#we need to do something about global warming

[jestiamy]

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but Venera's name actually means venus. which, while not seeming overtly necessary information at first glance, actually is something I was losing my mind over yesterday because. the three brightest objects in the sky, in order, are the sun, the moon, and venus.

[reasonsforhope]

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

[hope-for-the-planet]

"At the start of the 21st century, it was predicted that continuing carbon emissions would warm the planet by about 4 degrees C by the year 2100. This would be catastrophic [...], but preventing this future seemed impossible. Almost every human activity produced carbon dioxide, mostly because our energy was overwhelmingly supplied by burning fossil fuels [...] to generate electricity, produce heat, and move ourselves around. But the Earth was we knew it was at stake, so people all around the world got to work. This video is about what they did and what a difference they've made."

This was published in February 2025 and I highly recommend giving it a watch. Just since the start of the century, global climate mobilization has already brought the estimated warming from 4 degrees C to 2.7 degrees, and if countries stick to their current legally binding pledges and targets that will likely go down to 2.1 degrees. Each tenth of a degree means a significant, tangible increase in the ecosystem health and overall well being that humanity will experience in the future.

Yes, we need to continue to do this and more, but that is an insane amount of worldwide progress from something that was considered a fringe, "tree-hugger" issue not all that long ago. The public opinion around climate change and the action that is being taken today would've sounded beyond impossible only a decade or two ago and the momentum behind climate action has and continues to build exponentially.

We are making progress. If anyone tells you "no one cares and we aren't doing anything to stop it" they are either lying or misinformed.

[anim-ttrpgs]

something I don’t get about the disability metaphor is that for eureka monsters obviously it harms another person to eat them. the help a disabled person needs doesn’t actively harm or kill another person. Maybe it’s a difference in perspectives that cannot be resolved

(What I’m about to write could potentially sound very fucked up at first so I’m going to need to trust everyone to read the whole thing before forming an opinion.)

Also this message and response references these two posts.

Eureka’s stance on disabled people is that they (including myself writing this) are, or at least can often be, burdens.

Disabled people often require more resources to live than they are able to “give back,” which, in our capitalist and artificial-scarcity-based economy, is just about the worst thing a person can do.

Anti-ableism sentiment often focuses on the idea that “disabled people aren’t burdens, that they’re just as good and capable as everyone else,” but if they were, they wouldn’t be “disabled” would they? When you say stuff like that, you’re conceding that a person’s worth is determined by how capable they are at doing work, and then having to bend over backwards to justify thinking that a person without arms is just as valuable as a person with arms. Eureka is asking you to decouple a person’s value from how much net resources they can produce.

Often times also, the resources that real disabled people consume are human resources, and those human resources are very much capable of suffering for it. Nurses are overworked, around-the-clock care is absolutely physically and mentally exhausting, people who have to care for their elderly or otherwise disabled relatives on top of their regular jobs don’t get to have social lives or hobbies, etc.

To this end, we wrote the monsters in Eureka to be unquestionably people who “cause damage” to society by literally eating up human resources, because they have to to live, they have no other choice unless they want to just die. Your friend is gone from your life because he has to spend all his free time caring for his comatose wife after a freak car accident. Your friend is gone from your life because a vampire randomly ate him. Providing a metaphor isn't all the monsters are doing, they just work well through that lens.

And then Eureka forces you to look at these people as people, and make up your mind as to whether they have value and a right to prologue their own existence. We can’t force you to agree that they do, but if you think they don’t, then you’ll have to make that argument looking at an intelligent person with a life rather than a pure hypothetical or statistics on a chart.

There are some monsters in Eureka where, if the economy or societal structures were changed, they would stop being such severe drains on resources and could exist harmlessly within society, and there are some monsters where no imaginable amount of societal change would solve the problems they cause. This is true of disabled people IRL as well. Some of them would require no further assistance with living if certain things about society changed, and others would still require a massive amount of human resources.

And even when it’s not necessarily human resources, the extra resources that disabled people need also cause huge energy expenditure and create huge amounts of plastic waste, which are things that contribute to global warming and pollution, which do have significant harmful effects on everyone’s lives. Despite this, they are still “worth it” to keep around.

As for actively causing harm, that happens too. I randomly scrolled past this post after we got this message and saved it so I could link it here.

This person and their family had to cause a big stink in a restaurant just to get an accommodation that they needed, and to us reading it from their perspective, we’re obviously on their side, but I can assure you that the overworked staff at that restaurant didn’t see it that way. They saw the disabled person as an aggressive Karen whom they would never in a million years want to have to provide customer service to. The disabled person & family had to get aggressive, and ruin the staff’s day, to get what they needed. That’s actively causing harm - harm we all agreed was justified to cause - but harm nonetheless.

Plastic straws aren’t that big of a deal for global pollution, but even if they were, the point is that this person still would have needed a straw. It doesn’t line up one-to-one, because metaphors rarely do, but a vampire asking if they can drink someone’s blood, and being told No, may find themselves in much the same position. (And if you bring up that some people find vampires really sexy, you’re missing the point. “I would give them a straw if they had sex with me.” is not actually a great thing to announce about yourself.)

I can also come up with an example from my own life. I personally am very sensitive to noise and noise pollution. If there’s music playing at a public space, I usually can’t handle it. (Earplugs don’t work for other reasons I won’t get into - plus, if I just deafen myself to all sound, how can I socialize with anyone in this public space?)

If I want to exist in this space, I will have to actively cause harm to everyone there, or else stop existing in that space. I will have to go up to whoever is responsible and ask them to turn off the music, actively taking it away from everyone else who was enjoying it. I have to take action to ruin their good time if I want to exist in that space at all, and they might, very understandably, be pissed off at me for doing that. Because, like I said in this other post, the people that monsters eat do have a right to prevent themselves from being eaten by monsters. We aren't proposing that the solution is everyone has to line up to be mauled to death by monsters or else they're a bad person.

Who has a greater right to enjoy themselves in that space? That’s the kind of question that Eureka poses, and makes you consider both sides as human being rather than denoting one as just an ontologically evil villain to be destroyed.

We actually don't know of perfect solutions to all the problems presented by the existance of monsters in Eureka, we just know that "exterminate all people who are parasites and burdens to society" ain't it.

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.

[ceesimz]

Wings (part two)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Part One of this little story is here, rest of the Reverie stories are here. @pickledwoso definitely saved this fic with their absolutely tremendous mind, so thank you millions once again <3 and i hope everyone's enjoyed these two chapters, thanks for reading :)

You were flying in training. Spectacularly so. 

The football side of it, you hadn’t been concerned about. Football had been your thing all your life, you knew you were good at it and you never shied away from admitting that. 

There was something different this time around, however. Maybe it was the combination of finally being accepted, of feeling happy in all aspects of your life, of having an incredible support system, of finally being nothing but your complete self. You entered the pitch every day, ready to play your heart out to make damn sure you would make it into the squad for the game that was only three days away. Then you stepped off the pitch, knowing full well you left everything you had out there. 

You felt fulfilled. For the first time in… well, honestly? Forever. It was the first time you felt fulfilled. Like, you had achieved all you set out for.

Well, all but one thing.

“Hi, come in! Thanks for dropping by.” 

A conversation with Gemma and her coaching staff was very much needed.

You stepped into her office, which was coolly lit and welcoming. No harsh lights, no unimpressed stares, no judgement. You took a seat across from her, where she sat down in her chair and fixed you with a warm smile. No intimidation, no animosity, no false promises. 

“So, firstly, I must say how happy I am to be having this conversation right now.” She began, and you smiled in slight embarrassment, which she noticed. “And I know you don’t want me to linger on that too long, so we will move on. I just had to let you know.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. No discomfort, no anxiety, no fear. Just… nervous excitement.

“I have some things to discuss, entirely at your will. It’s all up to you, alright? There’s no pressure from me.” You nodded, having to disguise a smile at how different this conversation was compared to ones you’d had in the past.

For a couple minutes, you two spent the time catching up together. She checked in with you, asking if there was anything else you needed from her support wise, how you were enjoying your time back. It was all very positive, and motivating. No masking, no resentment, no exclusion. Then the topic you were waiting for came up, and even in the moment when she was talking, you found yourself imagining the joy in Alexia and Ingrid’s voice when you told them the good news that was about to come.

“Now, onto the game coming up. There’s a few ideas me and the staff have been throwing around for the lineup, most of which revolve around you. But we’re not making anything concrete until I know how you feel because I know how big this is for you.” God she was torturing you by delaying it. Just say it. “So, what would you prefer? Do you want to be in the starting lineup? Or come off as a sub? Because we believe you are more than good enough to start from the first whistle. Your performance has been outstanding, both here and at Barcelona, we’re really happy to see it and want you out there. But again, we don’t want to put any pressure on you, I mean you don’t have to play at all if you don’t want to. It’s completely your choice, and I swear by that. You have my word.”

The second you heard that question, you tuned out; your mind was in uproar, for all the right reasons this time. You made it.

“I want to start.” You answered definitively. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted.

Walking out for your country again. Establishing yourself to the rest of the world. Showing off on a global stage. Making it clear that your disability did not stop you from achieving everything you set out for. 

