but slowly feel your eyes grow heavy. You fall asleep to Paige’s tired mumbling. The last thing you remember is a soft hand grabbing yours, entwining your fingers before you doze off.

After that night, your relationship with Paige changes. You feel like you’ve somehow become even closer to her and are happy to call her your best friend. You’re rarely seen without the other, always attached to the hip. You make sure to come with her to physical therapy for silent support, while she often joins you in the library as you finish another book on your list. Your favorite hangout spot is the coffee shop where you two properly talked for the first time. You make sure to go there every week, sometimes even being joined by the girls on the team (who you’d all gotten to know pretty well by now).

When the end of Paige’s recovery nears, you’re a little nervous. While you never blamed Azzi for getting too busy to hang out a lot after she recovered, you would still be upset if the same happened with the blonde. All your worries were for naught, however, when Paige continues to call you every chance she gets, sending you quick texts when she can’t. She often adds silly selfies as well, just to make you laugh.

You’ve known you’ve had a crush on the girl for a while now, but you never said anything. Paige needed to focus on getting better without any distractions. You also didn’t want her to think your whole friendship was based on you having a crush on her, so it was best you just kept quiet.

Paige, in return, was also too scared to tell you about her crush. She loved the friendship you two had and didn’t want to ruin it just because she’d caught feelings. She was afraid that every glance, every touch, and every soft smile was just you being a good friend. She couldn’t bear to lose you after everything you’d done for her, so she kept her mouth shut.

Azzi, being the observant friend she is, immediately knew about both of your feelings when she’d “caught” you two asleep on the couch, holding each other close. She made it her mission to get you two together. She started off by trying to convince Paige to confess, but that didn’t work out well, seeing as the blonde was too scared and always shrugged her off. Her next plan was to try to make you confess, knowing you were the bravest person she knew. That sadly also didn’t work, seeing as you were too considerate of others to think about your own feelings when you knew Paige could end up getting hurt. 

So here she was, back on plan A. “Come onnn, P, she’s head over heels for you, I’m telling you!” The blonde rolls her eyes so hard it gives her a bit of a headache. “Azzi, please, we’ve been over this before, let it goooo,” Paige groans, feeling butterflies flutter in her stomach at the thought of you liking her back. “No! I’m not gonna let this go. You two mean so much to me, I just want you guys to be happy,” she says with a sad pout on her face. Paige lifts her head from where she’s lying on her bed to look at the brunette, and groans again at the kicked puppy look on her face. She could never say no to her when she made that face.

Paige sighs and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “...How sure are you?” She mutters, looking over at Azzi with desperation in her eyes. The brunette gives her a soft but excited smile. “110%, P. You know I wouldn’t say this if there was even a slight chance I was wrong.” The blonde’s cheeks turn a soft pink as a happy yet slightly embarrassed smile shows on her face. “Okay then, how do we do this?”

You’re hanging out with a friend when you hear the familiar ringtone go off. You excuse yourself for a moment, picking up the phone. “What’s up, P?” You grin. “Hey Y/N/N!” You can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re coming to our next game, right?” she asks. “Uhm, hello? It’s your first game back on the court, of course I’m coming,” you tease, sounding slightly offended she felt like she had to ask. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chuckles, “jus’ wanted to be sure.” “I’ll be your biggest cheerleader, don’t even worry about it,” you promise. “Ight, I’ll hold you to that,” she replies before you two say your goodbyes.

When the day of Paige’s first game back arrives, you know the blonde is bursting with nerves. You meet up with her before the game to wish her good luck and to encourage her. Her leg shakes up and down as she bites her nails. Her eyes flit around the room as she nods along to what you’re saying, but you know she’s not listening. You roll closer to her, grabbing her hand and pulling it away from her mouth. You give it a gentle squeeze as she finally looks at you. “Don’t worry so much, P. You’ve been working your ass off for this moment, and you’re gonna do great, okay?” you say, trying to reassure her as much as you can. Her shoulders loosen as she finally takes in what you’re saying.

“Thanks, Y/N/N,” she mutters with a small smile. You give her a wink before you leave to wish the other girls good luck and to find your spot before the crowd starts filtering in. While Paige is extremely nervous about her first game back, she’s more nervous about what’s going to happen at halftime. She really hopes she won’t embarrass herself. She walks back over to her team, quickly going over everything again to make sure everything would go exactly the way she’d planned. 

The first quarter of the game flies by before she even knows it. She already scored 12 points, giving UConn the advantage. As she sits on the bench, listening to coach Geno, she looks around. Her eyes immediately find yours as you send her two thumbs up. She grins before locking back into the game. 

The second quarter goes by even faster, making Paige’s stomach clench with nerves. They were now 9 points ahead, so it was still anyone’s game. First, however, it was time for halftime. 

The blonde wipes her sweat on a towel, looking over at Azzi. The brunette gives her a reassuring smile before walking over to you. You don’t expect her to walk over but smile at her nonetheless. “Hey Y/N/N, how much do you trust me?” she grins. You raise an eyebrow at her, but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear. “With my life,” you reply. She sends you a beaming smile, giving your shoulder a squeeze as she wheels you onto the court. You chuckle as you ask her what’s going on. She simply says, “You’ll see.” 

Paige walks up to you, fiddling with her hands nervously. She bends down on one knee and starts talking, her voice quivering a little. “Y/N… I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” You open your mouth to tell her off, but she holds up her hand before you can say a word. “I know, I know, I don’t need to thank you… but I want to. When you entered my life, I was going through a very difficult time. I felt like I was drowning on dry land… But you? You were like my life buoy, not letting me sink. You’re this amazing, strong person, and you’ve made me want to be like you. To never give up and to look at life in a positive way, even when things go wrong.” She swallows harshly. You grab her hand and give it a squeeze, speechless at the girl's words. Your chest feels warm as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of its cage.

“The past few months have meant more to me than you could imagine, and… I fell for you harder than I thought I ever could… So… I want to ask you this,” she says, still nervous but a bit more confident as she sees the adoration in your eyes. She stands up and accepts the flowers Nika gives her. She hands them to you as she steps aside. 

Your eyes tear up as you see the scene in front of you. The whole UConn team, as well as the opponent's team, are standing there. All holding various items. A few girls are holding cardboard signs with the words “Will you go out with me?” on them. Your free hand flies to your mouth as you look up at Paige. The blonde is already staring at you lovingly with a soft smile. You chuckle at the amount of love you’re feeling right now as you nod your head at her. You can barely hear the crowd cheer around you as you feel your blood rushing in your ears.

The star player’s smile becomes even wider as her eyes crinkle. She grabs your hand, placing a kiss on it as all players start making their way towards you. You get handed all kinds of gifts from the blonde. Your favorite book annotated by her, a Lego set you two had talked about getting, a new pack of expensive pencils, a guitar pick maker, and a bunch of other things. You feel so incredibly seen by her that you find it hard to keep your tears at bay.

Once you’ve received all the gifts and thanked Paige a bunch, you make your way back to your seat. You hear a few “congrats” aimed your way as fans smile widely at you. When you turn back to the court, you see the blonde already looking at you. She sends you a flirty wink, making you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement. While the circumstances of you two meeting weren’t the best, you thank your lucky stars that the universe guided you to the Paige Bueckers. UConn’s star player. The golden student. The future of women’s basketball. A legend in the making. The girl that stole your heart but gave you hers in return.

[dec0ra-grl]

Abbey Marston; my design of the briefly mentioned daughter of John.

She was born with, what we would call in modern terms, AuDHD and Tourette’s. But to the rural doctors near their ranch? She was possessed by the devil. Thankfully John and Abigail saw through this and decided to adapt to her needs based off her own descriptions of them. Though that alone caused issues the BIGGEST problem was her social life. Abbey almost never socialized, and only left the ranch when necessary. She didn’t have a true freind up until the day she died.

John and Abigail decided to take her to some social at a local church. Nothing to grand, just to donate and leave, but they missed going out as a family. So trying couldn’t hurt right? When talking to some other kids she was pulled away by a staff member and beaten over the head with a Bible until ‘the devil was knocked out of her’ (aka; she stopped her tics) but the issue was the stress of being knocked over the head with a book only made her tics more pronounced, earning her a harsher beating.

John eventually came over but it was too late. She was able to go home for a day, dying during the night. although she was completely unresponsive with minimal motor skills, she still had coherent thoughts and was able to process what was happening and die semi-peacefully in her fathers arms.

[afterglowsainz]

eternal sunshine | charles leclerc

summary: you and charles decide to fake date to get back at your exes

fc: ariana grande

a/n: a bit late (mostly because i didn’t had any time nor inspiration) but finally here it is, a fic about THE 2024 monaco grand prix winner

—

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f1.wags charles leclerc posted a statement earlier today confirming the end of his relationship with his girlfriend

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username NOOOOOO

username pls say sike pls say sike

username definitely not the way i wanted to start the weekend like

username so love is dead guys good to know 💔

username they were the it couple 😢

username im going to pretend i didn’t see this

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ynupdates it’s confirmed that y/n y/l/n and her boyfriend have broken up after fours years of dating

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username WHAT

username omg nooo😭

username why is everyone breaking up!!!

username i don’t believe in love anymore

username her best friend liked the post so it’s really really true i’m gonna cry 😭

username yeah also the sun posted an article saying that a close source to the couple confirmed it

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deuxmoi actor jacob elordi and actress charlotte berzatto have been spotted recently on different occasions going out on dates

tagged jacobelordi, charlotteberzatto

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username excuse me what?

username and who’s this charlotte girl? 🤨

username she’s an european actress

username charles leclerc’s ex girlfriend

username wait wasn’t he dating y/n y/l/n like two weeks ago? i’m confused

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username yeah but they broke up like five minutes ago this seems…

username i did not expect that

username not them breaking up with their partners to get together 😭

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yourusername new things coming soon who’s happy🫧💐

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username OMG WE’RE GETTING A NEW ALBUM

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username we love to see it

lilymhe gorgeous! 💕

yourusername lilyyy💘

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username charles in the likes?? 😭

username they’re friends chill

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charles_leclerc happy times 😁

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username pookie came back! 🫶🏽

username now what is charles doing in a music studio 🤨🤨

username he’s so hot just ughhh

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username nah

username now that you mention it i think it could be but idk 😭

username he’s so boyfriend coded

username y/n in the likes 👀👀👀👀

username this just keeps getting messier and messier😭

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ynupdates y/n has been seen recently on multiple dates with formula 1 driver charles leclerc

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username ma’am???

username well this took a turn

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username i meaaan look at that third and last pic and ask again

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username they’re so real for swapping partners just like that

username literally blink and you miss it

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yourusername my new single ‘don’t wanna break up again’ is out now for all of you💘 i also sing it for the first time ever on snl tonight if you’re interested in that🫶🏽

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username YES NEW MUSIC FROM MOTHER

username this song ATE

username the queen is back i used to pray for times like this😭

lilymhe such a gooood song💓 (liked by yourusername)

username so you’re telling me THAT man used to turn up the volume of the tv to not hear her cry??? yeah he’s DONE

username i literally heard that and had to pause for a second because what???

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username she’s so unserious i love her

charles_leclerc on repeat 24/7 ❤️‍🩹

yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

francisca.cgomes completely obsessed!💖 (liked by yourusername)

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and others

scuderiaferrari such a pleasure to have yourusername on the garage this weekend! 🫧

tagged yourusername, charles_leclerc

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username she looks stunning 🤩

username the pic with charles omg they’re so cute🥰🥰

username y/n in the paddock every race week please and thank you

yourusername tysm! forza ferrari❤️

username babes what other words in italian did charles taught you? i need to know

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username the fact that they haven’t confirmed anything 😭

username i mean you don’t really have to be a genius just a bit of common sense

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charles_leclerc keep the podiums coming🏆🐎

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username il predestinato does it again 😮‍💨😮‍💨

username let’s go charles 💪🏽

username yesss charles show y/n what you can do‼️

carlossainz55 nice race!👊🏽

username very well deserved podium, such a nice race charles❤️❤️

username the fact that he was looking for y/n the whole time he was on the podium 😭

username I KNEW I WASNT THE ONLY ONE WHO NOTICED

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yourusername congratulations! ❤️‍🩹

charles_leclerc ❤️

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f1.wags if there was doubt before there definitely isn’t anymore! charles leclerc and singer y/n y/l/n were spotted kissing at the after party of this weekend’s grand prix and leaving together

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username THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

username don’t know if i wanna be charles or y/n to be honest

username joris and arthur liking this 😭😭

username i love that they’re together they just fit

username agree, a bit unexpected since their exes are also dating each other but still, they’re very cute💕

username okay i wasn’t a fan of y/n but i’m definitely gonna start listening to her now

username does this mean we’re getting happy songs from y/n about charles?

username omg girl I HOPE

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yourusername eternal sunshine (the song) is out right now with the very special appearance of charles_leclerc in the music video (❤️) and eternal sunshine (the album) is out next friday! 💕

tagged charles_leclerc

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username i’m so so proud of y/n this song is perfect! can’t wait for the album 🤍

username this is the first time she’s featured a boyfriend in a music video and i’m so down for it🥰

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username them on the bts of the video 💞💞💞

lilymhe you’re perfect and this song is everything🤍

yourusername love love love you lils 💘

username who would’ve thought mr charles leclerc can ACT!

username “hope you feel alright when you’re in her” i gasped

username no because that took me by surprise

username okay but we got “i got a good boy and he’s on my side” so it brought me back hope

charles_leclerc so proud of you, mon coeur❤️

yourusername i love you charlie❤️

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charles_leclerc so so so proud of you my love❤️ this is the most amazing project ever and the fact that i was able to participate in any way brings me so much joy. you’re a musical genius and an incredible human being🤍 stream eternal sunshine☀️

tagged yourusername

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username if you look closely you can see me in the background crying

username this is- they’re so- i’m- 😭

username no but they’re so perfect for each other i could cry

pierregasly who would’ve thought you could act 🤣

carlossainz55 new skill for the cv 😂

username “a musical genius and an incredible human being” charles leclerc why don’t you just rip my heart out yourself

username she looks so pretty in the mv and they’re so good together💞 i’m so happy for them

username no longer a child of divorce THESE are my real parents🫶🏽

yourusername i love you and i’m very very proud of you too❤️‍🩹

charles_leclerc mon amour you’re everything 🤍

[ellieputellas]

the bird | epilogue

tags: future!Alexia, future!reader, post-graduation setting

taglist: @alexiaputellasera @sapphicdarlingx @profoundcoffeepeanut @therealgbaby @batllexreina @my-favorite-sign-blog @wosowriter23 @groovyblazeturtle @violetromanova

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ chapter one 🕊 chapter two 🕊 epilogue

It had been over three years since you last saw Alexia.

After that last day in Sister Philomena’s office, Alexia was expelled. There were several, baseless rumors about what happened to her but all you knew for sure was that she was kicked out of the school that same day and you’ve never heard anything about her again. It was as if she disappeared as quickly as she appeared in your life.

Your fate, however, had been different. You remained at the school, subjected to endless, one-on-one sessions with the sisters. They called it “guidance,” but it felt more like indoctrination — a relentless effort to force-feed the beliefs they so piously upheld. 

But it wasn’t the sermons or the pray-overs that wore you down, though; it was the pity.

The word had spread through the school that Alexia had kidnapped you and assaulted you. It didn’t hurt that they painted you as a victim but it pained you deeply that the love of your life was painted as a villain, a spawn of the devil.

What’s worse was that you couldn’t do anything but nod politely at those who offered their condolences and looked at you pitifully since there was always a hovering sister or another praepostor that would snitch on you to Sister Philomena if you said anything in defense of Alexia. 

Ingrid and Maria were your only allies in all of it. 

The sisters had always trusted Ingrid; she was practically the second choice for the ideal student after you. They favored you for your quiet humility, a stark contrast to Ingrid's bubbly, energetic demeanor, which never quite suited the older sister’s preferences.

But now, it seemed the tides had shifted. They lost confidence in you and Ingrid had earned their trust, perhaps even more than you ever had.  You didn’t mind, though. You no longer cared about the sisters' opinions and being placed under Ingrid’s wing was something you actually appreciated. When the nuns assigned her to pray the rosary with you every night or do a novena – tasks any other praepostor, including your past self, would have dutifully obeyed – Ingrid had her own way of doing things. Instead of complying, Ingrid and you would simply chat, vent, or play games. You probably would have gone insane without her.

And even though you weren’t particularly close to Maria at first with your interactions mostly limited to the times you both hung out with Ingrid or Alexia, she gradually became a central figure in your life. She was in the same year level as you, so she often ended up sitting beside you in class. Her presence became invaluable during those tough days when you were too depressed to function. Maria would quietly help you catch up on homework, offering her support without judgment. Over time, she became your best friend.