Maybe you’d win the next two World Cups, maybe you’d win nothing with the team. That wasn’t your goal, which to some might seem pointless to come back if you didn’t care for winning. For now, your goal was to wear the Norwegian crest with pride and purpose, to do it all for your country. Finally you had the chance, and the second you start rushing into things and getting ahead of yourself is when things go downhill, and you weren’t letting this opportunity and achievement get away from you again.

“Excellent, that’s that then! You’re in.” 

You were in.

You walked out of that office with your head held high. When you got back to one of the rooms hired for downtime, where Ingrid was sat nervously waiting and not really concentrating on the conversations around her, you paused at the door. You glanced around at your teammates and looked at their faces, some new, some old, and you wanted to tell every single one of them. Not just Ingrid. 

Well, Ingrid first, of course. But telling the rest of them afterwards almost sounded just as appealing. 

Then, there was Alexia, who knew you had the meeting that day and sat by her phone the whole time waiting for any sign of life from you, her knee bouncing endlessly as she did so and annoying everybody around her. And when you got a moment to breathe away from the giddy excitement of your fellow national team players, you stepped out to call her. You weren’t expecting her to cry, per say, but it was a welcome surprise to hear her overjoyed laughter turn into quiet sniffles in the span of two seconds.

Nevertheless, that joy had its limits; when you woke up on the day of the game, you were a mess. 

You woke up, rolled out of bed, got yourself ready for the day on autopilot, like you were watching yourself from above. You weren’t in control of anything, not your body or your mind, merely a passenger. In survival mode, almost, to get you through the day. Down at breakfast, not even Heidi’s company could lighten you up. You pushed your food around your plate, taking a bite here and there but not paying attention to anyone or anything, apart from the anxiety balled tight in your chest. 

At the briefing afterwards, you couldn’t take in a word anyone said even if your life depended on it. All you heard was doubts. From yourself, wondering if this was the stupidest thing you’d ever done or if you deserved it. From others, those praying on you to fail because someone with a disorder like yours wasn’t meant for success. From ex-staff members, the same ones that mocked and taunted you at the lowest point of your life. 

The minute the briefing was over, you were up and out of there. Despite the little food you’d eaten, it felt like the contents of your stomach were threatening to come up any second. You rushed to the bathrooms of the hotel, heading over to the sinks and letting the cool marble counter cool your sweaty palms where you gripped the edge under your hands. 

Bleach and posh hand soap mixed to make a harsh, acrid scent that made your head spin. The aircon above was so loud it felt as if it was making its own attack against your ear drums. Lights casting down on you with a laser-like sharpness that stabbed your eyeballs like daggers. 

And in the mirror, you saw a reflection that ashamed you.

How, when you'd spent so long getting back to the national team, had you let yourself get like this. Why were you so worked up? This was something you had worked tirelessly for, now you weren't sure you could do it. So what was the point of everything that you'd done over the last few months, the last few years even?

You’re making things harder for everyone.

If you really wanted to be here, you’d just get on with it.

You’re turning this into a much bigger deal than it is.

Life isn’t fair sometimes, you don’t always get what you want and you need to realise that.

You’re just looking for attention. 

Maybe you weren’t made for the real world.

All these phrases bounced around your head uncontrollably to humble you and put you in your place, their sole purpose being to throw you off track and derail every bit of progress you’d made to get there. It was cruel, but you were used to it. However, that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. If anything it just made you feel worse, because if you were used to it, why couldn’t you stop it? Why couldn’t you tune out and not listen to it? Maybe you weren’t made for the real world after all.

“Oh, sorry, we didn’t know you were in here.”

Frida and Caro stepped in in the midst of your panic. You jumped, not expecting anyone to come in even though it was a public bathroom of a giant hotel, and cleared your throat whilst hastily blinking away the burning sensation of building tears, giving the pair of them a tight-lipped smile. 

“Are you okay?” Caro asked, a furrow to her brow that conveyed her growing concern.

“Mhm.” You nodded and tried to hide your hastened breathing. Frida noticed it instantly. 

“It’s alright if you aren’t. We can leave if you would like to be on your own. Or we can get Ingrid or somebody for you.” She spoke in the softest voice you’d ever heard someone speak. 

“No, you can stay. Thank you.” Both of them heard the tremble to your voice but feigned obliviousness to save you the awkwardness. Not that they didn’t want to help, couldn’t be further from the truth.

“What’s the matter? Is it something we could help with?” Caro leaned casually against the wall, her hands in her pockets as she dropped the question with as little pressure for a response as possible. Frida couldn’t help the worry written across her face but for once it didn’t cause you to cower under the attention.

“The game, I’m just anxious. There is… a lot going on in my mind.” You admitted, not exactly expecting yourself to be so open and honest with them but not regretting it either.

“That’s understandable, it’s been a while and a lot has happened.” Frida reassured you, taking a couple steps closer with a comforting smile on her face. You sighed and turned to lean back against the counter, running your hands over your face and rubbing your eyes.“Are you worried about how you will play? Or how you might handle it? Anything like that?”

“I…” You blew out a deep breath, glancing between the two and noting the welcoming and focused looks on their faces. They were genuinely there to help you, they had no other agenda. Not that you believed they did, you just didn’t have a good track record with past players and staff members. These two, however, were the complete polar opposites of those from the past. “I have some bad memories that are trying to put me off. I know I can play well if I don’t let my anxiety get me to but it’s not working right now. I have a lot of impostor syndrome, basically.”

You described it lightly, barely grazing the surface of your true feelings. The pair of them shared a glance, before Caro shook her head with a smile and headed over to you.

“We are so lucky to have you back, you know? If there’s anyone that belongs in this team, it’s definitely you.” She smirked, standing beside Frida with her arms crossed over chest, exuding a non-faltering belief in you that was hard to argue against. “And if there is anyone here that knows how excellent you are, it is me. How many assists do I have for you at Barça? You’re single-handedly putting me in the running for the Ballon d’OR.”

Hm. That was kinda true.

“Everybody is here for you. You can leave the pitch anytime you want. Or if you line up in the tunnel and decide you don’t want to play, you don’t have to. Whatever you need. But you can do this. We all believe in you, we’re all cheering you on. We’re all by your side no matter what.” The blonde was wise beyond her years each time she spoke, and in an instant you knew she was someone you could trust indefinitely. She didn’t know much about what happened in the past, she wasn’t around for much of it and you kept it under wraps away from anyone else anyway. Yet, she seemed to understand regardless, without having to know or asking you to explain. “You came here to paint over those bad memories. Don’t let them drag you back down, okay? You made it this far, you are more than capable of getting on that pitch and putting on a five-star performance. You have to believe in yourself, that is all. By being here, you’re halfway there, so all that is left to do is get to the stadium, put your shirt on with your name and the badge, and play.” 

Being there, listening to what they had to say, made it nearly impossible to recognise why you were in such a state only a couple minutes earlier. Hearing what Frida had to say, Caro too, it was different to if it was Ingrid in front of you. Not that Ingrid wouldn’t have helped, of course she would have, but having two people that had no obligations tied to you at that point was odd. Odd and borderline fucking euphoric.

It gave you a different perspective, gave you the chance to look at yourself from another viewpoint rather than that of just your girlfriend and best friend over and over again. Two people that didn’t know you very well yet still thought the world of you. How strange.

“Thank you. Thank you both. I really appreciate that.” You mumbled sheepishly, trying to refrain from showing the utter delight coursing through you at the milestone it felt like it was.

“You’ve got this, we know you do. International football won’t know what’s hit it now you’re back.” 

They weren’t wrong. They couldn’t have been more right with everything they said in that bathroom if they tried. 

On the coach journey to the stadium, you were overcome with a strange sense of serenity. You were at peace, calm, focused. You were honed in on the game, hyperfixated on it perhaps. A newfound determination that hadn’t been with you in the bathroom that morning but had been building for the last few months, for the last few years, ever since you stepped away in the first place. 

You stepped off the bus, headphones still firmly in place, and the small gaggle of fans awaiting your team cracked a smile onto your face. That only grew when you spotted a young girl with a Barcelona shirt who lit up at the sight of you, rambling off excitedly to her parents who met her eagerness with bright smiles and wide eyes. You made a mental note to try and find her in the crowd after the game, because without having the foggiest idea of the impact she’d had, the small Norwegian with her blue eyes and brown pig-tailed hair had nearly single-handedly reinforced your sense of belonging within the team. 

As you passed her, you gave her a wave, to which she lit up more, and in her giddiness at having been spotted by you she didn’t even bother asking for a signature. You felt bad at leaving her behind – you never tired of coming across devoted fans, especially ones like her, they were simply a novelty that never wore off – but without wanting to distract yourself from the headspace you’d pulled yourself into, you headed into the stadium with her grinning face in the back of your mind.

Stepping into the locker room, seeing your jersey hung up with your number in blue contrasted on the classic red of the Norway kit, it was… an indescribable feeling. And you took advantage of the moment, where you were the first into the room, by taking a photo, wanting to remember the feeling of it. Your fingers hovered over your phone screen as you thought what to do next, before sending the photo to your family and to Alexia without a second thought. Then you slid your phone into your pocket, took a deep breath in, and headed over to your cubby.