The couple practically held you up and prevented you from slipping into insanity. They understood what you were going through – possibly, the only people in that school who could have. And, naturally, the three of you became inseparable, which the nuns loved because they thought they set a good example for you. Little did they know, they too were both raging homosexuals.

When you and Maria graduated together, Ingrid practically bawled her eyes out. Aside from missing the two of you, she also would have to be stuck in that hellhole for another year all alone. 

Once you left school, life was anything but smooth. You lied to your parents, telling them you were embarking on a religious outreach mission to “help the poor lost souls in third-world countries” in an effort to make spiritual amends for your past transgressions. Maria didn’t just agree to help; she took it even further, asking help from her cousins and friends to make fake admission letters, websites, and notices to sell the story. As soon as they agreed, you were practically out of the house, never to return again.

You wanted to try and find Alexia as soon as you left your house but it became difficult to even find the time to do so.

You and Maria moved to the city, living in a small crappy apartment that cost way too much. You scraped by together taking on odd jobs. Maria was lucky to play for a small football club and also, often did tattooing gigs at the nearby tattoo shop for extra funds. On the other hand, you worked two jobs: a Spanish tutor in the morning and a receptionist at the tattoo shop where Maria worked on weekends. You both worked to the bone for an entire year, incredibly exhausted with no time for yourselves. But as grueling as it was, life in the city still felt freer than the rigid confines of the boarding school. For the first time, you could live authentically.

After a year, Ingrid graduated and finally joined you, moving into the tiny apartment that somehow became even smaller with the three of you crammed inside. Though, on a positive note, Ingrid immediately got picked up by a football club, and with her salary, it was easier to pay the rent and bills. This meant that you could have more time for yourselves. Ingrid and Maria even managed to save up enough for a vacation back in her hometown in Norway. And, for you, it meant that you had extra breathing room. You were finally able to drop your tutoring job, affording you the time to search for work that actually interested you.

You had a day off from the tattoo shop and something about that day made you want to explore the city. Restless and eager for something different, you decided to wander, letting the streets guide your steps without a clear destination in mind. That’s when you stumbled upon a jewelry store tucked into a quiet corner.

As you browsed, the store’s owner emerged from the backroom, greeting you warmly. She had a whimsical energy and an easy charm. Her warm aura made conversation feel natural, but it was more than just her personality pulling you in. Your curiosity about the intricate details of jewelry-making seemed to spark something in her, too. The exchange felt natural with the two of you vibing instantly.

And then, as if by chance – or fate – she mentioned it. “You seem like the perfect fit for an apprentice,” she said, beaming at you. “It’s a paid apprenticeship and if you do well enough, I’ll keep you as a permanent employee to help out with designing and jewelry-making.”

You agreed in a heartbeat. It was quite the commute from where you lived but it was worth it. The apprenticeship not only paid decently but it also helped you develop your skills in just weeks. You started off with stamping out rings and engraving jewelry. After a while, you were forging your own sample jewelry from your own designs; most of which you got to keep. You even made a ring for Ingrid and Mapi for their anniversary. 

Soon, your boss entrusted you more with doing tasks for the store. Currently, you were tasked with engraving and the polishing of certain pieces.

“Darling,” she said, her voice laced with a playful energy. “I’ve got a simple job for you now.”

You looked up from your sketchbook, where you were drafting ideas for her upcoming collection. “Oh, another engraving?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips.

She shook her head, the twinkle in her eye betraying the importance of the task. “Just a repair. A broken chain.”

You raised an eyebrow curiously. “Since when did we do repairs?” you asked, a hint of surprise in your voice. 

“Well, we don’t,” she admitted, hesitating just a moment before she continued. “But the girl who came in… she’s part of my favorite football team. I couldn’t say no, obviously.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “A footballer?” You were amused by her star-struck enthusiasm. 

She nodded, the gold chain in her hand catching the light as she passed it to you. “And she has excellent taste in jewelry, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell on the piece. The golden bird pendant was unmistakable. It was the same one that had once hung around your own neck, now broken at the same link as this one before you and abandoned in your drawer for months. You stashed it away and never looked at it after it broke; it felt like a sign that any hope you’d held onto was gone.

Yet, even if you haven’t seen it in a while, you practically memorized each contour and edge of that necklace… and you were certain that this was hers.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep the sting of tears at bay. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, and your heartbeat quickened. “Do you remember her name?”

You already knew the answer – there was no way that someone else could have this very necklace – but you just had to be sure.

“Yes,” she said, a knowing smile forming. “Alexia Putellas.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It’s been a while since you’ve kept up with Alexia; the last you heard was that she signed for FC Barcelona. At times, you wanted to go to a game, see her again, and maybe reconnect. But… you were scared.

The last time you saw her was in that office after you explicitly said that you didn’t love her. 

As you touched the necklace, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest as tears continued to fill your eyes. You surreptitiously wiped your tears. “Uh, when did she say she needed it?”

“Well, she said she can come back for it in the morning,” your boss responded as she sat in front of you. “I can introduce you if you want. You’re single, right?”

You chuckled. “Well, yeah…”

She beamed. “Oh, you should definitely meet her so that when you date, I can get all the free tickets to the Barcelona games.” She teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “You totally look like you’d be her type.” 

You shrugged, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hmm, a pretty girl like you? You can get any football star you want.” Your boss teased. “Anyway, I trust you can fix this up.”

You nodded, looking down again at the necklace. 

Fixing the necklace took you mere minutes but for hours, until the shop’s closing, you couldn’t move on from how it found its way to you. When you came home, you took your own necklace out of the drawer, looking at it under the dim light of your tiny room. 

Do you want to see her tomorrow? What if she hated you? What if she never wanted to see you again? 

For the past two years, you’ve thought about all the scenarios that could possibly happen once you finally met her again. On more than one occasion, you’d fantasize about seeing her, rushing to your door, and bringing you flowers. When you were in the grocery, sometimes you’d ridiculously dream up a corny scenario like reaching for the same can of sardines. Sometimes, it would be sweet like that.

But oftentimes, you thought about how badly it could play out. She could shout at you for breaking your heart. She could say she's in a relationship with someone better than you, less broken. She could even ignore you, pretend nothing happened and honestly, it felt like that would be the worst possible scenario. Even worse than seeing her in love with anyone else.

You barely slept that night, touching your own necklace the entire time.

The next day, you reported to work earlier, deciding to patch up your own necklace. You looked at the two of them side-by-side, nearly identical, with yours being just a bit more detailed and polished than Alexia's.

You don’t know what came over you but when it was time to package it up. Instead of putting her necklace in the small box, you put your own, taking her necklace instead and wearing it on your neck, tucking it under your blouse.

If this is the last time I see her… and she never wants to see me again, at least I can keep this piece of her for myself.

“Good morning, darling!” Your boss chirped as she entered the backroom of the store, bringing you a cup of coffee. “I see you’ve packed up the necklace for Alexia.”

She took the box from you, opening it up and looking inside. She tilted her head slightly. “Huh,” she paused, examining the necklace closely. “Is it just me or did it get prettier?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh, I just cleaned it up, removed all the build-up on it.”

She nodded, buying into your story. “Oh, that’s great! Well, she did say she was coming over soon so I’m glad you got it done before then.” She smiled. “Good job.”

She paused before walking over to you to fluff up your hair. “And put on some lipstick,” she added, jokingly. “You wanna look your prettiest when she comes. Mama needs next season's tickets.”

You gave her a weak smile back, feeling nerves kick in. In just a few hours, you were going to see her again… maybe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see her… or if you were even ready to.

You hid in the backroom for a while, pretending to sketch more designs to propose for the next collection. 

But all you could think about was her.

The bell above the store’s door rang as it opened. Alexia walked in, clad in a blazer and blonde hair still damp from her shower.

It was her off day from training but she still had a long day of work ahead of her – meetings with her agent, sorting out contracts, all the boring stuff that came with her new life as a famous football player.

After she was kicked out of the school, she decided to head back immediately to her parents, not even bothering to give her grandparents a chance to trap her. She took the train back to her hometown and walked into her parent’s home, much to their surprise. She told her family all about her experience – the homophobia, the prejudice, her terrible experience in boarding school. Even if her parents were more than willing to take her back under their wing, she knew she had to figure out a way to lighten their load. The last thing she wanted to be was a burden. Most importantly, she wanted to be her own woman.

She lived under her grandparents most of her life, with them dictating what she should believe in and do. When she moved to a boarding school, it was merely a change in scenery—the control remained, just in a different form. Now, all she wanted was to live for herself. She craved the freedom to make her own decisions, to follow her own desires without the constant weight of judgment or unsolicited guidance.

For once, she yearned to carve out a life that was truly her own.

She began trying out for local football camps. With her skills, it wasn’t long before she was recruited by a local team. Soon, with her performance in the small team, news made it out that there was a new hidden star player.

It all came so fast – scouts from all sorts of big clubs came over, offering her things beyond her imagination. When Barcelona came forward with a deal she couldn’t refuse, she knew her dream was finally within reach. Signing with the team wasn’t just about fulfilling her lifelong ambition, it was a chance to give back to her parents and help secure a better future for them. She knew her life would change drastically after that.

And it did. Within merely months, everything changed.

She was suddenly a big name with people all over the country coming to watch her play for one of the biggest teams in the world. It was amazing and exhilarating. She was living out her biggest fantasy.

And yet, during the rare times when she had a break and life was quiet, all she could think about was you.

Even with all she had accomplished, she felt a gnawing emptiness... feeling like she could never be completely and utterly happy. The cheers of the crowd, the support of the fans, the acclaim, not even all the trophies — they could never fill the gaping hole you had left in her life.

On that day when you said you didn’t love her anymore, her heart practically hollowed itself. She knew you were saying it to appease the nuns but it still hurt to hear you say it, for it to come from your mouth.

She repeated to herself that you didn’t mean it and that you loved her just as she loved you. She reminded herself that the circumstances were impossible, that you had no choice. But as the months dragged on and she knew you had left school, her confidence in that hope began to waver. When a year passed without a single word from you, her heart broke all over again. Maybe you had meant it.

Still, she waited. Another year passed. Ingrid had sent her a sweet message after news got out that she would play for FC Barcelona. Maria reached out a couple times too, asking Alexia if she wanted to catch up and go out for drinks.

But from you? Nothing. Not a single word.

And on the second anniversary of the last day she saw you, the chain of her necklace broke. 

She was at a celebratory party for Barcelona’s latest league championship; everyone was laughing and enjoying the win yet her thoughts drifted far away when she felt that gold chain slide down her neck, a chain broken for no apparent reason.

She was supposed to be having fun, basking in the victory, but all she could think about was you. That necklace, fragile and worn, was the only tangible thing she had left of you.

And now, it was broken.

​​“You good?” Irene’s voice broke through her thoughts. Alexia looked up to see her teammate watching her with concern as she put a hand on Alexia’s shoulder

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Alexia muttered, but the sadness in her eyes betrayed her. Irene frowned, her worry deepening as she slid onto the seat beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

Alexia let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head as she held up the broken necklace. “This… was from my ex. It’s the only thing I have left of her,” she explained in a low voice. “And now it’s broken. I can’t help but feel like… maybe it’s a sign. A sign that I need to move on.”

Irene rubbed comforting circles on Alexia’s back. “Ale, it’s not a sign,” she said gently. “It’s just a chain. They break all the time. But didn’t you say she ghosted you? Maybe it is time to move on.”

Alexia hummed in response, not fully convinced. She’d never told anyone the full story, choosing instead to let her teammates believe a half-truth — that her ex had disappeared from her life without explanation. It wasn’t entirely wrong, but it wasn’t the whole picture either.

“Yeah, but…” She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t think I’ll ever really move on.”

Irene nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Alexia hummed, seriously considering it despite the hesitation. Moping around and being depressed didn't help her at all, just made her a bummer to be around. So, she figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

After agreeing, Irene set Alexia up with a good friend of hers, Olga. 

Olga was beautiful, funny, and talented, and their connection felt easy. Alexia liked her. Actually, Alexia liked her a lot. For the first time in years, she laughed freely, and Olga’s presence brought a sense of joy she hadn’t realized she was missing. She stored the necklace away, shoving it to the back of her cabinet, hoping to bury the memories along with it.

But despite Olga's warmth and the happiness she brought, there was a quiet emptiness that lingered in Alexia. It wasn't overwhelming, just a nagging feeling that something was missing. The space you had left inside her was still there, faint but persistent, no matter how much she tried to move on.

“Babe,” Olga called out from Alexia's bedroom on one of their date nights while Alexia rummaged through a pile of unfolded laundry. “Can I borrow your hoop earrings? I left mine at my place.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alexia replied, distracted as she searched for her silk shirt. Finally, she fished it out of the pile before heading back to her bedroom to put it on in front of her wardrobe mirror. "Did you find the earrings already?"

Olga hummed. "No... I found your silver ones but I wanna borrow the chunky gold ones..." Her voice trailed off as she continued to rummage. Alexia chuckled, fixing her shirt before sitting down on her bed to put on her shoes.

Moments later, Olga loudly gasped. “Oh my god, babe, can I borrow this too? It’s so pretty — oh wait, never mind," her voice dropped in disappointment. "It’s broken. Aw... this would have looked so cute on me."

Alexia looked up sharply, her heart stopping when she saw Olga holding the bird necklace. Panic filled in her chest as she practically ran across the room, snatching it from Olga’s hands. She cradled the delicate charm in her palm, her breathing stilted.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?” Olga asked with an alarmed tone.

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the necklace, a wave of emotions crashing over her. Every distraction she had used to patch the wound you left in her heart – a new girl, football, work – all proved to be temporary fixes at that moment. She felt as though the bandaid had peeled off, the stitches had come undone and she was back to feeling that gaping wound in her chest.

“Alexia?” Olga’s voice was tentative.

“I can’t do this,” Alexia whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't do this anymore."

“What?” Olga asked, stepping closer. “What are you talking about?”

“Please,” Alexia said, her gaze still fixed on the necklace. “Just leave. Just go.”

“Alexia—”

“Go!” she repeated, her voice firmer but trembling.

Olga hesitated but eventually left, leaving Alexia alone with the broken necklace in her hand. The memories, the pain, the love she thought she could suppress — it all came rushing back, overwhelming her.

At that moment, Alexia realized that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many distractions she filled her life with, the wound you left behind couldn’t be patched up or healed. It wasn’t a scar. It was still a raw, open wound that seemed to have no cure.

Alexia felt guilty for driving away Olga, someone who obviously cared about her and someone she actually liked. But Alexia didn’t want to lead her to believe that Alexia could love her completely… not while you were still haunting her. 

How could she give her heart to someone when it was no longer hers to give, when you still owned every piece of it?

As her fingers brushed the broken chain, Alexia considered messaging Ingrid or Maria — just a quick text, something casual, to ask about you. Were you happy? Do you still live with them in Barcelona? Or had you moved on completely, finding someone else to love? Did you still think of her?

Suddenly, she was filled with thoughts of you. It ranged from memories of the two of you from school to her own concocted daydreams of where you were now. Were you finally working on jewelry? Have you fallen in love with someone else? She was full of questions.

She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She could leave all of those thoughts for later. For now, she had to get this necklace repaired. To her, it wasn’t just any necklace; it was the only piece of you she had to keep for herself.

The very next day, she stopped by the nearest jewelry shop, just a block away from her house, and asked for a repair.

And that’s how she ended up there now – in the shop where you worked, just feet away from you as you nervously waited in the backroom.

“I’m here to pick up my necklace,” you heard the voice and even if it had been years, you knew it was her. A flutter in your stomach formed. “I dropped it off yesterday. Here's the receipt, if you need it.”

“Oh, of course, my jeweler had it finished yesterday,” you heard your boss say. You looked over through the doorway to the main shop and saw her looking at you as if calling you over. You caught a glimpse of Alexia's hair and sleeve. You bit your lip and hesitated, feeling anxiety take over you, freezing you on the spot.

Alexia opened the box and looked at the necklace. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Huh,” she murmured, exhaling softly. She held the charm closer, her fingers brushing it as her expression shifted to confusion. “I… I don’t think this is mine.”

Your boss blinked curiously at her. “Oh? I’m quite certain it’s yours.” She insisted with a nod. “Your necklace was the only one we repaired… and we don’t really have anything like that necklace.”

Alexia nodded but continued to stare at it. She knew it intimately — every curve, every flaw. She had stared at it for countless nights, held onto it as if it tethered her to something she couldn’t let go of.

And this wasn’t that necklace.

“Uh, I’m sure it isn’t mine,” Alexia hummed. “Or did you do something different? Did someone make a change to it?”

“My apprentice did say she cleaned it up? But she didn’t do anything else…” your boss hummed. “Let me call her. She can explain and sort this out.”