When the rest of the team filed in, some of your teammates in the locker room mistook your intense concentration for apprehension and anxiety, but with a quiet word from Ingrid each time they came over to tell her, they were reassured it was just what you had to do to ensure you got out onto that pitch. 

Every game wasn’t so intense, nine times out of ten you joined in with the feel-good and light-hearted nature of the locker room in Spain, it was a different story with the national team though on this occasion. Future matches after this wouldn’t be the same, this one just felt like the most important one so far on a personal level. After the momentary blip in the bathroom, your mind had switched itself into protection mode; be as detached as possible from the surroundings and stay in your own world, so that nothing could knock the mediocre amount of confidence you had built. That confidence was about as strong as a tower of playing cards, the slightest thing could send it flying, hence your tunnel vision.

You changed into your pre-match kit, you had your necessary discussions with the manager and the staff, and you headed out onto the grass for the warm-up. Music blasted through the stadium and there was a quiet hum of general chatter as the stands filled up, fans littered by the sides of the pitch watching with their banners, the odd few catching your eye. Some had your name on, welcoming you back, which nearly made you stop in your tracks in the middle of the field. 

For some reason, it never occurred to you what the fan response might be. You thought the majority of people, ranging from your own teammates to the rest of the world, wouldn’t really… care. And the ones that did care were for all the wrong reasons. The reception you received was so unexpected. You were speechless at it. Not that you could dwell on it too long then, considering there was a very fast cross approaching the box that had your name on it.

It was a little tricky to find a stream for a Norway game in Spain, but Alexia had her ways and after a few technical difficulties that were solved by one Vicky Lopez, Alexia was left in one of the common rooms of the hotel with her laptop hooked up to the projector. Bean bags scattered the room for a few others to watch the game, some who were up to watch any football match in existence out of love for the game and others who were watching for the sake of you, knowing the importance of a seemingly inconspicuous international game. 

Front and centre with her laptop in front of her ready to solve any further problems, adamant to not miss a single second of the game, was Alexia. Her game was the day after, the greatest twist of fate she could ever ask for, because otherwise she might have simply had to drop out of her own game so she could watch you. To her left was Irene, as well as Mariona on her right. More teammates were scattered behind her, but her attention wasn’t on them.

By the time the warm-up was done, you were well and truly in the zone. You were ready, couldn’t be more ready if you tried. The sounds of your boots against the floor as you made your way back to the locker room was music to your ears, the smell of grass and the way blades of it clung to your boots, socks, skin, it was grounding. 

You’d been doing this since you were a child, the same age as that young fan outside the ground earlier. The feel of your studs digging into the mud below and the rhythm of the sport was second nature. It was peace, it was your safe space. Trying to convince yourself this was just any other game was useless, it was the biggest game of your personal standards so far. You might have won the Champion’s League, might have gotten a quadruple with the club of your dreams. This was different to that. 

This was establishing who you were, to yourself. This was you separating yourself from your team, being your own person and taking something for you. This was an individual achievement that might not make sense to most but meant everything to you. 

The best part of it all? You weren’t nervous or anxious in the slightest.

Not anxious, even when you stood in front of your jersey where it was hung up at your cubby. Even when you changed from your warm-up kit to the shirt that had pride and responsibility entangled in the fibres of it. 

Every match before this, you had been playing with a goal in mind for your team. Instead, there was only one real purpose in mind for an otherwise unimportant game: for you to get through it, for nobody but yourself. You wanted to play well, you wanted to put out a star-stopping performance like you did every time, but if you played like the worst player in the world you wouldn’t really care long as you made it to the final whistle. 

…well, maybe that was a stretch, god only knows what would happen if you ended up scoring a hattrick of own goals or something stupid like that, but the chances of that happening against you dropping a mediocre performance was quite unlikely. 

No matter how you performed, you knew you had a support system behind you that would make you feel like the world was yours, like you were invincible. That’s just how they made you feel on a day to day basis. And it was how you felt when you checked your phone before the final team, to see a long and soppy text from Alexia about how proud she was, how she had tears in her eyes before the whistle had even blew, how she had never felt so much love and pride for another person ever, and so much more that echoed in your mind as you made your way to the tunnel. 

Ingrid lined up behind you, her hand lightly tapping your shoulder to gain your attention. The look on her face was determined, focused, like yours, yet there was an underlying softness in her eyes like she could burst out into sobs any second at the sight of you in front of her, about to play for your country again. Her lips were in a straight, thin line as if she was fighting off the world’s biggest smile, and she held her arms out to offer you a hug whilst not putting any pressure on the invitation. But you couldn’t resist, so you stepped into her arms and momentarily hid your face in her shoulder.

She didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but hug you, a reprieve from everything around that you would remember long into the future. There wasn’t anyone you would rather have at your side, and there especially wasn’t anyone else in the world that deserved to be at your side for such a momentous day than her. 

That last pocket of time before the game started, you closed your eyes and took a second to breathe, step back from the importance of the situation, and remind yourself that no matter what happens, you’ve still hit a milestone you never thought you would again. The outcome of the game was somewhat in your control, as long as you gave it your all, nobody could ask for anything more, and you couldn’t ask for anymore from yourself either. You had faith in yourself, something that previous versions of you never had. And that was the most important takeaway from this whole thing.

When you stepped out onto the grass for the second time that day, this occasion the actual moment you’d been waiting for, you allowed yourself to take in the surroundings and the gravity of the event as you lined up for the national anthems. The second they were over, and you made your rounds with the other team shaking hands, you slipped into that unshakable trance that always overcame you for a game, and got the job done.

—

“You did it, engel.” 

Was there any better sound after a day like the one you’d had?

“You did it, and you scored a goal, and you won the game, and got player of the match.” 

Your girlfriend was right. 

So far though, everything post-match was sort of a blur. In a few days time, when things had calmed and you had time to process things, each little sentimental conversation and congratulation and recognition for what you had achieved, they would all jump out into a clear picture to make up one of the best days of your life. For now however, it was all a little too far out of view. All you had was a concoction of feelings which had settled deep in your chest, a heavy mixture of accomplishment and overwhelm. 

Once the adrenaline and dopamine rush wore off, you were left in a pit of… mental discomfort. Disarray. 

You had built the occasion up so much, but how were you supposed to feel afterwards? What was the expected reaction? 

“I couldn’t stop crying, really. And you looked so happy afterwards too, tell me how you are, tell me all about it. I’m so sad I wasn’t there.” 

Ingrid was sat on the bed beside you as Alexia took up your phone screen, leaning over the balcony of her hotel room back in Spain. Unlike normal, even just their company did little, if anything, to calm your overthinking. 

What you do remember, was getting quite lost in your emotions after the final whistle. You shook hands with the opposing team, you saw Ingrid coming rushing towards you from the bench before she wrapped you up in a tight hug and lifted you off the ground, which was where it all sunk in. Then fast forward to the post-match huddle on the pitch, during which you were made centre of attention and emphatically congratulated for both your performance and personal achievement, and suddenly you were wired. 

The locker room afterwards, all you remembered at that moment of time was it vibrating with energy, with you at the centre of it. The coach ride back too, you were giddy and completely overjoyed at how successful the day had gone, it literally couldn’t have been much better. 

“I’m so proud of you, I don’t know what else to say. But I a-”

And yet, your mind did what it did best, and got the better of you. It twisted and warped the already skewed memory you had to play into your insecurities and downplay the pride of others.

You overestimated their excitement, didn’t you? You imagined something that wasn’t there just to feed into your own wishes, dreams, delusions. None of them were anywhere near as excited for you. It was just. One. Game.

“Do other people feel like this after… playing one game?” 

Both of them looked at you, utterly perplexed. Alexia was still rambling about how proud she was and Ingrid was on her phone, thanking people on your behalf, when you’d said that out of nowhere. The worst part though, was that you glanced at them like it wasn’t an upsetting question for them to hear. Like you were genuinely asking as a result of the racing thoughts going around your head.

“What do you mean by that?” Ingrid wondered with a frown that matched Alexia’s too. 

The Norwegian next to you looked like she was angry at what she’d heard, you didn’t take it to heart though because she had a tendency to look fairly homicidal when something worried her. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, seemed as if she was on the brink of tears. Her face exuded delicateness, like one more comment might send her crying into her cotton socks, and you had to avert your attention away from the earnesty in her eyes because it might have swayed you into thinking that you were allowed to feel so fulfilled after just one game.

“Everyone else doesn’t get this excited and whatever after one match. It’s a bit… ridiculous and childish, isn’t it.” 

The blonde’s jaw dropped for a moment whilst Ingrid’s clenched in heartbreak and disappointment – not at you, but rather at the fact you couldn’t even enjoy such a milestone.

“No. You aren’t allowed to think like that.” Alexia stated first which caught you and Ingrid by surprise. “Please give her a hug from me.” 