Alexia nodded, watching your boss disappear into the backroom. She sighed, frustration flickering in her chest. While the necklace looked more polished and even more detailed, it wasn’t the one she brought in. It was different; it wasn’t the one you put around her neck that day and certainly not the one she stared at all those sleepless nights. She wasn’t the type to complain about services but this time, she might have to. The necklace was special to her.

Her thumb brushed over the charm as memories flooded back — the day she bought the matching necklace for you, the one she gave you with a more polished design.

Her breath hitched, her thoughts spiraling as she slowly realized

“Hi, Alexia.” 

The familiar voice pulled her back to the present. She looked up, and for a moment, she thought she might be dreaming. There you were, standing cautiously with your hands clasped together.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms clammy as you locked eyes with her. It had been years, but there was no mistaking those warm hazel eyes. She looked different now — older, more put-together — but she was still unmistakably Alexia.

Alexia blinked at you, hands still grasping the necklace. You offered her a hesitant, almost nervous smile as you stepped out from behind the doorway and moved closer to the counter. “Is there… is there a problem with the necklace?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Alexia chuckled, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “No… no problem at all.” Her lips curved into a small, trembling smile, her heart thrumming as warmth spread through her chest. 

You chuckled softly, though a couple of tears began to well up despite your best efforts to hold them back. Quickly, you swiped them away, shaking your head as if to brush off the emotion. But before you could fully recover, her hand reached out, gentle and familiar, wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

Even after all these years apart, in that moment, she just… knew.

Her gaze locked with yours, steady yet filled with unspoken emotion. You furrowed your brows, feeling the sting of more tears threatening to fall. You tried to lighten the moment with another soft laugh, but the tears came anyway, betraying you. Her hand remained on your cheek, her touch grounding you as she rubbed her thumb against the smooth of your cheek.

You chuckled shakily and smiled, wiping your tears and stepping away to gather composure. “I… I’m sorry,” you blubbered, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

You looked back to her hazel eyes, seeing that they too had glazed over. She shook her head. “It’s okay… it’s okay, monjita.” She smiled at you with the nickname slipping out naturally as if those years never passed at all. “Why don’t we start over?”

You nodded, using your fingertips to wipe her tears as you exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay…” you nodded. You smiled faintly, a quiet steadiness settling in. “Let’s start over. You start.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that quiet space. Alexia’s eyes dropped briefly to her necklace — now hanging around your neck — and she smiled.

“Hey…” she started. “I like your necklace.”

You shook your head, remembering your lame pick-up line from that day in the library. “Yeah?’ You said as you looked at your own necklace which was now propped on the box set on the glass counter, between the two of you. “Yours isn’t so bad either.”

Alexia laughed warmly, her laugh blending into yours, and when your eyes met again, you felt something shift. You were finally ready to spread your wings and soar.

You were free.

a/n: i hope the ending is satisfying for you guys!! i struggled finishing this, mostly because i was scared of not making a satisfactory ending. but also because... i didn't want it to end yet! this is my longest fanfic to date with around 50k words total... and i really got attached with the characters and the story lol. (also i only proofread this once because i fear that if i do any more, i would nitpick endlessly and never post it)

anyway, thank you again for all the support for the bird — whether it be a reblog, a like, or a long message! all are appreciated. i would, of course, love to hear your thoughts. requests are still close for now but i'd still love to talk to you guys so please send an ask! they often make my day <3 anyway ily all!

chapter index

[zara-renata]

So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year. 

Maybe. 

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 

They’re still kind. 

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying. 

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 

Not a burden. 

Never a fucking burden. 

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it. 

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you. 

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?” 

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say. 

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter? 

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time? 

Just yourself. 

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself. 

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 

You smile at him. 

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him. 

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Could you write for Daemon targaryen like currently after all those nightmares in harnehal he finds a prisoner of harnehal as the only person who brings him peace him falling in love with her and trying to be better person he still fights for team black obviously rahaenya is definitely not happy with these arrangements especially seeing him all dedicated all in love some things he never have done for her but she have no option currently rather accepting his second wife though at the end when team black would be winning and fight at harnehal like aemond Vs Daemon she ask for reader's head happy ending at the end please or anything you wanna write I just wanna see Daemon happy in love at end please

Finally I have time for my hobbies again! Sorry I left you waiting for ages, this term the exam season was tougher than what I have been accustomed to… Anyways, I have started writing some stuff and I wanted to post the intro instead of writing a full-length chapter 1 since it would have taken a couple more days (:

As a side note, I honestly have no idea where this story will be headed because I have no clear course planned, I had some little ideas and I just started writing them. Also I will be introducing stuff which is not in the asoiaf universe.

I am continuing to read Silmarillion from where I left off and let’s say the ideas about Daemon’s love interest are… inspired from what I have been reading (; Enjoy!

Memento Mori

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: strong language, I am not a native English speaker, reader is (or will be) described with long hair

This is a very short introduction! Also the chapter is from Daemon’s pov. The title is inspired by Memento Mori by Lamb of God (the song has been a great inspiration for the story so far)

The dungeons of Harrenhal were cold, wet and lonely.

He had no idea when, how and why he had gone down there – one moment, he was in his chambers and the next, he was opening his eyes to the mossy stone walls of the dark dungeons with a torch in his hand. The line between dreams and reality was becoming thinner each day he spent in this cursed castle.

As Daemon walked past the empty cells, he tried to shake off this unsettling feeling lingering around him, dancing on his neck on its tippy toes, making him wonder whether he was indeed alone.

I doubt Simon Strong keeps prisoners down here, he thought while wiping the water from his forehead which was dripping from the broken ceiling. Maybe he has decided to lock up the witch?

Just when the Rogue Prince – correction, the King Consort – was about to turn back and leave the depressing, humid and somewhat eerie atmosphere of the dungeons behind, a soft humming reached his ears.

A soft, sweet humming of a song coming from one of the cells at the very end of the darkness.

“What kind of prisoner is Simon Strong hiding here?” Daemon asked, his voice created echoes as he waved the torch in front of him, trying to cast some light.

The humming stopped immediately, as if the sound itself was cut by a knife.

Daemon’s purple eyes widened upon seeing that the last cell was indeed not empty.

There was a young woman inside, looking at him with her eyes full of curiosity. Her hair had an unearthly shine under the dim moonlight. She tilted her head to the side. “You can see me?” She asked, it was the same soft voice from a moment ago, though the sweetness was no longer there to be felt.

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her direction. “Do people not see you?”

The young woman shook her head, her movements – no matter how simple they were – felt almost too harmonious. “Not normally, it is not intended that I am seen.” Stopping for a moment, she eyed Daemon from head to foot. “You are not really here, are you?”

The raised eyebrow quickly turned into a frown. “What do you mean? I am standing in front of you.”

She shook her head once again. As her soft whisper filled his eyes, Daemon started falling into the nothingness, again, for the unknown-th time ever since he had come to Harrenhal.

“Wake up.”

***

When he woke up, trying to catch his breath, Daemon found himself lying on his bed, as always. Anytime he had one of those weird dreams – he wasn’t even sure if he should call them dreams anymore – his consciousness would find its way back to his bed.

Unless he was daydreaming, which were considerably the worse.

“Who the fuck was that weird woman?” Daemon muttered to himself as he stood up, dressing up in his regular robes. The feeling in his stomach was telling him that he had to go down there, to the dungeons, to find that woman. If he were to wait until dawn, he feared she might be gone.

What was it that she said again? It is not intended she is seen?

Leaving his chambers with a torch in his right hand, Daemon shook his head to the thoughts flowing through his mind, causing his silver hair to move. “Weird woman,” he muttered to himself as he walked through the dark corridors of the castle with haste. “She somehow reminds me of the witch.”

The dungeons were as dark and wet as he remembered from the dream. A cold wind was wandering besides him, kissing the mossy walls and licking Daemon’s skin, sometimes whispering wicked words in his ears. Even the wind was odd here, in Harrenhal, but he had somewhat got used to it – hearing its eerie whispers whenever he walked alone during the hour of the wolf.

“Show yourself,” Daemon spoke with a strong voice which created echoes as he stood in front of that very cell from his dream. “Your king commands it!”

“Huh, king?” The same soft voice answered from the dark corner of her cell. The moonlight had left its shining spot, leaving the torch in Daemon’s hands as the only source of light in this entire corridor of the dungeons. “I answer to no king.”

A condescending scoff left Daemon’s lips as he came closer to the bars made of steel, separating him and the weird woman. “You do live in Westros, do you not?” Daemon asked, not really waiting for an answer. “As long as you breathe in this land, you do answer to the King.”

A chuckle came from the darkness. “I have been breathing in this land before your ancestors flew across the Narrow Sea, Daemon Targaryen.”

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[anna1306]

The Gone Prince

Daemon Targaryen x brother!Targaryen Reader

I know it has been a long, long, looooong time. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on that. I am going to return to writing, more or less. can't promise to return to posting every single day, as I did before, but I am going to return to writing and posting. It has been a long time of depressed time, disorganised time and simple no strength time. This part I wrote and rewrote two or three times and I hope you will like what I come up with in the end. Love you all)

Part 1 here

Princess' chambers were big and full of light. It reminded you of quarters of your grandmother, always warm and welcoming to her family. You were sitting there on the sofa, speaking with your niece for the last ten minutes or so. You didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on your conversation, so you approached her later, not during the feast. After that same feast Viserys insisted that Rhaenyra and her family stay in the Red Keep for at least a week or maybe even longer, not wishing for his pregnant daughter to endure two big travels in a row. Also... You had to wait for Daemon to leave her alone. He wouldn't let you talk calmly to each other, not after all these years, you just knew it.

"If the King asked for you, I am glad to have you here." Rhaenyra said, as you noticed hint of coldness in her eyes, probably brought by Daemon's opinion, which he, no doubt, generously shared with his wife. You only smiled in response. You could understand why she didn't trust you fully. And it definitely didn't hurt that much. At least not like it did with your brother.

"You sound just like her, it is crazy." You said quietly. She looked at you confusedly, not understanding your words fully. "Like Aemma." Her expression softened at your words, as her hand came to rest on her rounded belly. "I am sure she is proud of you, watching you from the other side."

"I can only hope so... She never mentioned you, now that I think of it." Princess said. You shrugged, trying to stay calm and nonchalant about it.

"Not many people here did." You tried to hide your feelings behind a smile, something you learned to do long time ago. "I remember her mostly from our childhood. How Viserys was madly in love with her. He often made a fool out of himself and was so scared she would reject him. And Aemma only laughed and smiled at him with so much kindness in her eyes... One time he tried to graciously ride in front of her on the horse to show her that he is a good rider. Poor animal got scared of something and sent him flying face flat on the ground. He was so red in the face, but didn't say a word, I thought he would burst with embarrassment." Rhaenyra laughed, imagining her father at the scene, as you watched her attentively with a little smile on your face.

"I can imagine how amusing that was." She agreed. You nodded, looking away from her, knowing that she was still watching you closely. "Did the King say why he called you back after all those years?"

"To help him. Viserys is... Full of many feelings and guilt is one of them. Guilt for a lot of things, which I am finding out only now. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you." You looked back at her, meeting her gaze. "He wants me to mend the rift in his family." Her smile faded a bit, as she lowered her eyes on her belly. Rhaenyra understood perfectly well what were you talking about without you having to pronounce it. "I was told you were friends with the Queen Consort once, weren't you?"

"It was years ago. I feel like it was the other life." She answered with a sad smile. Rhaenyra looked at you again, her expression once again calm and stoic, almost rid of all emotions. "I once knew a girl, my friend, who was kind, honest, supportive and who looked at bright side of things, who was romantic and hopeful. Now Alicent is different, full of..."

"Spite?" You suggested. The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. You sighed, having a strong feeling your emotions about losing someone that close to oneself could be similar in some way. "Tell me, do you think there can be a slight possibility of you getting back to being friends? Or at least... Not at each other's throats?"

"I don't think so. There were many things between us, to lead me to Dragonstone and out of any possibility of mending this. You probably heard about what had happened in Driftmark. She... The Queen showed everyone her true colours. Her true thoughts and intentions behind this righteous facade."

"Lucerys severely wounded her son, I can understand her rage and wish for justice to some extent. Not 'eye for the eye', but still." You argued with her.

"Her son is spewing lies. Both of them. She placed traitorous lies in their minds, spreading rumours about me, about my sons! All of them are just..." She hissed suddenly, grasping her belly and closing her eyes, almost wincing in pain. You shot up from your place immediately, ready to go for help, but Rhaenyra stopped you with a motion of a hand. "I'm fine... Just... Daemon's child is really active." She smiled tiredly, as you clutched your goblet with wine in your hand, distracting yourself from your thoughts with a drink. "Nonetheless... I am not sure there is a way to get through to her." Princess said calmer now.

"If there was a way... A possibility of bringing back this peace, if not friendship. Would you be willing to put the bitter past to rest?" You asked, sitting back on the sofa. Rhaenyra didn't say anything for some time, your words hanging in the air. She diverted her attention from you, watching her maids serving breakfast on the table, long silence surrounding both of you.

"In ideal world... I guess I would want that." She admitted quietly. You smiled to her a bit, nursing wine in the goblet. "She was my friend once, the closest person in this Keep. But what she and her father did..."

"Yes, men like Otto, can influence even the dust to hate the wind." You scoffed, agreeing with her. After seeing what was going on in the Keep, you understood that one of the main roots of problems was the King's Hand. Yes, he helped the King to rule the realms, almost ruling them himself from time to time instead of sick Viserys, but he pursued his own goals first and foremost. You could understand ambitions, it was explainable, but your priorities in this matter were different.

"Alicent isn't innocent. She willingly ate those lies and now she is a spitting image of Otto..." Rhaenyra made a pause, sighing, as she looked at you. "Alicent has that thought that my children aren't... Trueborn. She spreads this rumours everywhere, you know it." You nodded, hearing these rumours already. You had your doubts about it too, but didn't care much, they were children of your niece, that was all you needed to know about their parentage. "Every time I gave birth, she demanded I present my child to her immediately after. She isn't such an innocent girl she claims to be." Your gaze hardened at the realisation. You put away your goblet and looked at Rhaenyra seriously.

"If she orders that you should present your child like this again, don't even move from the bed. I will be near and I will deal with it myself." You promised her. "She can come to you herself if she wishes to see the child so much. And if she doesn't understand why her request is wrong, I will explain it to her personally." You answered her with determination. Princess smiled at you slightly and moved to stand. You helped her up and stepped away from her. "I better give you some space. If I can do anything for you, tell me. And just... Think about possibility of it. Just try..."

"I probably will... Thank you. I appreciate the talk." She nodded, looking at her. While you could see that she still didn't trust you completely, at least you two talked calmly and discussed matters at hand. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Daemon walked in, and the air left your lungs at the sight of his figure lightened in the sunlight coming from the windows. His eyes met yours and what little softness he had, instantly turned to coldness and distaste in a second.

"You?" He only said in disgust.

"Me.” You nodded with a sigh. “I am leaving already. Have a good day." You smiled softly at your niece before heading out, not wishing for your brother to get angry at your presence near his wife. He could hate you from the distance, you thought. You could handle it… Even though you were too sober for his hate not to hurt.

***

"It was great!" Jacaerys was almost jumping in his steps excitedly, as he walked a little bit ahead of you. You smiled, taking off your gloves still hearing three loud growls of your dragonbehind you both.

"I am glad you like the ride. They liked you too, little prince." How could you say no to those eyes, when he asked if he could fly with you on your dragon. You understood him, as they were rarity, the first three-headed dragon known to Targaryen House, at least according to the known records.

"Is controlling him different? Different from ours, I mean." He turned to you with a curious look. You shrugged, contemplating your answer.

"You tell me, I only flew on them." His excitement about the new dragon was big. So of course he was curious as to whether or not it was similar to the flight on the one-headed dragon. Vermax wasn't big enough yet, but he flew with his mother already. And you flew on Vhagar with your father or on Caraxes with Daemon too long ago to remember it correctly, so you couldn't really draw the comparison.

"You sure they wouldn't drop me?" Daemon was hesitant, standing several steps behind you, as you petted one of the long necks of your dragon. You turned to him, raising your brow.

"Don't tell me you are afraid." You smirked at your brother teasingly, watching his expression hardening.

"I am never afraid. Not of the dragons, I am a dragon myself!" He exclaimed, earning growl from one of the heads in response. "I just don't know how it would be." Daemon said quieter, glancing between them and you. You smiled, offering him your hand.

"Nuhys zaldrīzes(my dragon), do not fret. You said it yourself, you are a dragon, as they are." He smirked more relaxed, giving you his hand. You pulled him closer, placing his palm near yours. "See?"

"I know what dragons are to the touch, dummy." He scoffed, petting your dragon. You glanced around, making sure noone was there to witness it and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey!"