Her request nearly brought a smile to your face despite the self-deprecating habits that ran the show, and you cracked just a little when your best friend did as asked almost immediately. Through the camera, Alexia could see as you settled into it, noticing how you sank into Ingrid like you needed a hug. Not just a brief, congratulatory one that felt almost obligated, but one where somebody you loved embraced you tightly, tight enough to quell the feelings that stirred inside of you. As she watched, however, that realisation of the midfielder slowly faded into how much she needed one from you. How much she desperately wanted to be in Ingrid’s position then.

Once you pulled away, Alexia could already tell part of the weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Not all of it, the rest probably wouldn’t budge until you slept it off when you let your body and mind rest, but still. Progress. And it was all she could do from afar, sending her love in any way that worked. That was something she was still figuring out, and each time you reluctantly had to spend time apart, she got better at it. Of course, as you returned to Norway for the national team, that was the occasion she finally knew best what to do. Because even though she wasn’t there with you, it sure did feel like it. 

“Don’t start undermining yourself now, snuppa. You have nothing to worry about, you’ve done all that you need to do. You should be feeling happy for yourself. Not like this.” Ingrid murmured, loosening her arms when she finished talking to leave a kiss on your forehead. Alexia hummed her agreement, smiling softly when you turned back to her, a small action that filled your heart with adoration and made you blush the tiniest bit. Though, it was still noticed by the Spaniard, who gave a teasing grin once she did.

“You know we are proud of you, and everybody else is too. I know I wasn’t there, but I can bet my life on the fact the team showed you how they felt, no? So why are you thinking that what you feel is not allowed?” She asked, a playful lilt to her voice that proved she wasn’t irritated by your adamance to not celebrate yourself, rather she was more than happy to take on the role of hyping you up until the joy you locked away finally bloomed in full. 

“I don’t know, it’s just… weird. Feels weird for one game to be such a big deal.” 

“No.” A lonesome demand which left no room for argument.

“What do you mean ‘no’ Ale?” You scrunched your nose up at the woman’s peculiar behaviour, meanwhile Ingrid stifled a laugh.

“You can’t think like that. I’m saying no.” She had a smugness to her face that communicated she had some sort of plan going on. Not that you could tell, but Ingrid could. You were the most confused you think you’d ever been in your entire life. Coincidentally, it took away some of the things bearing down on your shoulders since it derailed your mind from its destructive route and pulled you in the opposite direction of the toxicity it so desperately clung onto.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just say no to m-”

“I could tell, even from across the screen, that you were proud of yourself when the game ended. You had a huge smile on your face, one that made me cry. What you’re doing now is trying to fit into what you think everybody else expects from you, but it’s not that at all. We expect you to be happy and proud because you should be. This is not some small achievement, it wasn’t just a game, it was something that plagued you for years and now it’s all in the past because of how strong and determined and brave you are. So, come on, say it for yourself.” She looked at you expectantly, an eyebrow raised as she waited. You were almost certain that outside of the camera frame, she had a hand on her hip as she tapped her against the floor like an impatient train ticketer. 

“Say what?” 

“You know what.” Ingrid glanced at you, letting out a huff of laughter when she saw the unimpressed frown you wore at the coup that had transpired against you. “I know you feel it deep down, you just don’t think you’re allowed to believe and say it. But you are, so say it out loud now to us both.” 

You rolled your eyes and cursed her out under your breath as you shook your head at her antics.

“If you don’t say it, I’m hanging up the call.” Still, you stayed silent for a bit longer. Alexia let out a theatrical sigh, much more exaggerated and dramatic than was necessary. You threw your head back against the pillow and groaned in frustration. “Vale, I am leaving then, goodni-”

“Alright, alright!” You exclaimed with another annoyed sigh. You then said it, but in a reluctant and barely audible mumble. “I’m proud of myself.” 

“Are you? Are you actually?” Alexia’s eyebrow shot up even higher somehow, provoking an honest answer from you instead of a hesitant and disdainful one.

“Yes. I am proud of myself.” 

That time when you spoke, you sounded awfully bashful. For all the right reasons too; a second or so after you finally said it and meant it, there was this warmth that flooded your chest. The realisation that you did feel that way about yourself washed over you and almost took your breath away. 

The old you would have never admitted such an unprecedented thing because feeling proud towards something of your own doing wasn’t a thing, it wasn’t a concept and it certainly wasn’t a possibility. The old you would have shrugged off the praises of others and reminded yourself that success wasn’t an accomplishment, but a necessity. What other choice did you have than to succeed? If you were going to do something, you only did it if you knew you would achieve the outcome you wanted. If there was a possibility that you weren’t, then you didn’t do it, through fear of underwhelming others, and proving to your subconscious that you really were the subpar human both you and the rest of the world thought you were.

Yet, you sat on your bed at a hotel in the capital of your home country with two people that had changed you for the better, having reached something that you never thought you would manage to do again. Not only did you manage it, you flourished whilst doing it. 

So yeah, maybe you were proud of yourself. Because with the pair that celebrated the moment with you, you’d become the person that the younger you, the one that hadn’t yet heard of autism and still had dreams bigger than the universe, always thought you’d be. You’d grown into the example you saw growing up as a teenager but never imagined yourself as due to the limits put on you. The two people with you then had allowed that to happen. They gave you a safe space to exist in, to daydream in and to wish for things bigger and better than you ever had before. They returned the true version of yourself back to you, the one that had been lost for a few years and you felt whole. Rather than clipping your wings, they gave you space to soar. And the version of you as a child that could hardly sleep at night due to being enraptured by your imagination and all the things you wanted to do in the future, she had a sacred space to live in again, back in your heart, as a result of your resilience and the love that surrounded you.

“I’m really proud of myself.” 

Ingrid’s face softened immeasurably as you admitted it wholeheartedly that time, meaning every single syllable of the phrase. Alexia, on the other hand, was grinning like a maniac, however the teasing act she was trying to put on was severely overlooked then when you saw how her eyes glistened in the sunlight that bounced off of the building across from her. It forced the same reaction upon you too, and before you knew it, there was a tear streaking down your cheek. 

“I can’t believe I did it.” You choked out, Ingrid wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her. Alexia briefly turned the camera away from her to try and hide how she wiped her own tears, but the sniffles coming from her gave away instantly. It only made you cry more.

“You did do it. We really could not be happier for you.” The dark-haired woman told you sincerely, the pair of you turning to the phone screen when a stifled sob sounded through the room. 

“I’m so happy. I’ve never been happier than I am right now.” 

It was one thing for you and Ingrid to have never seen Alexia like that, in such an emotional state, but it was a big thing for her too. 

To her, it was like from the minute you stepped into her life, everything she felt had increased tenfold in intensity. Every emotion overcame her a hundred times harder than before, she suddenly had especially strong opinions about things she’d never had to think about before you, and she knew for a fact she loved with more conviction than she ever did before. Every aspect of her life was just so… vibrant. And full of life. The way you viewed the world had unknowingly affected how she saw it too, because she genuinely, completely, absolutely believed that it was so much more beautiful through your eyes. 

You taught her how to love, that much she knew. But what she didn’t realise until that moment, was that you had also taught her how to be a better person. A better girlfriend, sister, daughter, friend, human. You had taught her how to be more in tune with herself, more comfortable with who she was. Seeing someone express themself as freely as you did, it made Alexia want to do the same too. So it meant a great deal to her when you mentioned only a few days prior that she was your safe person, because she thought that about you too.

If she thought you were the best person she’d ever met, and you thought the world of her? It gave her, Alexia Putellas, Ballon d’Or winner and World Cup winner, more confidence than anything else in existence could ever do. It gave her more security in showing the emotions she well and truly felt, rather than suppressing them for the sake of others. At the same time, it made her feel comfortable in expressing emotions that were new to her also. Like, for example, not just tearing up at an achievement someone else had got, but sobbing at it. From pride, from love, from admiration, all of that and more.

She felt she was on cloud nine being loved by you. It was the greatest privilege of her life. Seeing the person that she loved and that loved her do something they so desperately wanted to do was indescribable. Every emotion she experienced then were things she didn’t even know she could feel. That was just the effect of being around you; everything out of reach suddenly seemed… possible. 

From that day onwards, she knew she had to make it her mission to remind you what an astounding person you were, even more so than she already had been doing. She had to make sure you knew she loved you in ways she had no idea she could. 

—

Having something that stressed you out to extreme heights go as successful as your first game did, it had an obvious impact on how your daily mood. It was evident to everyone in the way you carried yourself, both to those that knew you well and those that hardly knew you at all.

Walking into breakfast the day after the game, each person in the room could see you held your head higher, you had a smile on your face that never left, and there was just this air about you, this confidence that wasn’t there beforehand. The change was literally night and day. And it uplifted everyone.

With it being a recovery day, the schedule was light compared to a day of training. That meant you had more free time than normal, and whereas previous days that would have made you panic, nothing could shake you out of the bliss you found your mind living in. Rather than shying away from all the suggestions thrown at you of what you could spend the day doing, you relished in it. 