"Let's go, I want to kiss you in the sky." You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of your dragon, to the saddle, hearing his chuckle, as he didn't struggle against your grip one bit.

"I will be next!" Baela’s voice distracted you from your memories. You looked at the excited girl with a little smile. She was eager to fly with you too, but let Jace go first. You nodded to her, knowing that your dragon didn't mind flying several times in a row.

"You sure?" She eagerly nodded at your question. You glanced at her sister, standing beside her, her expression more serious though. "And you, Rhaena?"

"No." She snapped back, almost aggressively. You were a bit taken aback, and even if you didn't want to press her into saying anything else, you still looked at her, contemplating your next words. She glanced at you, noticing your stare and seemingly understanding that she was rude. Under your attentive, but soft eyes she shifted on her spot unsurely and pursed her lips in a thin line. "You cursed us." Rhaena finally said quietly.

"Sorry, what? I cursed you?" You chuckled, not expecting this answer at all. You crouched on the ground to be even with her height and look in her eyes. "What makes you say that, ñuhys bykus embōñys dārilaros(my little sea princess)?" You asked her. She wasn't confident anymore, glancing at her sister, who remained silent, as you talked. You patiently waited.

"Father said you cursed us. Your dragon has three heads which you stole from other dragons. That's why I don't have a dragon." She answered finally, as your heart tingled with pain once again. Strange... And you thought this pain was constant and couldn’t be that prominent anymore. You scoffed in disbelief. Daemon said you cursed their family? His silver tongue and sarcastic side definitely grew over the years. He was more like your father than you thought. You sighed, lowering your head, gathering thoughts of what to say to her.

"Maybe I did. But only because I want to strengthen you. They hatched in my cradle. I never tried to tame anyone and work for success." You carefully said, looking at wary Rhaena again. "I never tried hard to find a dragon and bond with him, make him respect me and listen to me. But you are going to be stronger than me. Like your mother and father one day you are going to tame the strong, mighty dragon. You are going to be more powerful than me, the one who cursed you."

"You are only telling me this, so I won't be mad." She mumbled, but you could tell that she was more at ease with you now.

"Maybe yes. Maybe no. Who knows." You shrugged with a smile, standing up. You gave her your hand. "Come on. They can fit us three. Maybe one of them is the one I stole from you, and he would like you more than me." Rhaena hesitated, looking at you with her eyes, so familiar to you. You could almost see shy Daemon in his childhood… She took your hand nonetheless, still wary, but more trusting you now, as Baela took your other hand with a smile, herself, brave like Daemon. For some reason you felt in peace with yourself at this moment.

***

"You got your mother worried, you know?" You sighed, noticing the boy with an eyepatch sitting under the tree in the Godswood with barely any light around, night dark sky looming over the city already. Aemond looked up at you and turned away from you instantly. You sighed, walking closer to him. While you didn't trust his grandsire and mother fully, the children weren't at fault. They were your nephews and niece, no matter the other blood. "What are you doing here? It is dark already."

"And? I am not a little kid, I can defend myself." He snapped at you, glaring angrily with his one eye at something in the dark. You sat near him, not really caring for his discomfort in the matter. From what you had seen, he was just not used to physical affection, but you didn't reach out for him, you just... Were there.

"I know that. But running away from the castle just because your nephews are there, isn't very brave." You answered almost in a thoughtful voice. He grumbled something in return that you couldn't quite understand. You glanced at him with soft smile. "You can't hide forever."

"They weren't punished! That dick... Sorry." He mumbled, losing his fight after one swear word, apparently being scolded for it beforehand. You only shrugged at this.

"Lucerys did a bad thing. I guess you can say he was kind of a dick that day." Aemond scoffed at this, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "But he's just a child. Like you are. And he tried to protect his family."

"I was maimed!" Aemond exclaimed, tones of Alicent's intonation and voice coming through his childish one. "He cut out my eye, and they were entitled enough to not carry any punishment!"

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to me and hear me out, alright?" You asked him, as Aemond nodded gloomily and almost hesitantly, still being very angry. "If you held a stone over my brother's head, threatening to hit him in the head with it, threatening to kill him, calling him names and telling him that he was going to die screaming, I wouldn't cut your eye out. I would cut your throat."

"That..."

"Would you not protect... Helaena? Or your mother?” You continued with your point. “If someone would have tried to hit them with a stone, insulting and threatening them. If you had a weapon, what would you have done?" You looked at him, as the boy lowered his head, seemingly contemplating your words. He wasn't presented with the other point of view, it seemed.

"I... I would kill those who dared to hurt my family." He sighed defeatedly. You smiled sympathetically

"Aemond, I am not glad that Lucerys went unpunished. He should have gotten at least some kind of retaliation for what he did. Like serving some other House for some time as a ward, or I don't know, limitation of his dragon’s lessons, this is a bad punishment enough for his age. But not carving his eye or killing him. That wouldn't return yours." You pretended you didn't notice Aemond moving closer to you. You just let him be comfortable and at peace with himself.

"But that would bring me satisfaction. That would be fair." He still mumbled. You sighed and smiled slightly, looking at your nephew.

"You would become a great warrior one day, Aemond. Yes, even with one eye, believe me. You have one of the greatest dragons, you have dragon blood and very fiery heart. But one thing that a warrior should know – is when and where to stop. Not becoming unhinged monster to scare little children. But to be a good fighter, a hero they will write songs about."

"Like your father? Prince Baelon The Brave?" You shivered and stopped at this question. Looking at a child beside you, you didn't see him. You almost fell into your memory, where violet eyes were enraged. Brave was the prince who exiled his own son, not accepting anything about him. Brave was the prince who threatened to kill innocent people who just helped his son in his attempts to reach out to his own family. Brave was the prince who called his own son a leech and a taint on their reputation.

"Yes. Like him." You forced a smile and a calm tone. Looking away, you tried to calm yourself. Your father was long gone, but your heart and fear of him showing up behind any corner, was very much present. Irrational and illogical, almost childish. But it still lived inside your soul. "What do you say, should we go inside?" You offered.

"They are still there." He scowled at the thought of going back to his nephews.

"Why don't you try and... Befriend them again? I know you were close with Lucerys before." You noticed, as Aemond scoffed and looked to the side, seemingly angry again in mere second.

"He maimed me. I don't want to be his friend!" He said sternly, but you heard more behind child’s anger.

"Do you miss him?" He looked at you angrily, but sighed, his eye more pained than enraged.

"No!" Boy exclaimed, looking away and almost pouting. He sighed heavily, lowering his head and mumbling under his nose. "He was closer to being my friend though. Even if he teased me for being dragonless, he wasn’t like Aegon or Jace. But he cut out my eye! I hate him!" He added louder. You sighed, taking his hand into yours, choosing your words carefully.

"I miss one person too, you know... A lot. I would give anything to return to that person. And I know they are missing me as well to some extent. But they hate me. It is a strange balance." You started. "I hated them too once. I did horrible things because of them. I lied in their name. I even killed some people in their name. I framed people, I broke laws and all just because of their wish. I made everything they wanted of me." You told the boy quietly, holding his hand, but looking into the darkness of the garden thoughtfully. "My life was destroyed because of them. I was gone because of them. I lost everything because of them." You chose your words carefully, remembering everything that was happening so long ago, it felt as another life altogether.

The commotion from the Throne Room was heard well even in the hallways. You carefully stepped to the door, watching at the events inside quietly and silently. The Lord before the Iron Throne pleaded his innocence, but your father, Prince Baelon appointed to lead this trial, wasn’t going to listen. You stepped aside, when guards were dragging the lord out of the Throne Room through the door you were standing at. When they walked out of the Throne Room, you looked at them.

“What is going on here?” You asked them, feigning innocence. Guards bowed their head slightly to you.

“This Lord was accused of stealing a dragon egg. Prince Baelon sentenced the thief to thelife on the Wall.” One of the guards said. You nodded looking at the panicking and horrified lord, who looked down, seemingly not noticing you.

“That is a fair sentence. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut and not jump over his head, trying to take what is not his.” You said coldly. Lord suddenly shivered and looked up at you, as if suddenly realizing something.

“You… It was you… Let me go!” Lord screamed, trying to get out of guards hands and get to you. You just stepped to the side, letting knights drag the screaming lord away. Familiar footsteps coming from behind, you met with a slight smile.

“Was it the Lord, who saw us and tried to…” Daemon started.

“To threaten you, yes.” You nodded and glanced at your brother. “He is going to the Wall. And don’t ask what I did. Because the answer is nothing.” You walked beside him, slightly touching his shoulder. It was hard to convince servants to place a dragon egg in his rooms, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you hate them, uncle?" Aemond asked curiously, looking at you. You glanced at him, almost flinching, as if remembering he was still there. You smiled slightly and put a hand on his hair, caressing his white hair.

"I do to some extent. But I would die for them in an instant. I would kill and do everything I had done for them all over again." You answered him with a sad smile. "I hate them, as they hate me. But I love them at the same time. And I would get destroyed and crushed again for that person. It is... A weird balance."

"Can you... Teach me how to find this... Hate and love?" Prince asked quietly. You nodded.

"Yes, but not here. And definitely not in one day. It's getting cold and you can get sick. You wouldn't want to fall sick and miss our flight tomorrow?" You winked at him, as Aemond nodded with a smile.

"Let's go! I want to hear about that person!" He stood up, waited for you to stand as well and only after that he went to the castle with fast pace. Even being close and quiet child, he was still a kid. You looked at his back, missing the fact that a dark shadow from behind the bushes watched and heard your talk.

***

The flames of candles danced around the dark room. Skull of Balerion brought back memories to you, both of pleasant times and not much. Your life had changed, everything changed. And the family you were supposed to change with, wasn't the one you remembered anymore. Yet you still sought out comfort in this place.

You sighed, turning away from the skull as you heard steps behind you. As you assumed, that was Daemon. Over the years his footsteps became quieter, but still he was too familiar for you not to recognize him. His look was wary, he was tensed up as his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"You chose a good place for a murder, almost poetic." You noted. Daemon scoffed.

"Don't tempt me." You could argue with him that temptation was more of his job in many ways, but you chose to stay silent on the matter.

"If you don't wish to kill me, I am at a loss of why are you here." You said to him, being pretty honest.

"I wanted to talk to you." He said, stepping to you. You smiled, shaking your head and refusing to admit even to yourself how much this single step made your heart shiver.

"Talk to me? It isn't your usual way. I think you better prefer not to speak with me at all or kill me. Or at least avoid me." You admitted, turning to the skull and igniting the candles, just to get yourself busy with something. "What do you want?"

"Where does the lie end and the truth starts?" He asked in response. You hummed in surprise, definitely not expecting such a question first.

"Such deep thoughts. Why so suddenly?" You heard another step, but you only raised your eyes to look at the skull of mighty beast. You wouldn't dare to fight your own death after all this time if it came to this. You wouldn't dare to fight him ever.

"We are surrounded by half-truths, lies and intrigues. You can fully trust noone and nothing. Tell me, nuha lēkia(my elder brother), how much did you lie?" You glanced across the shoulder at your brother. He was serious, his eyes were fixated on you, but there was something deeper inside him. You shrugged, looking at the fire on the end of a splinter with which you lighted the candles.

"Like many people, nuhor valonqar(my younger brother). A lot." You answered, not understanding why he was talking with you like that. He couldn't possibly know the truth, could he? You didn't tell anyone and made sure to be careful about it. And your father was too… Careful to not leave any trace of what had happened that day.

"I know that. You lied that you love me." He accused you, making you glance at him. "You lied that you will never leave me. You lied that you will protect me." His jaw tensed, and you were sure that this would be the end. Him accusing you of everything and you just accepting it. He probably just wanted to accuse you and be done with it. Suddenly, Daemon raised his head, narrowing his eyes, but not taking them away from your figure. "But I'm not here to tell you about those lies. I want to hear another one."

"You want me... To lie to you?" You laughed quietly, looking at Daemon in surprise. He was silent for a moment, before nodding, strangely serious about it.

"Let's play a game. Lie to me.” He repeated firmer, his hard eyes not changing, as he glared at you. “What did you say to my daughters?" Daemon asked. You raised your brows, not understanding what he was doing.

"What?"

"Lie to me about the things you said to Rhaena." He repeated, stepping closer. You sighed, mirroring this step to the side, keeping the same distance between you two, pretending you were just igniting the candles. Daemon was playing some game of which you knew nothing and wanted you to participate in it as well. And yet you let him have this moment.

"Let's see... I told her about how I cursed our family and how I'm going to make sure that she would stay dragonless." You spoke slowly, unsure smile creeping on your face. At the very least you could have some kind of fun.

"What did you say to Rhaenyra, when I interrupted you that morning?" He insisted, his step echoing through the high arches of the ceiling again.

"That she needs to end Alicent and her children once and for all, no matter the consequences." You simply breathed out, not even turning to him.

"What did you do when Rhaenys was promised to Corlys?" You giggled, remembering what happened such a long time ago. Honestly you were surprised that he remembered that.

"Nothing, I stayed at the Red Keep, not going anywhere." You answered, once again lying, remembering how you sneaked upon their ship, to say goodbye to your favourite cousin of all. Baelon scolded you, when you were returned back to the Red Keep, and Daemon didn't let you go for a week, afraid you would disappear from him again.

"What were you talking about with Aemond?" Another step along with the words. You scoffed, igniting another candle, looking at the flames.

"How he should hate Lucerys and wish him nothing but death." The game was weirdly funny, it almost made you forgot about everything that was brewing between you. Lies flew from your tongue before you could even process it.

"Why did you leave for Braavos?"

"Because I wanted to." You blurted out a lie before realising it. For a moment you froze, slowly turning around. There you saw Daemon barely a step away from you. His eyes became tense, dark violet, as he watched your face after you repeated a lie known to everyone in this game, where you should have lied. "I hate you."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your feelings." He retorted coldly, stepping to you, as you stepped away, your throat dry all of a sudden. "Enough lies. What happened?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and sighed. You wanted him know the truth, yet you also knew that it didn't matter anymore. Not with his family, not after all those years. It would only complicate things. "Daemon, you better go. Just continue hating me, this would be… Right."

"I said, enough lies." He crossed what little distance you had between you, backing you to the candles. Daemon grabbed you by the clothes, watching closely your face. Your heart beat like mad at the mere presence of your brother near you. "What happened?"

"Daemon..."

"What had happened that morning you left? Tell me the truth!" He demanded, his eyes boring into your soul. "I won't let you go before you say. I deserve the truth after your betrayal, after your lies and all the harm and pain you caused me..."

"He saw us!" You exclaimed, having had enough. Your feelings were overwhelming you to the point of just not caring about the consequences. "Our father saw us. He saw you on your knees, saw me in your bed, he saw everything."

"What?" His grip on you lessened, his face frozen with shock and still that angry expression. Yet you made no move to free yourself from his grip.

"He saw us. He learned the truth. And he was so mad at me for... How did he say? Right... "Corrupting you". So enraged hat he just threw me out of the Keep." You blurted out in one breath.

"You lie. If he... He would have punished me as well. Why didn't he punish me, why didn't you write anything to explain anything?" His voice was raising as well, mirroring yours.

"You still don't understand? You were his favourite. Not Viserys even if he was the eldest. Not me even if I listened to him always. You. Mother loved you the most, father adored you. He couldn't comprehend that you could lay with a man willingly. If I was some common whore or even a sister of yours, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but I am a man. And I can't want you, as it's a sin. As I am corrupting and tainting you with mere thought of it, let alone a touch. Putting a disgrace on your name. It was easier for him to believe I made you do this. Easier to hate one son and threaten to kill every person that brought my letters to the Keep. Easier to send dead ravens and tell his own son that he would be burned alive if he even dared to show his face again at his home." You couldn't stop words pouring from your mouth, you were silent for far too long and that pain had never left.

"No..." Daemon shook his head, seemingly not wanting to listen to you anymore, but at this point you had little to no care about his wish.

"And I knew he would be furious if I admit that you were the one to come to me. It would have killed him. And if not... He would have destroyed your life as well. And I lied, yes, I lied, I took it upon myself. I destroyed my life for you. I destroyed my life because of you, Daemon!" You raised your voice at him. He looked enraged and shocked, almost feral in the light of candles.

"Shut up!" He pushed you harshly back. You stumbled to the skull, the impact making you fall onto some candles and hitting your head against an old bone in your fall. You cursed quietly, feeling something sticky on your face. For several moments you layed on the floor, not moving, fighting with the headache and shock. Slowly you sat, grunting, warm wax sliding from under your hands. Your lip was split, as you could feel, and according to some stickiness on your temple, there was at least a gash on your forehead.