First, you ate breakfast, vafler of course, courtesy of an extra upbeat Heidi, seated with some of the more unfamiliar faces of the group as Ingrid caught up with them. Initially you were quiet, but as the conversation flowed between the table, you found yourself joining with ease. There was an occasion or two where you found yourself overthinking what you wanted to add, but the more time went on, the less that happened. By the end of breakfast a number of days into camp, you’d quite comfortably found solace in each person in the squad. Unlike the past, there wasn’t a single member of both the team and the staff that you felt uncomfortable and unwelcome around. 

You found that, rather quickly, this was becoming a place you wanted to come back to as often as you could. For the people, the sense of belonging and even family, for the home comforts of your country, and for the sheer triumph that had established itself within you. Everything that happened in the past, all the mental scars and the wounds to your self-esteem, were fading away as if they were never there in the first place. 

Not only did it give you a great amount of joy and relief at being with the national team again and adorning the Norway crest, it was healing. In a way you never knew you needed but couldn’t go on without. Even with one match still to go of the camp, you could tell you were a completely new person. You were a new version of yourself, one that you loved most and were proud to be.

“Hey, uh, apparently there is a sight-seeing cruise the staff have booked for anyone that wants to go. A few of us are going, will you come too?” 

It was Frida that had appeared beside you as you stacked your plate on top of the other used ones once you’d finished eating, a hopeful smile on her face because she wanted you to go, you recognised that. She wasn’t asking for the sake of asking, something you would have convinced yourself of in the past.

Was going on a sight-seeing cruise on your agenda when you woke up? No, but it sounded like the perfect way to spend a day where you otherwise had no plans. Of course you wanted to go.

A good few hours of your afternoon were taken up with the spontaneous boat trip that took you around some of Oslo’s fjords on a traditional sailing ship, around half the team coming along and making the day-out a hell of a lot of fun. Drinks were shared, food was eaten, anecdotes were told and jokes were made about anything and everything in between. 

When you planned to come back, you didn’t think it would be this good. You knew that once you got back home, it wasn’t just the achievement you had to take with you and remember forever, it was the memories like that which would live in your heart. There was one instance specifically on the boat where you were sat with some of the team, new faces and old, where you took a second as the others continued to laugh and drink the single glasses of wine they were allowed, in which you could feel the warm crackle of contentment slowly simmering in your chest as you sat with them all. You thrived off of the connection you experienced with others, and there on the boat you recognised how pure and unfiltered what you'd found was. Your mask wasn’t up, you weren’t pretending to be someone you weren’t to try and fit in. 

You appreciated the people you were with much more than they would ever understand, comprehend even. As the thought crossed your mind and the gratitude burned inside you, there was a huge grin on your face you didn’t hide, couldn’t try to if you wanted to, because of how happy you felt. The conversation then wasn’t particularly funny, it wouldn’t explain the size of the smile on your face, but none of them cared. They didn’t point it out and make it the butt of the joke. A few of them noticed and felt themself have the same reaction too, they cared about your joy just as much as everyone else that knew you. Frida saw it too, nudging Ingrid in the process who swore she hadn’t seen a better sight.

You, with friends you’d made on the national team, immersed in the conversation and the banter with no doubts or fears, and a genuine smile on your face. It might not have been a milestone to others, but to her it was one she’d remember on your behalf for as long as her mind would let her.

Near the end of the journey on the way back, you were at the back of the boat away from the dialed-down madness now that the impromptu trip was almost over, you facing the sunset as you left the horizon behind. With the dwindling hours of the day, it’d dropped in temperature, aided by the calm water below and the chill that drifted in the air. You tugged your zipped coat over your chin, hands tucked deep into your pockets with ears so cold they were probably verging on purple. But even then, it was a cold you were used to, a cold that was your home, and it hardly even registered in your mind as you took some time to process what the trip had been and the events of the day before, with your first match back and all. 

Still, you were speechless, unable to make sense of everything. Such huge, almost life-changing things like this, it took a long while for you to fully grasp what you thought of it all. The only thing you could highlight was that it was worth it. So. Worth it.

The way the world worked was funny to you, how life worked out when it seemed least likely to. If you hadn't met Ingrid, you might not have continued playing football, since you met her at such a time where everything felt uninspiring and pointless, just for her to end up restoring the slightest bit of faith that kept you playing. If you hadn’t transferred to Barcelona and stayed in Frankfurt instead, where you’d hit the ceiling of your abilities both professionally and personally, maybe you wouldn’t have ever returned to playing for your country. If you hadn’t met Alexia, you certainly wouldn’t have felt so loved, so content in your safe space to leave your comfort zone, so much more confident with yourself, you just wouldn’t be who you were and where you were now. 

Others could see it too.

“Are you alright?” Frida came to join you, the person you’d got along with best so far in camp, her cheeks a deep red but a warm smile on her face nevertheless.

“Yes, just taking it all in. I have been to Oslo so many times but have never seen it like this.” 

Something you noticed was that Frida’s eyes brightened when she spoke to people. You had no idea it was possible, but it was the truth, it was impossible to deny. Whether it was the way her face exuded glee whenever she smiled, because she didn’t just do it with her mouth but with every muscle in her face, or it was her soul reflecting the light within it, you didn’t know. But by the time you finished speaking, you mirrored her expression.

“Me too. Normally the staff book things for us if we want to do them, but they haven’t done something like this before. I really loved it.” She agreed, to which you nodded easily. There was a slight pause, before she turned to you properly. “I am glad you came. It is nice to see you like this, back here. I’m happy that you are happy, and that you are fitting in. It’s been really nice getting to know you properly.” 

You were just so grateful for how things had worked out for you. Never before had you been so at peace in your life.

“Thank you, Frida. I’ve… I’ve had a lot of fun here. I’m really glad I came.” Somehow, her smile got brighter.

“Me too! Will you come back for the next camp?”

That was something you had spent most of the night before thinking about. And by the time the sun began to rise, you were pretty certain of your answer.

“Yes, I think so.” You answered shyly, to which the blonde haired woman beamed at you. All the more reason to come back.

“Good, otherwise you would have to come to London so I can see you again.” She joked and you laughed in response, but underneath the surface you felt your heart clench at the sentiment. She wanted to see you again. A simple thing to her, treasured thing to you.

“You should come visit Barcelona, the weather is a lot better there.” Frida laughed along with you, as light and as gentle as the way she spoke.

“No, London weather is more like home, Barcelona is too hot for me.” 

All too soon, however, the boat pulled into the harbour and the day had come to an end. Or so you thought – your plan was to have dinner, then spend the rest of the night in your hotel room, coming down from the day. However, your teammates had other things in mind.

“Some of us are going to play cards later, care to join us?” 

The offer from Celin as she skipped to catch up with you was a tantilising one, though it wasn’t in your plan for the evening and you were pretty tired from all the emotions that had ripped through you recently. Despite that, with one look at her and the fact you knew it’d be a fun time, you gave in rather quickly. You nodded, and the forward grinned excitedly before going off to round up some others. 

During the walk back to the hotel, you weren’t convinced it was the right idea for you. You were tired, you were quite mentally exhausted, and any extra socialising might push you over the edge. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. After eating dinner, a select few of you, including Frida and Ingrid, stayed behind and spent a good hour or so immersed in many intense, highly competitive – because what else would be expected from a group of athletes – card games of different variations. And it didn’t go on too long, the rest were tired and wanted to relax on their own before training the next day with another game in only three days’ time, so it ended up working out perfectly. 

There really wasn’t anything more you could ask for from this whole thing.

—

The second and last game of the camp came and went pretty quick, and it went much the same way as the first. That time, however, you felt settled and calm from the second you woke up. There was no anxiety, no moments of utter blind panic, no doubts. You were focused for the game ahead with no preamble. It was a really, really good sign. One that wasn’t wrong, either, because you had yet another stellar game that Alexia watched with her eyes glued to the screen, except this time when the whistle blew there was a spark of excitement in her chest because that meant she was just one day away from getting to see you again. 

One sleep, one flight, one taxi ride, and you’d be back together again. So despite the MVP award that you’d been given again, all you could think about was arriving at your apartment to find her there and waiting for you. Her flight got in earlier, so she had ample time to go home and refresh herself, then get to your flat by the time you got back, and you just couldn’t wait for it. Reuniting with her after time apart had never felt so meaningful and needed. It had been torture going through the last two weeks without her; being on top of the world but without the person that had got you there was terrible luck. Your phone call with her afterwards was all soft murmurs and giddy declarations for what would soon come, topping off what had been another flawless day in Norway. 

You’d miss the chilly country, but you also missed Spain too. Missed your club, your apartment, the warmer weather, your teammates. All of the above never happened at Frankfurt, as harsh as it sounds. Not that there was warmer weather there exactly, but the point still stands. 

The game finished in the early evening, which left perfect time for there to be a sort of goodbye dinner, the best way to end the camp before everyone went their separate ways back to club football again. It was lowkey, it was heartfelt, and there were a couple occasions you caught yourself looking around the room and reminiscing on what the last fortnight had been. 

A success is what it had been. In all avenues: football, socially, personally. You took the time to acknowledge that it was everyone else in your life that had gotten you there, but you could hear Alexia in the back of your head.

“You did this yourself. All we did was urge you, it was you that took yourself there and woke up each day determined to make it go well. We did nothing really, it was all you, engel.” 