You looked up at him, his face not cold anymore, but full of many different emotions. Anger, sadness, fear. You groaned, trying to move. Leaning onto the skull, you carefully stood up, giving yourself a second of rest.

"Y/N, listen, I..."

"You are the Rogue Prince, future King or Prince Consort, King of the Narrow Sea, previous commander of the Gold Cloaks, husband to the heir of the throne and father of her future children." You stated in resignated tone, glancing at his frozen form. "I am the Gone Prince, who spent most of his life in Braavos. I am noone and nothing, with no lands or wealth. I am a leech, who taints the house reputation just by thinking of you. I am father's disgrace." You tried to straighten your back, but sudden nausea hit you, and you bent over, leaning onto the skull once again. "And I am here to help Viserys. Don't dwell on the past, as it can't be returned." You forced yourself to smile and look at him. "Go back to hating me. It would be easier... For both of us." You breathed out, slowly walking away from the basement, Daemon not making a move to follow you.

***

The evening was busy. It seemed that every person in the Red Keep decided to visit you. Firstly, there were Rhaenyra, who was alerted that you asked for maesters. Next was Alicent, who decided to visit you, the atmosphere becoming tense between two women for a hot minute, but they kept their temporary peace. Next was the King. Viserys got really nervous about hearing the news of your wound. He demanded to know what happened and who did this. The answer was simple.

"I fell." You lied again, as the maester cleaned your wound and gave you advices on treatment. After all those people visited you, you were exhausted and confined to your chambers. Following maesters' orders, Viserys forbade you to go out at least for two days. You tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, and you just need a good sleep, but he was too worried. Too afraid to lose another family member, as it seemed. So you relented and just read through some of King's journals he gave you to better understand the situation in the court, occasionally writing something in your notes.

You heard the door opening and closing and some quiet steps. Sighing, you turned the page, not wanting to face the person who entered your room.

"I don't need anything, Jenny, you may go for the night." You said, not wishing to see anyone right now after all of the commotion and noise. Not after the conversation down at the skull...

"I must consider adding that name to the list of my titles." That wasn't your servant. You turned to look at the man, who entered your room. Daemon. Of course. Without his weapon, without his dark attire, in white simple shirt, almost looking like he was fresh out of bath. Boy, did it bring back memories.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously confused. Daemon shrugged.

"Can't I visit my brother, who clumsily fell and hit his head?" He said, making you shake your head with a quiet sigh. "Y/N, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I don't have anything else to say to you, so you are wasting your time here." You turned back to the journal again. There was silence and for a second you thought Daemon would leave you alone. You should have known better. Suddenly there were haste steps, after which the journal was ripped from your hands. You looked up at him, his determined look pointed right back at you. "Dae..." He put a hand on your mouth, shutting you up and making you freeze at the sudden physical contact.

"No! You said you don't have anything to say, so I will be the one who does the talking." He stated sternly, looking in your eyes. You slapped away his hand, but said nothing in response. Daemon sighed, still standing in front of you. "If what you have told me is truth, I didn't know it. Let me finish!" He interrupted you, as you tried to say something. "All these years I blamed you for leaving me without a word. Without a letter or explanation. I... I thought you did something for me again, that was noticed and made you guilty. I thought father found out of what you did to protect me. Then I thought you found someone else, some young pretty boy who adored you more than I did. It was easier for me to hate you." He admitted, and your heart broke a bit at his words ad his expression. You wanted to forget about what had happened and just take him into your embrace and not let go of him. But you both were too far gone for that. And revelation of the truth did provoke this conversation, but it couldn't change everything else.

"It is still easier for both of us to stay away from each other." Daemon scoffed in response to those words, leaning on the table, looking down at you.

"You can't be serious, Y/N. I know the truth now, that it wasn't your wish to leave me. And you expect the hate from me?"

"What do you expect? Us going back to where we left things? You aren't ten and six anymore, Daemon. I am not ten and nine. You are a different person, that I know nothing about. Hell, you have a family and duties." You breathed out, trying to stay calm.

"But I don't have you. And I haven't had you all those years. I have changed, yes. You have changed as well, hell, maybe even more than I have. But the fact that I need my elder brother never changed, no matter how much I hated and despised this thought." Prince looked at you stubbornly. You shook your head, looking at the notes on your table, just not to look at him.

"We can't go back to what we had, Daemon. It is impossible. I can't be your lover. And I doubt I can be your friend after all these years. You are a different person, completely unknown to me."

"Then I don't see a problem with anything. We just start anew." He reached out to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at him, his eyes burning with fire and passion. You pursed your lips, trying to calm your heart that was beating out of your chest just from a single touch of his. You had to learn to control yourself near him all over again.

"What we had was a sin. We are brothers. Even if our blood doesn't stop us as our House has queer customs, we are men. It is viewed as a sin. I won't put your reputation under a hit. The ending will be the same, Daemon. Us parting ways. It was hurtful the first time, there is no need to return to that." You tried to sound convincing enough for both him and you, but his grip on your chin only tightened, as your words sparked him with anger.

"There is no sin in this. This is us. We are both dragons, our blood belong together. There is nothing more true in this world than us. And if it is a part of us, if it is the most real part of us, it can't be sin." Daemon said stubbornly, as you put your hand on his, gripping his wrist in attempt either to bring him back to his feelings or pull it away from you.

"It is. We are brothers and we can't do that. If I was a princess or you were one, everything could be different. But we are what we are and this is wrong.” You lowered your head, leaning back into the armchair. “Father might have been right. If the gods punished me and not helped me all this time, then I am a sinner and a leech."

"Where the fuck did you take all of this, you have never been religious!" Daemon spitted out, looking at you, as his brows furrowed. You just tried to push him away, with your words, with your actions, but he never budged, on the contrary becoming more and more persistent. "Or someone is telling you this? Who is this cunt that spread this nonsense to your head?" He demanded of you.

"Noone, Daemon. This is my thoughts." You breathed out, as the prince sat on your lap suddenly. He had become heavier with years for certain, trainings and battles made him stronger, and you couldn't help but feel the stomach-curling feeling of familiarity of his body against yours.

"You were never like this. You loved me. You loved my body. You didn't think of me as of something wrong." He stubbornly said, as you pressed yourself into the chair, trying to distance yourself from him, even if it wasn't physically possible. "And I know you still feel the same, I can see this in your eyes."

"You are not wrong. I am. I made you like this." You breathed out, putting hands on his shoulders, looking at his hard face. Your repeated your father's words just to get him to see the reason and step back. "Daemon, this is wrong. Please, I beg you, go back to your wife, to your family."

"You are my family. You are my blood. I want to be here with you now, not with them." Daemon stood his ground stubbornly. He didn't want to leave you apparently, but you couldn't have him risk it all again because of you, no matter how much you longed to hold him again in your embrace.

"I can't be the reason to hold you back. You loved them this morning more than anything. You hated me this morning. One conversation can't change that. You love Rhaenyra, you bled for her, you suffered for her, you long for her, you love her, not me and I can't..."

"All this time I was suffering for you. I wanted to forget you, believe me. I tried it all… Whores, wine, blood, killing, everything!" He cupped your face with his hands, looking intensely in your eyes. "I tried. Rhaenyra... She is good, she deserves love. And I love her. But she isn't you. It is different with you, and you know it. And if I had to choose, I would choose you every time."

Your heart clenched at the thought that he tried to forget you. His eyes were honest, and even after all those years away from him, you could always tell when he was telling the truth. He was sincere in his words at this moment. But you couldn't let him do that again. You didn't want pain for you, nor for him.

"Daemon, you are talking on emotions. You miss what we had once, but... Fuck, don't make this harder than it is." You pleaded with him, every reason to leave everything as it was fading in the face of his confidence and determination. You were losing this fight and couldn’t come up with any more reasons or words to convince him. To convince yourself.

"You are the one making it harder. Lēkia, you told me yourself once, we were born from one flame and blood. We were supposed to be together. I cried only for you, not one person saw my tears, because you are the only reason for them. I didn't mourn father, grandsire, Aemma, Laena, noone. I cried for noone but you. I need you in a way no word in Westerosi or Valyrian can describe. Now more than ever." He whispered, inching closer to your face, as something inside you was slowly breaking.

"Daemon..."

"Start with me anew. There is no reason for worry, I promise. All the time you stayed away, you protected me. You lied, you..." He scoffed, remembering your words he heard in the garden. "You destroyed your life for me. Let me now rebuild it."

"Daemon..." You touched his cheek, shuddering at the long forgotten feeling of his skin under your touch.

"Let me think for the both of us this time, Y/N." He squeezed your cheeks in his palms, looking in your eyes. "Let us sing dragon's song together again. Like we never stopped."

You breathed out, looking in his eyes. You saw anger, flames of indomitable passion dancing in his eyes, violet irises determined and fiery. He wouldn't step back. Even if he still felt some hate for you, even if he loved his family he had, you were something different for him. You were his centre, around which his world was turning. As he was your centre in return.

And you gravitated to your dragon, like always, leaning into him.

The Gone Prince Taglist: @wai-who @midnightprincess18 @fan-goddess @weird-addiction @rawinia @cannibalcoyote @cherry1a @darlinqvi @caelumwingstar @louventcavaliersx @parca0charos @azrealbanerstark @britany1997

[cherriesxinthespring]

WASTELAND, BABY!– ellie williams x reader

hi! I'm writing a new series that happens after the events of TLOU II. it's an enemies to lovers. A story about ellie eventually finding happiness and love again. She finds her light; and so do you.

Before you read the summary– please read this. Free Palestine. Do not consume tlou fanfics without educating yourself about its zionist themes.

this story is only posted on ao3. read it here.

*SUMMARY: You had decided to give life one last try. That was it. After the events in The Last of Us Part II, Ellie decides that the only way to find peace is to turn herself in to the fireflies. She finds a lead; they tell her to find you, a young woman who wanders around with no purpose. When she eventually does, you refuse to tell her where the fireflies are; if she finds them, everything that you did in your past would've been for nothing.

You embark on a journey together, walking through rain, snow and through the darkest places this cruel world has to offer. What neither of you expect, broken and traumatized, is to find the light again in each other.

"For the world is Hell, and people are on the one hand the tormented souls and on other the devils in it." (Schopenhauer, On the suffering of the world)

LINKS: read it here. playlist.

C.W/GENERAL TAGS: enemies to lovers, AFAB reader, eventual smut, gun violence, ellie kinda kidnaps you?, suicidal ideation (both ellie and reader), r! is wounded, PTSD and trauma, triggering flashbacks. canon violence in the game, depression. overall heavy themes, but happy ending i promise!

CHAPTER 1: One last try. You encounter Ellie. She follows the trail of blood you were leaving. You refuse to give her the information she wants. So, she drags you through the entire state of Montana. "You’re bold for someone unarmed and bruised, with a gun pointed to their head"

CHAPTER 2: Courage, dear heart. A small flame inside you ignites. you finally have a purpose; to mislead her, and to escape from her. You come up with a plan, and that involves earning her trust. just enough until she becomes sloppy. But you can't let her see your skills; she might see you as a threat. That plan quickly goes to waste when you encounter a large group of clickers.

“I could kill you right now,” she said, holding your own knife against your throat. Her knuckles were white from how much force she was using. Her features were almost unrecognisable.  “Then you’d break your promise,” you said. “Promises mean nothing in this world.” 

CHAPTER 3: No one left to sing to The rain doesn't stop, so you and this strange girl are forced to stay inside the cave. You're feverish, disoriented. After a conversation in which she mentions the fireflies, you decide to go through her journal to find answers. And you do.

"Are you a firefly?" she asked, like she had just read your mind, or you were thinking out loud. “not a firefly,” you said. you held back a laugh, but she saw the flash of a smirk. You, the reason why they were gone after Salt Lake City, a firefly. “Definitely not.” you paused.  “are you?” you asked. “No.”

CHAPTER 4– Your blinding light (flashback chapter)

Summer 2033, Boston QZ You waited for Hannah to come to you. Life in the QZ was simple for you; being confined in between four walls, listening to your mom's Beatles cassettes, and sneaking out past curfew. That is, until your mom slowly starts abandoning you. "Maybe Hannah was the only one you had, after all"

CHAPTER 5– This darkness i'm condemned to

Ellie and you finally reach the nearest town. And your plan is successful; you finally lead her to danger. What you failed to account for is that this danger can harm you, too.

“took them out right?" you said, trying to test the waters. Trying to sound lighthearted, but failing completely at it.  "Damn right you did," she said.

CHAPTER 6– The injury of finally knowing

taglist: since i impulsively deleted my old account, i'm tagging my old taglist. it's still me! the bitch that wrote the abby greys anatomy AU! you can still join my taglist here

@kissesskittens @zahraaziza @uraesthete @elsvrse @lonelyfooryouonly @ximtiredx @ellabsprincess @spaceshipellie @machetegirl109 @sc0ttstre3ted @taylarxse @carmellie @mayfieldsz @brooklynvwilliams @rinarchy @elliesgffr @wannabwanted @ellabsweet @sapphic-and-sappy @imyour-favouritegirl @andersonsgirl @heyabimina @novadanversss @mulan-but-gay @lez-zuha @abbys-sweat-wife @maribelo-o @peppesgirl

if your name is crossed out, it means I can't tag you– please check your settings and follow these steps!

dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[cynthiav06]

The entire Fandom needs to listen to this:

Percy having a thing for Rachel was so absolutely deserved like he should have been head over heels for her. Here's why:

First meeting? Runs her through with Riptide, and where anyone would have spent the whole time yelling and arguing, Rachel quickly gauged the situation, helped Percy hide, deviated the skeletons from their orignal path all at the same time.

Percy is so awed and he should be and Rick Riordan doesn't do justice to the whole thing.

It ends on Percy saying he owes her one, almost an indication that they would meet again.

Yet Percy is terrified of running into Rachel again because he isn't sure if he could answer all her questions, most definitely because he doesn't want to drag her into the whole thing. So much so that when he sees her at Goode, he calls her "my redheaded nightmare " .

Not only has he thought of her since they last met, but he may or may not have dreamed about her, not to mention he remembered her full name after listening just once.

When he does meet her again she yet again warns him about monsters hence saving both of them.

The most important thing is Percy, who all his life has been judged blamed ridiculed, and mocked is for the very first time understood so instantaneously by Rachel. She who has been put in mortal danger every single time she meets him doesn't blame him, doesn't judge him for it, and openly takes the blame for the burning school. Even Annabeth's first response to seeing the smoke is blaming Percy despite being around him and knowing well enough for 3 years; she chooses to blame him as if she doesn't know that it's never Percy's fault. Yet Rachel, someone who he has met only twice and that too for meager few minutes, understands him and his situation so well.

All the people in the Fandom ask yourself this: Will Percy Jackson not for all that he is be absolutely head over heels and in awe of someone like that?

He can barely give her any answers at the moment, but she agrees to a death quest to help him save the world.

Throws a literal hairbrush at the Titan King and stands her ground.

Stays by him and comforts him through his depressive thoughts about dying due to the prophecy.

Falls in love with him despite knowing he has little time left.

Does her best to help him while still keeping his mind off from spiraling into dark thoughts.

Rides a literal helicopter mid-apocalypse to get to him just to warn him of the dangers?

Percy would be so absolutely over the moon in love with Rachel, were Uncle Rick not so fixated on Percabeth agenda.

The last bit is for toxic Annabeth stans:

Rachel is a genius too.

She is ambidextrous and can draw with both hands and legs; probably has exceptional memory, and her composure and quick thinking are on par with Percy himself.

I hate bringing this to looks, but I will if I get to shut up toxic fans. Annabeth is certainly beautiful, and her grey eyes are quite unique, but Rachel is the most underrated and definitely the most beautiful out of all Percy Jackson females.

The woman literally won genetic lottery with red hair and green eyes, and the only reason Uncle Rick doesn't rave about her beauty is to not make Annabeth insecure.

Also, for those overly concerned about the Oracle celibacy thing, I will address that in my next post and how it's not a problem at all. (Now posted link is here:

Expect more Pjo-centric posts along with Perachel headcanons and more.

[dreamdazedworld]

YINGXING BRAINROT

Synopsis: Yingxing x Genshin! Youkai! Gender neutral Reader and the both of them are hopelessly in love.

Note(s): I was listening to 愛き夜道 on Spotify when I suddenly got this idea, now it won’t leave me alone. Anyways, I think that this is the first post I actually wrote, so yippie? Eat up, my children, you won’t be having these Yingxing crumbs for some while. This might actually turn into a full blown fic, though it depends on my motivation LOL

Warning(s): Both of them are hopelessly in love with each other, death mentioned (nothing serious, dw), oops now you have a Yandere! Blade chasing you around Teyvat

Art credit goes to my favorite artist, void/Re:era on X! Their art is really pretty, check them out if you can :o

Imagine a Genshin! Youkai! Reader who’s a fox/kitsune (like Yae), and fell in love with YINGXING, like it has all of the potential fr.