It had always been the most important thing to you to make sure you gave credit to those around who helped you. This time, however, you made the conscious effort to give yourself credit too. It felt incredibly unnatural and embarrassingly forced sometimes, like a cringey motivational podcast, yet you still tried. Initially you shrugged it off. Then, you truly started to take it in. Before you knew it, you were lay in bed on your final night before returning home, letting yourself sink into the mattress and feeling the weight of your effort lift, because it was done. Over. 

Knowing that you had faced something that seemed unexplainably difficult, pushed through the hard moments, and came out of it stronger, wiser, with a better sense of yourself and two matches under your belt, it… felt like you could finally release a deep breath you’d held in for years. The quiet yet powerful realisation that you actually did it kept sleep far out of reach, that wasn’t a surprise, and even though you might have looked a little psychotic lying in a pitch-black room in the middle of the night, you didn’t stifle the smile that forced its way through. You’d worked so hard to feel that pride, you weren’t about to fight it off. 

You let it consume you, not annoyed at the lack of rest, knowing that you were about to go home to your girlfriend who would tackle you into bed at 4pm if necessary to ensure you got the sleep you needed, and she wouldn’t move an inch out of your space for the whole time. Dreamy. 

You couldn’t wait to see her proud face in person, not a lagging phone screen, hearing her ramble with her arms around you rather than over a phone call with a tinny signal. 

Ingrid could sense your excitement from the other side of the hotel room as you both packed your things the morning you were due to leave. She couldn’t help it, she felt the same too. There was a small something hidden away in her backpack she was due to give to you before you went your separate ways, you back to your apartment and Ingrid back to hers. It had been Alexia’s idea, a plan discussed whilst you slept in the next bed over as she spoke in a hushed whisper that Alexia could hardly hear, each time she asked the Norwegian to repeat herself adding to the risk of you waking up. Alas, you didn’t and you were none the wiser to their conniving behaviour.

The duration of the short flight, the dark-haired woman swore she could feel you physically vibrating with excitement in your seat beside her; legs bouncing, hands either wringing together or tapping against your thighs, you pulled out all the stops. The only thing Ingrid could do was smile with amusement, deep down revelling in your clear joy and your carelessness for showing it. And it continued from the flight, to the shuttle to the terminal, to the car ride that dropped you off back home. 

Barcelona was well and truly home. Or, home was just wherever your life with Alexia was.

Your desperate anticipation was entirely all-consuming, to the point where Ingrid had to pull you back by the handle on your backpack to keep you from running off before she got to say goodbye. Well, not a goodbye as such since you’d be seeing each other in a couple days back at the club, and you did live in the same complex, but she still wanted to have a final moment with you to round off the international period.

Her hands landed on your shoulders once you’d entered the elevator together, and her facial features fell into that soft, “I’m about to say something sincere and you’re going to let me say it,” kind of look. She held your gaze for a few long moments as the building floors ticked by, and there was a smile that crinkled her eyes in the corners. Really, she didn’t need to say a word. You saw the unspoken message etched across her whole being: I knew you could do it.

Then, of course, she drew you into one of her usual hugs that had you toeing the line of death due to lack of oxygen, along with a gentle murmur in your ear of Stolt av deg, the combination of your mother tongue and the honesty she spoke it with poking at your tear ducts. The sentimental value of the moment was almost overwhelming, it was all you could do to hug her back like your life depended on it. 

Your dignity was saved by the bell, literally, as the doors opened and the chime to match it went off, alerting you both as you pulled away and Ingrid reached for her backpack. It was her floor, though she wasn’t getting out just yet, to your confusion. Your eyebrows pinched together as she rooted around in her bag for a little while, until she pulled out a small gift bag. 

“This is for you.” She said simply as the elevator doors shut again, though it didn’t go anywhere. “From all of us at camp, but it was Alexia’s idea. She wanted to do something for you. So thank her, okay? She’s in awe of you, as are us all. But her especially.”

And with a quick kiss to your forehead, she was grabbing her suitcase and leaving the elevator. By the time your brain caught up, the doors were already closing again. You stood frozen to the spot for a second or two, cheeks red and your head spinning at the prospect of the gift in your hand, whatever it was you didn’t know yet, before you pressed the button for your floor and the elevator started whirring again.

For the whole journey up – which was about fifteen seconds – you stared at the bag in your hand, staggered by the sudden surprise. This definitely wasn’t on the cards for your return home. Regardless, you realised your heart rate had picked up a little. Whether it was from the gift or the prospect that Alexia was only one closed door away from you as you stepped out the lift, you didn’t care. 

It was a miracle you didn’t run to your door really, though you found that since getting out of the car, your energy had dipped quite an amount. There was only one logical explanation for that; all the exhaustion the past fortnight had caused was catching up to you now that you were soon to be with the one person that you could properly rest with.

You hardly managed one knock at the door, not bothering with your keys, before it swung open to reveal her. You didn’t even catch a glance at her– one second your feet were on the ground, next minute you had a face full of faded blonde hair and a familiar pair of arms around you that lifted you up into the tightest embrace she’d ever given. It was a bit awkward given that you weren’t quite expecting it and you still had your backpack on, but, hoping that your gift wasn’t fragile, you dropped it to the ground and wrapped yourself around her wholly. 

God only knows how long the two of you spent like that, but neither of you were prepared to move for a long while, wanting to drink in each other’s company again. You planned to not pull back until Alexia did, a plan that was entirely scuffed when you heard a quiet sniffle. 

When you leaned back, the picture before you was unexpected, yet made your heart swell.

“Why are you tearing up, Ale?” You asked in a quiet voice, your hands moving up to rest on her cheeks as she linked her own together behind your back.

“Because you are back here with me again. Because you make me proud by being you, and you make me proud to love you.” Her voice trembled with her reply and it made it all the more sweeter. 

That last part about her being proud to love you, just might never leave your mind. Nobody had ever said they were proud to love you, nevermind mean it. You know there were probably some in your life that felt the same way but weren’t too sure how to articulate it, but Alexia did. She always did. You were proud to love her, too. 

“I love you, Alexia. And I missed you so much.” 

After shrugging off your bag, you rushed in for a hug, a proper one this time. One where you ducked your head down and buried your face in her neck as her body enveloped you, the kind you’d craved every morning you woke up and every night before you slept. All you could think then was finally. Finally, the person who’d had the biggest impact on you out of everyone, maybe bar Ingrid, could feel it within you in her arms. The way your shoulders were lighter and your posture stood taller, how it did from the morning after the first game. 

“I love you too. Love you, love you, love you, lo-” You removed your head from her neck, rolled your eyes, and shut her up with a kiss. A cliche, soppy, rom-com movie kind of kiss at the end of the film when the protagonists finally got together. That word again, finally. Except the two of you had said those words probably thousands of times and it never got old.

“That was the longest two weeks of my life, god.” You groaned as you rested your forehead against hers, eyes falling shut as you enjoyed the close proximity to her again. She gave an unreasonably wide grin for such a simple comment, and pulled you closer to her somehow, to the point where any outsiders wouldn’t have a clue where she ended and you began.

“For me too, but it was worth it, no?” The way she proposed the question, you knew it was her last way of properly checking in with you before embedding the two of you in post-success joy, where she could at last go on and on and on forever about the two weeks. You loved it, the way she wanted to know what you were thinking at times she thought you might be covering the truth, without doing it in an oppressive and irritated way. Your answering smile gave you away before you had the chance to think of a reply.

“So worth it.” You told her shyly, watching as her entire demeanour lit up more than it already was before. “How was camp for you? I’ve barely got a word in about it.” 

“No, no, no. Let’s not bring the mood down with that, I just want to forget it.” You frowned, a notion Alexia caught onto instantly as she waved you off, so she distracted you with a comforting kiss to your cheek and a bright smile. “Ingrid gave you the gift, right? Open it now.” 

Making a mental note to revisit that conversation, you let it slide temporarily. You reached down and grabbed the bag again, glancing between that and Alexia’s somewhat nervous face with a questioning look. A slightly accusatory one as well, because there really was no need for her to get a gift after everything she had already done for you.

“What have you done?” You wondered suspiciously, the blonde anxiously chewing her lower lip as she waited for you to see what it was.

“Just… something. For you. From me. And your Norway teammates, and-” 

“Okay, well, quit the anxious rambling and let me open it.” You teased, some of the tension leaving her shoulders with the quiet chuckle she gave.

Never in your life could you have predicted what was waiting for you.

In the world of football, the gift was a common thing for reasons you thought were much more important than the one you were given it for. You didn’t expect to receive one, but you got it, it was right there in your hands.

Your shirt from the first game you played, first match you started, signed by each and every teammate there, along with some staff members like Heidi and Gemma. All of them took the time, under instruction by Ingrid and Alexia, to sign it for you as a token of their respect, their admiration, and their support. Unwithering support, each and every single one of them. Ingrid had nearly cried at the suggestion Alexia made, and the latter woman could cry as she watched you stare at it in disbelief.

“I thought it would be nice if we had it framed and put it on a wall in your apartment. So that you can see it and be reminded of it everyday. You seem to struggle with remembering your strengths and I think this is the biggest example I could get to help you with that. I want you to acknowledge all you have overcome to get here, I want you to see the product of your hard work. Well, this is that. I think. I don’t know. If you don’t agree, then we can, I don’t know, n-”

“Shut up.” 

“Q…qué?” 

“Shut up, Alexia. This is the best thing someone has ever done for me.” 

The midfielder scoffed lightheartedly to brush off the bold statement out of fear of what it might have done to her emotions. She stepped closer again and hugged you, unable to keep herself away from you after so much time apart. And you just fell into her, arms loose around her waist as she placed one of those beautifully soft kisses against your forehead whilst whispering the purest declarations you’d ever heard.

Your emotions, on the other hand, had hit such a height, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. They’d built up so much that you were frozen by them. The sole thought that escaped through was just… finally.

Finally, you had someone that was proud to love you, someone that would go behind your back and plot from another country the best gift to give you, someone that let you be… you. No mask, no anxiety, no fear of being too much. You had people around you that saw you for who you were rather than what you weren’t, that didn’t care if some traits were different, because, as a product of finally being in a place in life both metaphorically and physically, you didn’t change a thing about yourself.

Finally, you were the person you always set out to be. 

—

i am so, so sorry for how long this took to come out! it's been a time these last few weeks. after i posted part one i had an awful experience with trolls in my inbox and it was the worst thing i've had to deal with, and to be completely honest if it happens again with this one i'm most likely gonna dip out of here for good, i just don't have the energy to deal with that. anyways it was so bizarre writing p1 when i was manically anxious about uni because that part was similar to how i felt then, compared to now with p2 where i'm happy and settled at uni and still riding the wave of relief at how it's worked out there like in this fic. thanks for sticking around and waiting, hope you liked this little story within a story, there will be more to come of reverie hopefully if all goes well :)

[shotofstress]

Coming back after being almost a week without electricity, phone, and internet connection. Huge storms with lightning and rain, and winds. We have never have winds like that here and the roof of so many houses were ripped off, stuff flying, etc. All this bc global warming, and the deforestation and mining in our lands. At this rate, in 5 years we will have tornadoes, a thing we have never ever have here. Nor our lands, infrastructures, states, and culture are prepared for this. Areas of the country are devastated, ppl have died, many are without electricity nor Internet connection so they are isolated. The houses are flooding with water, and the ones that not, are leaking from the ceiling. Too many neighbours and compatriots don't have roofs and the streets are full of fallen trees and pieces of roof material, no electricity, no signal, food rotting, but suffering at the same time for the cold of this terrible winter, and trying to do something, patching even when its gonna go to hell when the storm comes again this next days. More than 33,200 people affected and 41,500 isolated due to 5 days of rain and windstorms. In just a couple of days there were 170,000 homes left without power due to wind and rainstorms and even more as time went by.

If u want to help me to fix the roof, walls, to buy food and being warm this winter please check my PayPal. If u can't donate, please reblog bc thats the only way to make this being seen by ppl thus receiving help. I'm really not being able to keep living like this, i can no longer cope, so please share.

Here are in my PayPal or MACH . I took the kofi link bc they were charging me a fee.

Please, educate about global warming and the effects on Global South, specially for working class, chronically ill, autistic, disable, and long covid survivor ppl like myself.

Edit: I added links and pics

Edit: the weather is better (is finally spring at this current date 24th nov), but I still need to fix were I live/sleep bc the walls are broken and one of the walls is not a wall, but like 1cm wide stuff and all was bad build so even the door is twisted and dont work correctly, there is black mold that i think is damaging my ears, the paint is falling, the lamp has fallen, everything is broken and ugly, etc. I still need to buy food, meds, and everything so please, please, share or donate if you could. I don't want to survive like this and here, no one mask even when they were the ones giving me covid and they have making me also catch flu the other day bc they cogh over everything and don't care if they kill me, they are abusive and really violent people and are working to put me and everyone in danger. I dont even want to be in my country bc we will have a dictatorship soon, but I have nowhere else to go nor money to migrate (i need like $10.537 dollars or € 9.760,95 euros to pay all the documents, the bank money I have to show to prove I am a human being deserver of rights, the tickets, rent money and stuff to migrate).

I currently (date 14 Jan 2025) have $100 dollars donated (coz i spent 40 in food and meds this past month)

I know i will die here, but at least help me to survive in a less dehumanising way.

Edit: tumblr has blocked me from recive or send messages from the chat and comment of posts, so if you are trying to reach throughout there I can't see it, sorry, I'm cut from any communication (cant even see past messages from chat or asks), except send asks. I'm waiting that tumblr do something, but still hasn't even answered the help file I sent to them.

[laurentpark]

don’t tell my boyfriend! — [16] glow

synopsis. where jimin stalks her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend after a certain incident happened and couldn’t help but grow hatred over her. coincidentally, her and jimin happen to be global ambassadors of the same famous luxury brand and have to work together for a commercial. at first, jimin despised the girl with all her flesh and bones but soon understands why her boyfriend fell for the young actress in the first place… because she was starting to fall for the young actress as well.

warning: slightly suggestive.

the cameras have finally stopped rolling for the last time, and the energy on set is electric with relief. the crew is scattered across the studio, laughing, packing up equipment, and exchanging congratulations on a job well done. the commercial that had taken weeks to shoot is officially complete.

but feels none of the relief that seems to flood the room. instead, there’s an odd tightness in her chest, a strange mix of restlessness and dread that she can’t quite shake.

because this is it. the last day. the last time she’ll share the same space with y/n like this.

the thought twists in her gut.

she slips away from the crowd, heels clicking softly against the polished concrete floor as she steps into one of the quieter corners of the studio. the lounge area is empty now, the warm, ambient lighting casting long shadows on the plush couches and glass coffee table.

jimin sinks onto one of the couches, kicking off her heels and rubbing her aching feet. the silence here feels almost deafening compared to the noise outside, but it’s exactly what she needs.

or so she thinks.

“hiding out?”

her head snaps up, and there she is—y/n, standing in the doorway, framed by the glow of the studio lights behind her. she’s still in her givenchy outfit, the crisp fabric hugging her frame in all the right ways. her hair is slightly tousled, her makeup worn just enough to soften the sharp edges of her beauty.

jimin swallows hard and forces herself to look away, pretending to fuss with the strap of her heel. “not hiding. just… taking a break.”

y/n steps inside, the sound of her footsteps light against the carpeted floor. “thought i’d find you here. you’ve been avoiding the crowd all day.”

“just not in the mood for the whole ‘congratulations, we made it’ thing,” jimin replies, her voice light but clipped.

y/n hums, setting a takeaway cup of iced americano on the table in front of jimin. “here. figured you could use it.”

jimin raises an eyebrow, picking up the cup. “are you trying to butter me up for something?”

y/n smirks, settling onto the couch across from her. “what would i even have to butter you up for? you killed it today.”

jimin takes a sip, letting the bitterness of the coffee ground her. “guess i’ll find out soon enough.”

silence stretches between them for a moment, broken only by the distant hum of voices and equipment being packed up. jimin keeps her gaze fixed on her drink, but she can feel y/n’s eyes on her, watching her with that quiet intensity that always sets her on edge.

finally, y/n speaks, her tone softer now. “so… this is it, huh?”

jimin glances up, frowning. “what do you mean?”

“last day,” y/n says simply, leaning back against the couch. “no more shoots, no more meetings. we won’t be working together anymore after today.”

jimin’s stomach sinks. she knew this already, of course. but hearing y/n say it out loud makes it feel too real.

“you’re really just going to leave like that?” jimin says, her voice sharper than she intended.

y/n tilts her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “what do you mean, like that? we’ve wrapped the project. there’s no reason for me to stick around.”

jimin sits up straighter, her brow furrowing. “no reason?”

y/n raises an eyebrow. “what’s this about, jimin?”

jimin opens her mouth, ready to deflect with some quip or excuse, but the words catch in her throat. instead, she finds herself blurting out something else entirely.

“i know about you and jaewook.”

y/n freezes. her expression doesn’t betray much, but jimin catches the brief flicker of surprise in her eyes.

“oh,” y/n says quietly.

“yeah,” jimin replies, crossing her arms. “oh.”

y/n exhales, leaning forward slightly. “so you know. okay. and?”

jimin narrows her eyes. “and? you didn’t think it was worth mentioning that you used to date my boyfriend?”

“no,” y/n says simply, her tone calm but firm. “because it didn’t feel relevant. i’m not the one still involved with him. you are.”

the bluntness of her words stings, but jimin doesn’t back down. “so you thought it was fine to just… hang out with me? knowing how complicated this is?”

y/n shrugs, holding jimin’s gaze. “you’re the one who agreed to lunch, jimin. and if i’m being honest… i just wanted to get to know you.”

jimin blinks, caught off guard. “why?”

a faint smile plays on y/n’s lips. “because you’re interesting. and maybe because… you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

jimin feels her heart stutter, heat rising in her chest. she hates how easily y/n can disarm her like this, how her calm confidence always seems to tilt the balance of power between them.