So! Of course, Reader here is from Inazuma, and their… clan (let’s all pretend that the Youkai has separate clans) feeds only on the feelings (and emotions), positive ones, to be precise, of humans (like the dementors from Harry Potter!). Negative ones are like poison to them- And the only antidote for this is the Sacred Sakura, however, there are lasting after effects. Once poisoned, the kitsune will be significantly weakened for a long period of time, ranging from a few decades to centuries on end, depending on how much the kitsune consumed.

Kitsune! Reader, unlike the others from their clan, doesn’t like feeding on humans (because it ends up driving their victim mad and they like humans). Of course they understand that it’s necessary for them to survive, they’re not dumb, they can feel their hunger growing with each day they refused to feed on humans. So, with no more options, decides to blend into human society by protecting mankind from the ‘evil’ Youkai, and occasionally feeding on people who are about to die (with guilt). Their love for humanity and stubborn determination to protect humans ends up earning them a Pyro vision that supplies them with some energy to keep them going, since visions are literally wishes with a physical shape, and wishes have positive energy.

One day, while resting on the Sacred Sakura, Reader accidentally finds out that the Sakura has clones, which are spread across multiple worlds by waking up in the Xianzhou Luofu. There, they meet young Yingxing, who’s still learning under that grandpa, when he stumbles into the area where the clone is located. There, they become friends, and as years pass, eventually drinking buddies as well. After Yingxing meets the High-Cloud Quintet and as years fade away, our dear Reader here realizes they’re hopelessly in love with….. Yingxing!? Instantly gives up on their love as soon as they realize, because they think he doesn’t see them in that light (honey, he does), and to rub salt to the wound, in love with Bai Heng, since Yingxing talks about her a lot. But of course it doesn’t go as easily as they want it to go, so the Reader just silently suffers with their emotions.

When shit starts to go down in the Quintet after Bai Heng’s death, Reader goes “Oh fuck, Yingxing’s negative energy is going to make him choose the shittiest life options, won’t it?” and starts to suck away his pain (by kissing him in his sleep because YES). Yingxing starts getting better in exchange for Reader’s health, and in the end, Reader fucking COLLAPSES, forced to go back to Inazuma to recover, Yingxing learns about everything they were keeping from him through a letter, depression hits and oh wow, Yingxing chooses the most shittiest life decision he has ever made by teaming up with Dan Feng to cause the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, turning him immortal, and eventually into Blade. (I forgot to mention it but only the original Sacred Sakura has the ability to heal away the poison.)

As thousands of years pass, Reader fully recovers, though not exactly since they can’t let go of Yingxing. The Sakoku degree is lifted, and everything seems fine in Inazuma, until they come across a person who they thought were already dead- You guessed it, Blade! But not just typical Blade, Yandere! Blade who is on the brink of insanity and is hellbent on bringing Reader along with him. And so, the game of cat and mouse ensues.

[hoeforsungie]

💌 … ( 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 ) 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 — stoned sex w/ Hannie

best friends to lovers! Hannie x fem reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw ・ teasing, lots of tension, Hannie and reader are both horny for each other, drug usage (don’t!) wc ・‎ 2.8k ‎| ‎ ‎[library link here]

[ ۫ ꣑ৎ author’s note ] here’s my first ever preview for a work i’m working on! tbh, the fic is loooong and i’m still writing. i decided to post the preview bc the actual fic is kinda sad, depressing, and dark. i’m worried people wouldn’t actually like that part until it gets to the filth, however i wanted to write a hurt/comfort with some smut for a while… and i may or may not have stoner hannie brainrot. i may post just the smut and loving bits as its own thing, as well as the whole fic when i finally finish? idk i’m rambling… well here enjoy this preview for needy stoned Hannie x reader.

oh btw, here’s a playlist w songs i listened to while writing this

divider by @v6que

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🕊️ ⋅ ˚Jisung was happy to see her smile, even if it was small and her eyes were still red and puffy from crying. A win is a win in his book. So, he happily followed along. The pair grabbed their shoes and the umbrella before leaving the building. The walk to their normal smoking hang out was pretty calm, despite the rain. At least, the rain had died down again into a steady drizzle, saving them from the monsoon-like downpour earlier. The only unfortunate thing was that the wind had picked up, blowing the rain sideways. This left her with no choice but to cling to Jisung as the bitter wind whipped around the two of them. It was about 10 minutes before they spotted the treehouse her parents had built when they were children. All their normal stuff was still there, pictures from their youth hanging on the wall. Now there was an old beat up couch (where their stash was hidden), a bed with a few pillows and blankets where many hours cuddling had been spent, and a projector.

Jisung climbed up first and turned around to offer his hand to y/n. After getting pulled up, she beelined towards the couch to pull out the bud as well as the lighter and the wraps. After wrapping the blunt, she handed it to Jisung as he flopped down onto the couch next to her. “Ladies first.” She giggled. He took the blunt with a begrudging look and held it in his mouth, waiting for her to light it. Y/n obliged and elbowed him “Don’t take all of it, make sure to leave some for me. You hog.” She elbowed her friend then rubbed at her eyes, probably trying to diffuse some of the puffiness remaining from her tears.

Jisung, of course, only offered her a punch to the arm instead and a snarky remark about how he ‘wasn’t the one who finished 70% of the last blunt.’ Y/n rolled her eyes and plucked the blunt from Jisung’s lips harshly. “Shut up, besides,” y/n says as she pauses to take a drag. “You said this was to smoke the depression away. Right now I think I need it more than you.” She stuck her tongue at Jisung, to which he replied by flicking her in the forehead. Y/n took another big drag and coughed. “Goddamn, it’s been a while since I smoked with you Jisungie.” After coughing for a bit, y/n tucked her legs under her and turned towards Jisung. She took a few more drags before putting it in between her two fingers and passing it to Jisung to take. He gladly took the blunt and took a large drag himself. Somehow, he didn’t cough like her, much to y/n’s dismay.

“Bro, are you fucking kidding me? You’re such a show off. Ugh, fuck you!” Y/n squeaked and started punching him anywhere she could hit. “You’re the worst.” She sighed and plopped her body forward so she could lean onto Jisung. Cuddling between them wasn’t something new by any means. She’d never admit it, but cuddling with Jisung recently has been giving her new thoughts to think about. She didn’t know when it happened, but one day she began to notice the way her heart beats louder when she feel jisung’s broad chest caging her in, as his arms wrapped around her. She’d especially take this one to the grave, but she really started noticing it as she slipped away to excuse herself to use the bathroom in a panic. It was pretty obvious when she slipped her underwear down to see the pearly string that attaches itself to her lips and her panties. It was slowly becoming clear to her that she was attracted to Jisung. Perhaps, in more ways than one.

Jisung chuckled at y/n’s cute little outburst and reached over to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Looked like it was getting in your lip gloss, y/nnie.” He said with a honey-dripped voice. He smiled as he noticed as a small blush crept along y/n’s cheeks, down towards her neck. His eyes trailed below as they followed the path the blush was burning on her skin. He swallowed thickly as his eyes reached below her collarbone where his white band t-shirt stuck to her skin snugly. The white had become similar to gossamer, her skin and black bra shining through, thanks to the rain. Taking a sharp inhale, Jisung unconsciously began digging into her arm tightly as he drank in the sight. As if on cue, he broke the spell and suddenly snapped his eyes back into y/n’s. He hoped that she hadn’t noticed, although he knew the chances were entirely too slim. He couldn’t even blink as he peered into y/n’s eyes. Now it was Jisung’s turn to blush, a warmth spreading across his own cheeks. He sputtered something about ‘needing space’ and ‘why are you over here when there’s the entire couch?’ then promptly shoved y/n across the couch, turning his head away from her to hide the blush that was igniting his skin.

Y/n, of course, wouldn’t stand for being pushed away from her heat source as the cold from the rain blew into the tree house. “Sungie, fuck off! What the hell was that for? You know it’s cold out.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. After a few seconds of pouting silently she reached her arm out to grab the blunt that Jisung was holding in his hand, half forgotten. He yelped in surprise and moved his arm up in the air out of y/n’s reach. She slapped his shoulder and laughed as he grunted. After a few seconds of pretending to give up, she smiled and lunged even harder at Jisung. Launching herself off the couch and smiling in victory as she was able to reach the blunt Jisung held over his head, she failed to notice her miscalculation as she was now sitting in Jisung’s lap with her face very close to his own. He glared at her unamused but she still noticed the blush dusting his cheeks. The clock on the wall continued to tick on as the air around the pair thickened. Jisung’s own shocked expression melted into something much needier as she felt him try to physically run away from her hold. But with her sitting on his lap, he had nowhere to go. He pinched his eyebrows and turned his head, bringing his fist up in a feeble attempt to hide his teeth digging into his bottom lip at the suggestive pose the pair are in. With the way in which her arm is still frozen in the air at her attempt to get the blunt for herself, she begins to blush as bright as Jisung and feel a familiar slowly knot tying itself in her stomach. Y/n never thought she’d get turned on by such a small act, let alone from a simple mistake she made.

More time passed as the pair stared deeply, albeit curiously, into each other’s eyes. Jisung’s hands which were thrown around her waist in shock began to grip tighter at her hips, the fingers leaving indents in the milky skin where they were also splayed on her thighs. She parted her lips and he heard a small, breathy “Oh.” leave her. It was hard to deny, but this had a larger impact on y/n than she would have liked. She inhaled sharply as she felt her clit throb gently at the feeling at Jisung’s hands deliciously digging into her sides. It was her turn to look away in embarrassment as she quickly dismounted herself off his lap and back onto the couch with a pout. Stupid Jisung and the way he doesn’t realize the impact he has on me! She internally curses him as all she places the blunt back in between her sticky strawberry lips and inhales. After taking a long drag, and much to her enjoyment, the lack of a coughing fit, she crosses her hands back over into her lap and closes her eyes. She felt the beginning of her arousal begin to fade as she tried to be one of God’s stronger soldiers and put the thoughts flashing behind her eyes deep down into her subconscious. Something about the way Jisung’s fingers stung ever so slightly as he pushed into her plush thighs and waist with his soft hands threw her for a complete tailspin. Of course she’s had sex before, but never had she felt so ignited by such a small and subtle touch. It was as if a jolt of electricity had gone through her the second he laid his hands on her. Shaking her head vigorously to rid the sinful thoughts before they overwhelmed her and she could only imagine the way in which he would handle her, she tried to rid the unholy thoughts once more. Deciding to say “fuck it” and take another large drag from the blunt, end goal of becoming as high as possible in the fastest manner becoming clearer and clearer in her head. It was during this time in which she was so in her own head, she missed the golden opportunity to peek open her own eyes and see the disheveled state Jisung was in, similarly to her own.

If she were to peer over and turn her head towards Jisung, she would have had a heart attack and simultaneously seen the way he desired y/n so bad it was almost tangible. His head was reeling and chest heaving as he shut his eyes and flopped it back against the couch, staring up into the ceiling. His hair flopped with him and covered his eyes, but his own arousal was still apparent to any outsider. The way in which his bottom lip is still trapped between his teeth as he tries to catch his breath. The blush on his cheeks spread down to his chest where the slight dew of sweat began to gather. He pinched his nose bridge as he tried to will the thoughts and his raging boner away. The way in which y/n’s body looked so small on his lap, the way in which her thighs were so soft and plump in his hands. Her small, breathy, ‘oh’ that made his heart hang onto the idea that she was into him enough to find him sexually attractive, and the way in which her wet clothes clung to her form; it all made him go insane. He needed the weed to kick in any second now, hoping he could instead get lost in the sensation of being high rather than hopelessly longing for the feeling of y/n’s pink sugary lips gliding against his own. Heaving a heavy sigh, he looked over to y/n on the couch and slowly peeked his eyes at her form on the couch. Thanking whatever deity was allowing her to look so perfect before him, and luckily she was in her own world with her eyes closed. He let his eyes slowly drag down her body, a little more unashamedly now that he knew he didn’t have an audience to judge his own indulgence.

Jisung flitted his eyes down to her chest once again, running them along the valley of her collarbones, down to where her cleavage just faintly peeked out above the low collar she cut on his shirt, now claimed for herself and neatly stored in Jisung’s drawer for their impromptu sleepovers and other clothing emergencies. He dragged his eyes back up to her lips. He internally groaned as he saw the way her gloss smudged slightly from the blunt, the sugary pink tint shimmering softly in the light. After admiring her lips for a while, Jisung trailed his eyes down to her hips and smiled softly at what he saw. The grey sweatpants that they both owned as a matching set were sitting snugly on her hips. The ones with a little black star and the word “Youtiful” under it, that both of them got as a gift on graduation day from one of their closest friends. The ones that matched his very own. Thanking God and the people he saved in his last life, he smiled at the fact that even if y/n had so many other bottoms to choose from, she chose those special ones. Now here they were, both matching. As he thanked the universe for giving him this win, he stilled as he saw y/n inhale and slowly open her eyes before yawning and sitting up, lashes getting slightly wet from the unshed tears the strong yawn brought to her eyes. He sat up straighter, eyes still trained on her as he followed her every move. Imagine his surprise as he feels y/n shove the blunt between his lips and her hand on his cheeks, pushing into them lightly as she forces his mouth open (much like the kissy face a fish makes) to take the blunt. After she’s satisfied that the blunt remains lodged in Jisung’s plush lips, she withdraws her hand and whips her head away. He held his breath when the words y/n whispered met his ears.

“Mm feelin’ it slowly. It’s your turn to catch up now. Don’t wanna be high alone, Hannie.” Y/n mumbled out through pouted lips. She felt her cheeks heat up as she admitted to already feeling the pleasant sluggish feeling enveloping her body. After she was satisfied by seeing Jisung take a few drags himself, head laid back with one hand in his hair behind his head as he peered up at the ceiling, she let her own head flop back on the couch. Sighing with contentment, she snuggled further into the couch, allowing the comforting feeling of her incoming high roll onto her slowly. It was a few minutes that had passed before y/n’s eyes blink open again slowly as she sat up quickly realizing she had dozed off for about 30 minutes.

Embarrassment painted her features as she quickly realized where Jisung had been when she dozed off. She looked down and nearly yelped as she saw Jisung with his plump lips, open and spit-slicked, laying in her lap. She felt his hair tickle her thighs through the material of the sweatpants as she sucked in a breath and shook him gently, worried what would happen if he stayed there any longer. Now it was her turn to bite her lip as she felt him stir ever so slightly, and instead of waking up, he then wiggled his face deeper into y/n’s lap, grabbing at her and mumbling something incoherent except for the one word she caught. ‘Warm.’ Jisung burrowed in again, his nose nuzzling along her thigh as he breathed out peacefully, his breath fanning across her tummy, where her shirt had risen in her short slumber. Y/n’s breath caught as she let out a little hiccup when one deep sigh let out just the right amount of air to feel a small bead of arousal leak out of her hole and into her panties. After freezing in fear when she felt Jisung nuzzle impossibly deeper, almost driven in his sleep by his body’s unconscious drive to feel her closer. It was over for her though when she felt the tip of his nose nuzzle in just right so that it barely traced over her clothed clit. With a squeak she felt her clit throb more strongly this time and the arousal continued to pool in both her underwear and belly before she’d decided she’d had enough. She grabbed Jisung by the hair and lifted his sleeping body up.

Jisung awoke with a start and a yelp as his hands reached up to where y/n’s were caught tangled in his brunette locks. His bracelet jangled as he looked up at y/n with unshed tears and a pout on his lips, making them look so kissable. After a few seconds y/n smoothed her hand back over his hair and massaged it. She let her hands begin to knead into Jisung’s neck, trying to work out any sore spots as an apology for waking him up so urgently. With the pout still on his lips, he peered up at y/n as he felt his body begin to melt into her touch. “Why did you even do that anyways?” She shook her head and did something which Jisung did not expect at all. She leaned down and pressed her glossy lips to the tip of his nose gently. As his brain was short circuiting he looked up at her with his big boba eyes shining in the soft light and another pout formed on his lips. “W-what was that for?” He asked, his eyes trailing away to look at the posters and photos on the wall, a testament to the brilliance of your youth that you two shared together. Y/n simply smiled and retracted her face from Jisung’s. She twinkled out a laugh, eyes turning into little crescents, and flicked him in the forehead.

[biribaa]

For the last tadc post were the reader who's abstracting in front of them can you do that with Jax, gangle, zobble, and Pomni please

Zooble, Pomni, Gangle and Jax x a reader who's abstracting in front of them

Technically a part two of these hcs.

TW/CW: spoiler and angst and blahbalhba

Zooble

Aw #$@!...

It's been months since Zooble has felt any serious feeling in this circus other than disinterest, boredom and stress, they can't even really describe any feeling that aren't one of these I just listed. Mainly now, at this very moment. Zooble stares at the mess that once was you, they didn't even notice their body froze.

And accepting that you suddenly just... gave up, is difficult. And, still, things are still the same, the same unnecessary adventures and stupid people that they have to deal with.

Don't get they wrong, they misses you. But they blindly can't get over you.

The day could be the same old thing, a silly adventure and Jax being an idiot, that suddenly Zooble will feel like something is clearly wrong(not that things already are), something is missing, they are missing something, did they forgot their foot? Maybe someone?

And when the reality hits they like a hard, cold, big rock, everything gets a thousand times worse. Zooble remembers the things you did for them, they for you. They never thought they would get into a cute romance, honestly...And here they are.

Certain thoughts itch in their head that maybe, just maybe, they were a bad partner. They know you're not stupid enough to be with someone you clearly don't like, but yet, Zooble can't help it.

Zobble never thought that they would want things to be only boring and annoying than this current situation.

Pomni

PAIN PAIN PAIN

Hell, reader, she is the newest character in the circus, she doesn't have an ounce of sanity to deal with something like this.

Everything inside Pomni seems to scream at her to do something but all she feels are her hands shaking like it's the European winter, her brain itching and the butterflies that were once in Pomni's stomach vomit and die.

She get's out all glitched out(and traumatized), but nothing will describe the agonizing silence after panicked screams and tears shed from the unsuccessful help.

For Pomni, Even though things are the same, everything sounds like the first time she came here again. Everything sounded like a headache, even though she can't get that stuff in the digital world.

Pomni didn't put you on a pedestal, she still has Ragatha as a friend. But, god, you were such a angel for her, someone she genuinely admired. And then, you simply disappeared like a dry leaf in the wind.

Of course Pomni blames herself for this, if only she could have been there for you before, helped you more, calmed you down more. Pomni's confidence only dropped after these events.

Ragatha is one of the only ones who really has open arms for Pomni to vent and have a shoulder to cry on. She's the second one she trusts most besides you. Oh, what am I talking about, she's now the only one Pomni really trusts now.

Gangle

Dont do this to my Gangle, reader... :(

Gangle can't use another comedy mask after what just happened to them and to you. Gangle can't just act like nothing happened to their lover. It was supposed to be you and them, forever, even in the worst places, why did this had to happen to you?!

This big episode- no, three seasons of depression didn't seriously bother the others, Jax was mildly irritated and Ragatha was worried, but it didn't hurt anyone other than Gangle themselves.

Rmember how sad Gangle is all the time? They are still sad but now multiplied by a hundred. Suddenly, everything, everyone, even themselves just felt useless, they can't even bring themselves to get up from the floor, It was as if the accumulation of sadness took physical form, and it was a giant gym weight of one hundred kilos.

Caine lied to Gangle once, saying that if If they participates in this adventure he could bring you back. The host's plan was to get Gangle back in the high spirits, but this only resulted in they becoming brutally competitive.

Everyone just sounds hard and boring, talk to others is hard, and get out of their bedroom sounds boring. Why leave?! They didn't woke up in your warm arms.

I wouldn't be impressed if Gangle suddenly had a tantrum, seeing the extent of their misery. Blaming everything and everyone for your disappearance, being the reason stupid or not.

They just miss you so much :(

Jax

Jax would never admit to being desperate, or even scared, when he saw you in that shape. Your mind shifts, and in a matter of seconds, you turn into a giant monstrosity he never thought you would become.

Process that you just... Poof, gone, was slow and silent for Jax. His pride couldn't process something that would leave him shaken.

The first few weeks Jax was just angry, angry and angry. He yells at Caine, Ragatha, Gangle, anyone who even slightly irritates Jax will end up getting into an argument with him. Just like I mentioned in the Zooble scenario, blindly, this just shows that Jax can't get over his loss.

The rabbit's frequent comedic sarcasm has now just turned into a sarcasm that he uses to aggressively retort against others. And the comments are few now.

Everything sounds so painfully boring without your stupid face and your dork personality, it itches his heart and stomach in ways it never did. He's just...stressed.

I believe that Jax is the character who heals the fastest from his loss among all other ones, at least a month and at most three or five. He just needs some consolations to get his ego back to its original size. Don't get him wrong, obviously he misses you.

[cinnamonest]

I assume this is because I criticized Kamala Harris in my last post.

I want to address this because it's important to me and frustrations currently consuming my life, and I'm very emotionally unwell right now. I want to share my experiences and make a point I feel is important at this time.

Once again, this is very unfitting of the smut fanfiction blog and will be deleted later, even though I'm sure this is a huge follower-losing post, but whatever.

Forgive me for rambling so much, but I encourage you and people who think like this to read in entirety.

I realize things are tense right now in the US.

Part of the reason for my inactivity the past while (besides multiple hospitalizations) is that I'm glued to my screen every night now because I'm very scared. I've been spending all my time researching, watching videos from economists, etc.

(Preemptively, sources for everything I'm about to say: the FEMA Privacy Act Statement itself, the official CPB database, Helene People Finder, United States Council of Foreign Relations, Samaritan's Purse, NYC.gov, Starlink, Politico, ABC, CNBC, georgia.gov, nc.gov, tn.gov, my own life)

The US is an extremely high-tension, polarized political climate, largely due to the bipartisan system.

However, no one should be immune from criticism.

All politicians should be criticized when they do harm. I am allowed to criticize her, and I will.

Criticizing one candidate is not the same thing as endorsing/supporting their opposition.

3,000+ Appalachians are missing. The current death toll makes this the deadliest single event in the US since 1862. A higher death toll than Hurricane Katrina, a higher death toll than the events of 9/11/2001, a higher death toll than any mass shooting.

However, it is largely going completely ignored, and mainstream news media has barely acknowledged it, in part due to elections, but largely because the people who live in Appalachia are poor, rural people. And the harsh reality is that poor people's lives are not treated with the same value as people of higher classes.

FEMA continues to do nothing, and the feds are now threatening to take children away from homeless parents... yet they blocked donations of trailers and campers from nearby areas that would help those people to, you know, not be homeless. A kind group of Amish have come down from Pennsylvania to build shelters, and FEMA may tear them down too since they don't have "permits."

Harris had the opportunity to do something, and has the authority to order FEMA agents to act differently, but she chose to exploit the situation for publicity, then leave and otherwise ignore them. She then went on to pay Beyonce $10,000,000 to speak for 5 minutes.

That deserves to be criticized.

Her campaign continues to claim a good economy and job market, when inflation and cost of living has peaked, and just this month, their policies actually have officially led to one of the worst employment outcomes the United States has seen since the Great Depression, disproportionately affecting low-income workers.

That deserves to be criticized.

She has a bad track record during her time in the judicial system for the way her actions harshly affected underprivileged people, especially Jamal Trulove, who was terribly wronged.

That deserves to be criticized.

Furthermore, the reason FEMA/the government does not have money for Appalachia is for a few reasons, all of which were ordered, facilitated or allowed by the current administration:

1) we've sent over $100 BILLION to the IDF so they can keep blowing up hospitals and kindergartens,

2) we sent $175 BILLION to Zelensky so he can keep sending young men into violent deaths even if its against their will,

3) we just sent $100+ million to Lebanon even after the hurricane crisis, meaning the federal government explicitly chose to prioritize foreign aid over its own people,

4) money was taken directly from FEMA reserves for crises like ours, and used as part of a whopping $150,000,000,000 spent on mass migration — including free flights, a $20 million welcome center with a free-use "game room" with dozens of Xboxes plus free food/lodging, and in NY, an average of $1400 prepaid debit card per individual each month.

Meanwhile, Appalachians get a one-time $750 per family, and if you have insurance to cover anything, it's a LOAN you have to pay back (many "fact-checkers" are claiming this is false when its literally in the FEMA eligibility statement). Many of the independent line workers FEMA hired for repairs are reporting they have not been paid AT ALL since starting.

In other words, the money that was specifically reserved for saving lives in times of crisis was spent on video games and free money handouts.

That, holy hell, deserves to be criticized.

Secondly, I want to address the message itself.

I realize that a lot of the american tumblr userbase is 1) people young enough that they're still partially financially dependent on parents and/or 2) are, like most of the US statistically, earning middle-class incomes, and live in fairly population-dense environments.

Most people outside the US, on the other hand, are getting their perceptions of life, politics, etc in the US from the posts/narratives of people within the aforementioned groups, popular culture, and their own local media, so their perspective is often quite limited, to no fault of their own. I'm sure my perspective of life in other countries is also very limited.

Most of you live in places other than where I live, and live very different lives from mine. As humans, we are naturally prone to subconsciously assuming the lives of others are not too different from our own, and do not naturally stop to consider how various factors might affect people's lives and decisions.

We are social beings, prone to adopting the beliefs of others who have the same experiences and thereby the same limited perspectives as us, especially in ideologically homogenous environments.

However, I have just as much of a voice as anyone else.

My hope is that I can use my words and experience to foster empathy for one another between different people in a very polarized climate at a very tense time.

I'm originally from a fairly rural community of about 8,000 people, largely low-income, low-education, evangelical blue-collar workers and farmers, in the Bible Belt.

It is well-known that this demographic overwhelmingly voted for Trump. I don't deny that. I visit home a lot, I see the yard signs everywhere, flags hanging from pickup trucks and farm fenceposts, lots of red hats.

There is a reason for that.

The administration of the past four years has utterly destroyed many rural, low-income communities.

It caused a huge spike in job layoffs, leading to homelessness, drug abuse, hunger and poverty for many already low-income people, and for select communities, violent crime.

I'm fortunate enough to have had parents better off than most of the community, but I'm self-sufficient now, and I am in the bottom 20% of incomes in the US, even with a degree. I could write endless paragraphs on how hard it is to get by, but to summarize for the sake of shortening — it's very, very rough.

Everything has become drastically more expensive, very rapidly over the course of a few years. Groceries are 3x their 2021 prices. I had to get a guarantor for a one-bedroom apartment.

Many rural families resort to drastic measures to get by. Small farmers are being financially strangled out of their way of life.

The actions of the Biden-Harris administration is the reason a huge portion of my extended family was laid off and now face total destitution, as there are simply no jobs left available.

The Biden-Harris border and crime policies are responsible for the brutal rape of a significant number of women and girls in this geographic region. Statistically, these rapes have quadrupled compared to the previous administration.

A woman was raped and stabbed to death about a mile from where I live.

Our nearby neighbor, a cow farmer back home, was attacked on his own property.

I have personally faced multiple instances of sexual harassment and aggression, some of which were very frightening. I know other girls nearby experienced the same or worse.

Alcoholism and hard drugs due to the spike in unemployment and poverty has ruined many lives, and help is often hard to access in rural regions.

A woman my mom was acquainted with ended her own life in 2023 because her children were taken from her due to her drug addiction and poverty. People I played with on the church playground as kids are now unemployed heroin addicts.

I've watched my mom driven to tears after realizing how drastically her income tax increased, and how little she has left after them despite working around the clock.

All of these can be traced back to the policies and actions of the current administration, and the current Harris-Walz platform's proposals will drastically increase it all — largely voted for by people who live in economic situations and locations as such that they are fairly unaffected by these consequences, so they may not understand how it affects these people.

I could write endless paragraphs of all the people I know who have been at best negatively affected, at worst utterly ruined, by the current administration.

Since I have the unique background of understanding these people whilst having more liberal values as an individual, with a broad range of people I interact with now, I have tried to have discussions on this over the last year or so, in real life and virtually. I believed that raising awareness would make people on the left-leaning side empathize with them, and inspire dialogue to work to implement ways to account for the concerns and needs of the rural poor, and incorporate that into their existing proposals.

I was incorrect. I've been very polite and respectful in how I address others in these discussions. In the vast majority of interactions, I was not given the same in return.

A few were receptive, which I appreciate, but in most of my experiences, the same group that is known for encouraging empathy, apparently doesn't apply that philosophy to people they dislike — no matter how I presented it, they immediately rushed to demonize, censor, humiliate, shame and gaslight me, and expressed callous apathy at best, if not active contempt, for my people.

They say "that doesn't happen," and I think they genuinely believe that due to limited perspective — but the reality is that they're simply in a position of privilege as such that it isn't happening to them.

Similarly, what you have to understand is that from the perspective of many rural people in red areas, their experience is that more privileged people inflicted this suffering on them by voting for it, then silence and shame them for speaking out about it.

Likewise, they also have a limited perspective — for them, the issue I see is that they adamantly believe the "other side" is already well-aware of the effects their choices have on others. I don't think this is true, I think many on the other end are unaware of these issues.

This dual lack of understanding creates mutual resentment and bitterness, which fuels tension.

I will say that trying to explain how girls in my community were assaulted or my own harassment, only to have it spammed with replies along the lines of "don't care" or "deserved" or calling me a liar, seeing posts mocking or wishing harm on people like my family accumulate tens of thousands of likes, having people I care about referred to as "trailer trash," passive-aggressive statements implying I'm too unattractive for a man to harass — this, along with other distasteful actions I've seen, has pushed me away from the left as a community, and I don't think that's unreasonable.

Similarly, labeling people you know nothing about as bad people, without making any effort to understand their circumstances or what they actually believe and why, will drive people away and make them resentful.

My community is multiracial, women are highly valued in southern culture for various reasons, and they themselves are marginalized and underprivileged. They're kind people who have been good to me.

I haven't really met any people who are hateful, nor is hate the reason for their votes — they're all voting as they do because they are scared, exhausted, grieving and desperate. A lot of people in the area never voted before, but are now registering to vote in droves because they feel their backs are against the wall, so to speak.

Moreover, Orange Man himself redirected $14 million dollars to Appalachia, continues to raise awareness for them in speeches, and Musk, who is associated with him, has a team working to help Appalachians. He's also the only noteworthy figure that has acknowledged certain issues affecting them.

They realize that the situation in Appalachia could just as easily be them in the future, that they'd be given the same treatment.

This has resulted in a lot of rural poor people feeling that he cares more for their lives, compared to Biden/Harris who more or less neglected them. Which, considering that, is a fairly reasonable conclusion on their end.

Finally, it is true that blue voters tend to be in favor of abolishing or ruining crucial aspects of our way of life that, I say this politely, they do not fully understand, while the people here want to preserve their way of life.

So, while I have more liberal values that differ from most people back home, I don't believe they are bad people. They are reacting very reasonably to the circumstances they're in.

All I ask of others is to consider, no matter where you are or what beliefs you align with, and no matter what happens tomorrow, that the "other side" to your own may not be the evil people you have been led to believe they are, but are humans whose lives are simply different from yours, and they are acting in accordance to their experiences, circumstances, and fears.

The growing trend of demonizing political opposition with no attempt at empathy, only creates more pain in the world. I hope this has helped to foster better understanding, and that people can be kind to one another.

That is all I wanted to say.

[milkywayes]

okay so happy pride month or whatever, no one asked but here’s my garrus vakarian dating history headcanon:

he has had 5 casual hookups pre-normandy, which isn’t a big number compared to his peers, and you’d think it’s because he’s an obsessive little freak who’s bad at being a turian, which evens out his good looks and swagger (and for some it does - cue some very frustrated crushes being forcibly stamped out because ‘really? that guy? he yelled at our superior last week in full view of the entire canteen’) but really he just didn’t notice half the advances made at him and the other half he turned down because he was busy thinking about important stuff (like gun mods, or cases, or math) and after careful consideration and weighing the pros and cons decided his time was better spent elsewhere. two of the 5 were with men, the other three with women, all turians. no repeats. he has had zero relationships pre-shepard if you don’t count the homoerotically-charged friendship he had as a teenager, one year before and one year into boot camp, before their very different abilities got them postings on opposing ends of the galaxy (read: elite sniper units on stealth patrol ships vs guy that assists the guy that fixes the lights in a backwater colony). he thinks no one knew about this, but his whole family did know and just tactfully didn’t bring it up. during the archangel years he has 1 hookup mostly because everyone tells him he’s so high-strung and needs to get laid more than he needs oxygen, but he bows out early on because his depression isn’t really conductive to the proceedings (read: she came but he didn’t.) this somehow ends up adding to the archangel urban myth, a true hero of the people asking for nothing in return, wink nudge, which makes him the butt of his team’s jokes quite literally until they all die bloody. he has never been in love until shepard, is initially unable to even categorize the feeling, and unfortunately for him, dealing with uncertainties and gray stuff and undefined parameters are about the only thing he’s actually bad at (besides the whole model turian stuff, if you count that as a skill). so basically his skill tree gets inverted as soon as he catches feelings. previous hookups would have described him as a gallantly attentive but emotionally unavailable, doesn’t save your omni-tool address but remembers your name kind of guy, which he mentions once to shepard. doing so is a faux-pas, though she doesn’t point this out and instead laughs uproariously because just that day he dented his newly-polished armor in his attempt to hold the elevator for her

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[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I’m always curious about Kankri being redeemed in any way (maybe because he can become the sufferer). Obviously to do so would be simply punting him to reality and force him to live it, no help from his shoddily-made support structure. But I’m curious how you would go about doing it

Given their role thematically in the story, I'm actually usually not on the train of "fully redeem the dancestors", but I do like giving them some catharsis and reckoning, a place in the fight against LE. One last chance to do something good with their lives/afterlives before the end, and a(n implied) new start as wigglers born into the new universe.

So to that end, in my head, the "turnaround point" for Kankri - the inciting incident that makes him have a mental breakdown that results in him finally taking some accountability for his shitty actions - is having a conversation with Eridan.

In my head, the Dancestor reckoning happens gradually, alongside a series of retcons where the dead trolls are brought back one or two at a time, and deal with their emotional issues a little more with every cast member added back into the party.

The TL;DR series of events is: Terezi asks to bring back Vriska, Vriska asks John to punch out Tavros before she can kill him, Tavros's influence makes Gamzee ask for Equius and Nepeta to be brought back, Equius asks for a redux of Aradiabot, Aradiabot grabs John by the arm and gets him to undo her death and Sollux's fall into depression, Sollux asks for Feferi to be brought back, and then Karkat asks for Eridan.

We know from (Vriska) that the Game Over/Alpha Timeline characters still exist post-Retcon, so those characters would also be continuing their character arcs, just in the afterlife prepping for the LE fight. For example, I think Meenah's reckoning should be delivered by (Karkat) - after having had so long to reflect on his own failures as a leader, he would be perfectly poised to scream at her for hers, which would also serve to make this confrontation a final thesis for Karkat as a whole - what leadership means (caring about your team) - and a conclusion to the Meenah/Karkat dynamic.

So when I say that Kankri needs to talk to Eridan, I mean Eridan and not (Eridan). Full character development, all his teammates are alive, taken full accountability and responsibility for his actions, team good guy Eridan. And as I noted in this essay, Eridan with full character development is actually more annoying than regular Eridan, because he's also the "Devastating: Worst Guy You Know Made An Excellent Point" guy. In bulleted form:

He's still an advocate for murder. Murder is literally what kept his friends alive long enough to play the game, and playing the game itself involves genocide, so he would be the Token Evil Teammate who reminds the team that, hey, murder is an option - and enemies will be considering it. Even at his very best, he's going to struggle with empathy and have an extremely blase view of violence and murder - those were literally just facts of his life through his most formative years.

This also makes him a TOTAL downer, as he's the tempering voice that reminds them that decisions have consequences, and utopia requires sacrifices, and nothing is ever worth fighting for that won't eventually need to be fought for. Like I said, worst guy you know, excellent points. In fact, he's out here volunteering to do the murdering when the situation calls, if nobody else wants to get their fins dirty. He's really good at it.

He's still an idiot who doesn't listen to people. He's perfectly fine at taking orders, but having a conversation with him is still really difficult. I feel like if you make Eridan too smart, mentally flexible, and socially aware, you lose a lot of his Eridan-ness, and I think these characters, fully realized, are more of themselves, not less. I also don't know how you could reasonably expect to fix these traits. He's just Like That.

He drops his fake pro-Empire stuff, because that was basically all just empty posturing in the first place, but...

Now he's a pretentious-ass hipster who judges you for liking Trollor Swift and Troll Marvel. Given that Jake's indiscriminate taste is actually linked to his deficit of Hope (he has little conviction, he's wishy-washy), Eridan coming into full Prince of Hope regalia involves getting even more annoying about his taste in media (shittons of conviction, refusal to budge).

He is also a wizard. He will not shut up about this.

And finally, I think he'd still be out here using slurs. First of all, because it'd be really funny, because he's literally not casteist, but second, because there's two types of "it's equality" - the kind where nobody ever says anything offensive, and the kind where "offensive" stops being a relevant concept because true equality has been achieved. Think of the discourse surrounding the reclamation of slurs IRL, or how the "it's equality" meme gets used - this idea that words can be stripped of power by changing the context of who's saying them, or that objectification/discrimination stop being problems if they're applied evenly across the board, instead of limited to specific groups. I think that this is the exact type of nuanced idea that Homestuck would tackle and its fandom would get incensed about, which is why I think it should stay.

Eridan's role, thus, becomes a sort of "unpleasant truths" kind of character. Violence, both physical and verbal, is unpleasant as hell, and the natural instinct is to avoid it. The problem is, in any true discussion of what society should look like, they're topics that can't be avoided, and are even sometimes necessary not just to recognize, but to utilize (no revolution is bloodless, etc.). Eridan - an extreme personality - is going to represent the uncomfortable extreme of the debate. And by that I mean he's going to be saying slurs and talking about murders and is still going to be unquestionably a force for good.

The reason I'm going so in-depth into this is because Kankri very much represents the opposite: using "polite" language and couching it in the language of courtesy, activism, and liberal ideology, Kankri hides - and worse, spreads - his classist, ableist, misogynistic, puritan beliefs. He enforces the class divide and actively works against his teammates' best interests.

He whines that the lower blood castes should stop complaining about oppression, because others have it worse. He tells the team feminist that misogyny isn't real, then slut shames her. He tells the guy with brain damage that he's making other neurodivergent/TBI people look bad, exacerbates Latula's shame around her inability to smell, and actively guilt trips Cronus into ignoring his epiphany and self-reflection. Kankri is only an activist in that he actively makes everybody worse.

But why does he act like this? Well, it's due to the fact that he was probably culled, and on-sight at that, like Karkat would've been if anyone found out about his mutant blood. Kankri doesn't seem to have a symbol or lusus, either, two thinks Karkat only had because the Signless's followers prepped them for him, so the chances are very high that Kankri was culled since he was hatched. Given the way he discusses culling with Latula, and viciously despises being mothered by Porrim, it's clear he has some really complicated feelings regarding having his agency dismissed. Thus, his work to hamper his team - at least some of which is wilful on his part, as he'll outright cast aspersions on Horuss or Cronus's beliefs for being "imaginary" even as he encourages them to commit to them - is motivated by something quite simple: power, attention, entitlement, and control.

When he goes on his grand lectures, he frequently slips and reveals that he sees himself as a great, unquestionable spiritual leader, often trying to place other characters in subordinate positions to himself - Karkat is his "pupil," and his monologues, I mean, sermons, I mean, diatribes, are spoken as if from a position of authority. He outright tells Meenah that this is what he believes himself to be.

It's a very Seer sort of problem - both that of hubris and that of willful blindness. If you chart out the actual "end goal" of his beliefs, it appears to be a world in which Kankri himself is both the biggest victim and most important voice in the room. He regularly disparages those with actual disadvantages (Damara, Porrim, Mituna) while playing up the false problems of those who don't actually have them (Horuss, Cronus). Those with disadvantages should have their voices amplified - except lowbloods should stop whining and misogyny isn't real. And those with real power should check their privilege - but won't somebody think of the poor highbloods who have ~emotional problems~? Kankri will, and all the highbloods need to do is bend the knee and treat Kankri as their specialest boy.

In short, he's using his intellect, rhetoric, and forceful personality for selfish, emotionally-driven pursuits. The actual substance of his arguments is ephemeral and contradictory because that's the trick - the point is NOT to further equality, but to verbally browbeat his conversation partner into submission. In other words, you can't beat Kankri in a regular debate, because the moment you start trying to actually engage in a debate with him, he wins. The moment you start lunging at his arguments, he's got you in his red-texted labyrinth. The moment you start treating his points like they merit genuine discussion, you're in the pews of Kankri's church, and he's up at the pulpit.

And Eridan is the destroyer of faith. He's also an idiot who doesn't listen to people.

I don't really know exactly how it would play out, but I know in my heart. In the pit of my soul. That Eridan would call Kankri several slurs, (correctly) point out that Kankri's celibacy is stupid because it's clear he has feelings for Cronus and Latula, (correctly) point out that his pro-equality stuff is stupid because he calls violets "Royal-V"s, (incorrectly) accuse Kankri of hitting on him, (correctly) point out that the entire point of a slur is that it hurts and insults the person it's used on, (correctly) call Kankri several more slurs, (correctly) point out that Kankri just wants attention, especially from highbloods, (???) go on an unhinged rant (maybe more) about being a wizard, being a murderer, and being a murderer wizard, (???) insult Kankri's taste in music, and finish it up by (correctly) revealing that Eridan and Karkat are moirails who make out sometimes.

I think Kankri would start crying.

[unforth]

I had a day off yesterday.

And I can already practically hear the assumptions that such a statement is prompting the reader to make. Those assumptions are wrong. I don't mean I didn't work. I did, for about 8 hours. That's not at all what I mean.

I mean my wife took the kids out at 9:30, spent the night with her mom, isn't back yet the next morning.

There are things I NEED people on this website to understand about parenting. And I've talked about it before, and I'll talk about it again, because honestly the way that Tumblr as a cohort talks about parents makes me sick. Multiple polls have shown that only about 2% of people on here are parents. We're a huge minority, and we're constantly talked over, ignored, or accused of being bad parents (like, personally, I have had people reply to my comments or come on to my posts and tell me I shouldn't have my kids). In my case, being a parent means I'm almost 41, I'm married to @ramblingandpie, and our children are inching up on being 8 and 6 years old.

My entire day, and therefore my entire life, revolves around them. I'm up most mornings at 5 AM, because that's the earliest they're "allowed" to wake up, and so my brain just defaults to being awake around then - better to wake up before them, at least then I get a few minutes in the morning. Between 5 and 7, I sit with them, do my social media, work on side blogs, study Chinese. Then it's helping them get ready for school, then my wife or I or both get them on the bus, and then I work until the last possible minute, which is either when I need to go pick them up for an after school activity or when I need to go down and meet them off the bus. My afternoons are after school activities, chores such as washing the dishes and cleaning up toys, talking with them, working with them, playing with them. Their bedtime starts at 7:40, and my son gets scared if I leave before he falls asleep so I sit with him until about 8:15. As soon as he's asleep, I go fall on my face, sleep as best I can, then wake up and do it again. Overnight, it's hard to sleep deeply, because about once a week someone will wake up in the middle of the night and need help. That could be as minimal as a hug or as complex as having to completely change the bedding on a bunk bed at 2 AM while also comforting a child who is afraid they'll be in trouble, or afraid they're sick, or afraid of their nightmare, or, or, or. Further, if a child is awake, there is always noise. I usually study Chinese with two or more competing sources of noise. I read the same way. My life is loud, and active, and consists of constant interruptions.

I adore my family, and I love my children, but this is terrible for me.

I do all of this as an neurodivergent introvert. My clinical depression is at least medicated, mostly because post-partum depression after I gave birth the first time nearly drove me to suicidal in under a week (we were expecting this and were prepared, fortunately, getting help was as simple as a phone call). The constant noise and interruptions and forced socialibility are about the worst combination of home-life I could be subjected to. I spend far too many early mornings just breathing deeply and gearing myself up to be subjected to the wall of Loud, Boisterous, Needing-My-Attention that is every minute when anyone else in the house is awake.

So what did my day off look like?

I helped get the kids ready to go and did some morning chores. I'd been up at 4:30 AM so I also had already social media'd and studied. Then, while my wife finished the preparations, I started work, and I worked from about 8 am to about 4 pm, straight. I didn't get hungry so didn't bother stopping for lunch. No one interrupted me, no one asked me to look at anything they'd built, no one broke my concentration, no sounds could be heard except those I'd chosen myself.

I'd been out the day before at a local shopping street and listened closely to the things the kids said they wanted, so at 4 I grabbed a couple orders I needed to ship for work and drove to our local downtown, dropped the orders in a post box, then went back to the shops and did some Christmas shopping in the 45 minutes or so before everything closed. I think I'm basically done with what we'll get them - other bigger things will be left to grand parents - so that's a load off, I literally had a stress dream earlier this week about it being 12/24 and having forgotten to do the shopping and having to go to (oh horrors) the mall on the day before Christmas. (Reminder: I'm a Jewish atheist. It's just virtually impossible not to Holiday in the Culturally Christian Hellscape that is the US. Also, my wife is Christian. So.) Found something cute for my wife, too, even tho I already know the main thing I'm getting her. Then, I realized - one of my favorite restaurants is on that block. So. I went there. I sat by myself at a table, only the indistinct restaurant hubbub around me. I read four or five chapters of my book, and ate a savory crepe, and drank lovely fruit tea, and got a scone to-go that I'll eat for lunch today. It was more than I probably should have spent on myself - about $25, including tip - but fuck it. I only get maybe a handful of days off all year, and I'm allowed to indulge a little.

Then I came home. There were no lights on. There was no noise. I had considered doing some more merch work while watching TV on the actual television (my kids are too young for subtitled shows, so usually if I want to watch My Shows I either have to do it on my computer when they're not around, or put them on and read all the subtitles aloud while trying to keep up and process the actual meaning of what I'm reading). But when I got back, the quiet and dark was so goddamn NICE that instead I curled up on the couch and read more of my book. I did that until bedtime - still about 8:15, because I'm exhausted. Then...I went to bed. And I slept long and deep, knowing that there was no chance I'd be interrupted and woken up, I didn't have to be, even in sleep, alert to every noise and possibility that I'd be needed.

I'm still exhausted and burned out, but even one night to myself felt really, really nice.

Saying "Tumblr does X" as a universal statement is doomed to failure, but generally speaking, the parenting posts I see on Tumblr, the ones with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes, speak what's apparently widely seen as a truism on here: that unless someone wants to spend 24/7 with their kids, to be 100% emotionally available at all times, is always kind and patient and perfect, they are a bad parent, maybe even abusive. I remember when covid started, there were multiple posts actively mocking the "oh god, my kids are now home all the time, how am I supposed to do this?" attitude that a lot of parents posted in despair. WhY dId YoU hAvE kIdS iF yOu DoN't WaNt To SpEnD tImE wItH tHeM?

Look at what my usual day looks like.

Look at what my day off looked like.

Do you really think I don't want to spend time with my kids? Do you really think I don't love my kids?

But I'm not a fucking MACHINE. I'm a PERSON. That's what people on Tumblr seem to forget. PARENTS ARE PEOPLE. The same tumblrinas who post ~uwu be kind to yourself rest if you need to, you should forgive yourself for that mistake you made~ will turn around, with zero sense of irony, and post "you're a bad parent if you ever raise your voice around a child."

Expecting parents to be perfect means expecting parents to be inhuman. It also means that a parent can't be poor (can't spend all your time being the perfect parent if you have to work multiple jobs or weird hours!), can't be introverted (can't be a perfect parent if you're not completely emotional available, god forbid socializing is exhausting for you), can't be on the ADHD or autism spectrum (what do you mean you forgot to get your kid to a doctor's appointment once? what do you mean over-stimulation can make you angry? how dare you get angry at a kid!), can't be depressed (gotta get out of bed every single day, gotta always be upbeat, patient, happy, or else that's Evil), can't be (like my wife) physically disabled (what do you mean your hands hurt too much to hold a child's hand? are you denying them touch?? CRUEL). And when the only answer you can offer to that is, "if you can't be that perfect you shouldn't be a parent," then you're saying people who aren't middle class to wealthy, people who aren't neurotypical, people who aren't physically able, shouldn't have children.

And honestly...what the fuck is your problem?

I'm not perfect. I tell my kids to just leave me alone sometimes. I raise my voice, especially when one of my kids starts punching the other, but also sometimes just cause I'm exhausted and Can't Anymore. I've forgotten an appointment by accident and felt like a total fucking idiot, and I've skipped an after school activity because I just wasn't up for taking them. I've served them more unbalanced, unhealthy meals than I can count. I've made many, many mistakes, but I've also done my best, and I love my kids, and I hope that when they grow up, they'll still love me even as they recognize that I wasn't perfect, just as I've come to accept my own parents' short-comings while still loving them very much. They're people, too, and the older I get, the more I understand where they were coming from.

When I fuck up, I apologize.

When they tell me they're unhappy with something I've done, I apologize, and I try to do better. Sometimes I even succeed.

This shit is hard, yo. And it's getting harder every year.

I'm BEGGING Tumblr: you need to start seeing parents as people. The way y'all talk about parenting on here is toxic, and genuinely harmful, and frankly exhausting. You have no idea what the reality of raising kids is like, and you need to shut the entire fuck up.

I had a day off yesterday.

I might get one more before the end of 2023.

I already can't wait. I am so, so, so tired. sigh

(if you actually read this whole rant and even a single word of it resonated for you, please reblog it. I'm tired of never seeing positive posts about parenting while I see negative ones with a bajillion notes.)