“you’re unbelievable,” jimin mutters, though her voice lacks conviction.

y/n leans back, crossing her legs. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

jimin lets out a shaky laugh, shaking her head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are,” y/n replies, her tone light but pointed.

the tension between them is almost suffocating now, the air heavy with everything unsaid. jimin glances at the door, making sure it’s still closed before standing up and taking a steps closer to y/n.

“you’re really just going to leave without saying you’ll miss me?” jimin asks, her voice low and teasing.

y/n stares at her, startled. “what?”

jimin doesn’t give her a chance to respond. she leans in, her lips brushing against y/n’s in a kiss that’s soft but deliberate, lingering just long enough to leave no room for misinterpretation.

the kiss was soft but firm. jimin’s lips moved gently against y/n’s as though she was savoring the moment. the actress could feel the heat of jimin’s body pressed against her own, the way her fingers dug into the curve of her hip as if trying to hold her as close as possible.

suddenly, jimin’s hand was on her jaw. tilting her head up slightly to deepen the kiss. the feeling of her tongue slipping inside of her mouth was intoxicating, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine and eliciting a soft gasp from her.

when jimin pulls back, her voice is barely above a whisper. “don’t tell jaewook.”

y/n’s eyes widen, her expression a mix of shock and something else jimin can’t quite name.

“don’t tell my boyfriend.” the idol repeats, her voice now becoming pleading. her hand was still on y/n’s hip, her thumb absentmindedly tracing small, circular motions on the skin exposed there. there was a certain wicked gleam in her eyes, a mischievous glimmer that sent shivers down y/n's spine.

y/n swallows hard, her breath shaky as she takes a small step back. “you’re playing a dangerous game, jimin.”

jimin tilts her head, her smirk unwavering. “maybe. but didn’t you say i killed it today?”

y/n exhales, shaking her head with a mix of disbelief and something else jimin doesn’t dare name. “you’re impossible.”

time seems to blur after that—quiet laughs, stolen touches, and a closeness jimin can’t bring herself to pull away from. by the time they step out of the room, the rest of the crew is still bustling around, oblivious to what just happened behind closed doors.

as they walk side by side toward the exit, one of the crew members glances up and tilts their head. “you’re both glowing more than usual today. did something happen?”

jimin and y/n exchange a glance, their expressions carefully neutral.

“must be the lighting,” jimin says smoothly, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile.

y/n bites back a laugh, nudging jimin’s shoulder as they continue walking, their secret safely tucked away—for now.

prev. next. masterlist

tags. @xen248 @szooo @yunalvrrr @yeetaberry127 @lisaswifey @gtfoiydlyj j @c-yerim @jeindall777 @multiliker @hyejin67 @cwpiqwon @sunshinez4 @yoontoonwhs @wintersgff @womanl0ver @sixflame438 @rinapomu @ahnneyong @syronns @yukianism @winieter @inybits @nctislifue @pandafuriosa60 @peranoo @ajjilhan

[viasdreams]

Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ after route: mortality

My Hyuck,

Hello my love, how are you? I hope with all my soul that you're well, but if not, just blame all your feelings on Jaemin, just like when we first met. I know these days the two of you are close but he did try to basically kill me once remember?

I would say I hope Mark got this letter to you, but I know he did. He's very reliable like that, that's exactly why I trusted him with this. I feel so at peace knowing you have people like him surrounding you. Please thank him for me.

Okay, I have to write out all my sappy feelings now so I'll try my best to be serious, even though we both know that was never my strong suit. Pardon me if I crack a few jokes in this. I'll try to keep them actually funny, don't worry. How embarrassing would it be if I was unfunny from beyond the grave?

Over the years, you asked me a few times if I wanted you to turn me. I only ever responded with a shake of the head and never gave you an explanation, not that you ever asked for one. To be honest, even now I don't really have a reason for not wanting to. It just never felt right for me. I always waited for my doubts to leave me, but they never did. I tried so hard to want it Hyuck, I really did. Sometimes I wish I just did it. I mean, I wouldn't have to write this if I turned. But, that wouldn't be fair to either of us.

Thank you for staying with me through everything. I searched for reservations in your eyes as time went on, but I never found any. Even as our public-facing relationship changed from a young couple going out to lunch to a nice young man helping an old lady cross the street, there was never a hint of regret or disappointment toward me in your gaze. Only love. So much love.

If I were given the choice to go back to any point in my life, I would go to that night by the deli so I could relive every moment with you. Every ounce of pain, physical or emotional, that I went through to be with you was worth it. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. That's something I have no doubts about.

Don't you dare read this and get all mopey okay? I know that's what you're going to want to do, but don't. Receiving this letter doesn't signify that the world ending, it's just the world changing, and that's okay. Everything's okay. You're okay.

You're the most amazing person I've ever met and I know you're going to continue to live an amazing life. Please continue living Hyuck. This is not the end. You have so much left to do, don't let my absence stop you. If not for yourself, live because I need something more entertaining to watch than Renjun and Jeno arguing in the nursing home.

I know I'm asking a lot for someone not there, but please look after Jisung for me. It hasn't happened yet, but I worry that Chenle is going to dull that boy's sparkle with his "Chenleness", so I need you to prevent that for me.

Writing this is making me reflect on my life and all my memories are overwhelmingly warm. It's not because I lived through intense global warming, although that definitely made my memories a lot sweatier. It's because of you. For such a physically cold man, you brought so much warmth into my life. My life was so happy because of you.

I love you so much Hyuck. My body might not be, but my love for you is immortal.

Thank you for experiencing life with me.

Thank you for loving me.

I love you.

Eternally,

Yn

hyuck finished reading your, now-framed, letter for the billionth time and slipped it back into his bag, careful not to crush the flowers he brought.

the weather, like it was every time he came to visit you, was sunny, making it hard for him to see his screen as he typed out a thank you text to mark. mark told him years ago that it wasn't necessary for hyuck to thank him after every readthrough of your letter, but you asked him to thank mark so that's what he was going to do. at this point, at least fifty percent of his and mark's text conversation consisted of thank yous.

with the text sent, hyuck made his way to his usual seat next to your headstone. he'd sat there so many times that the dirt had a permanent indent in the shape of his butt. he never dared fix it because he knew it would have made you laugh, if anything he tried his best to worsen the damage.

"hey beautiful," he greeted, "i got these for you."

he pulled the, slightly damaged, flowers out of his bag and switched out the ones from the last time he was there.

"i have so much to tell you, i don't even know where to start. oh let me tell you about the shit i saw jisung do-"

hyuck began, as he had done since the first time he read your letter, to tell you about how he was living his life.

masterlist ~ route two: immortality

a/n: i cried, you crew, we all crode T_T lowkey felt like i was actually on my deathbed writing to my lover </3 ALSO this isn't a bad ending at all 🙂‍↔️ sad does NAWT equal bad!! my bbys lived full happy lives, its just that now one is living for two <3

taglist (open): @miyawwn @nanaxwi @mystverse @mmoonlee @dudekiss3r @honeynanamin @haefelt @nneteyamss @iamsimplyasimp @roseangelxfuma @haechsworld @hyuck-me @catpjimin @toyoongg @sthwaaberry @kim-seungmins-gf @sunghoonsgfreal @sunflowerhae @galacticnct @slayhaechan @multifandomania @jasluvsjae @injunnie-lemon @swanyvess @hahaechans @aerivrs @kirbrary @akunoeyebrows @snowyseungs @keeryverse @alethea-moon @flaminghotyourmom @elsbunny @introvertatitsfinest @ypoom151999 @1starqi @emptynote @wonswondrland @smilefordongil @onlyforyoukook @gomdoleemyson @jaehyunandonly @kukkurookkoo @lampcults @nightcat101 @hyuckna25 @yanagisprettygf

(if the tag doesn’t go through, plz check your privacy settings ☺️)

[youaremy-parkfilter]

Something about ' you're my park filter '

I'm so random lol...my mind just went like that and Yes!

'you're my park filter' i mean this

211013 cutey sexy lovely jimin's bday. Like every others he also went live on his bday. Little boy felt little awkward since it was a long time after his life. He talked a lot...but still something was off. Like a life line option, he called jungkook to join him on his bday live. Within a fraction of time he joined too, wished him many times, even pretend to bring the cake ... the frequent hand shakes (i have no counts lol)

And when you notice, they talked like everything on the earth from him mom's kimchi to his new hairstyle-my poor boy accidentally spilled.

Then our president hobi enters, boom we got a shy jiminie there. Teases over teases..I wish I could see their faces . Only because of hobi, we got to know who prepared that cake ? Who prepared that creative caption on that cake? Hello Mr.jeon you even took that cake in your hand when you entered the studio before, did you even care to ask 'hey how is the cake, did you like it' and so on ?? No . When only jhope was curious about the lines, jungkook was fast to convey the message of that line thats jimin's birthday and jimin's solo song filter and he combined it. Thats when jimin came to know it was from jungkook. Such a warm moment imo🥹

Are words the only thing in a relationship which can convey love? What if actions can speak more than words? What if actions can bring so much warmth?

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

People are so stubborn that he didn't say this at jimin's face,that at jimin's face. People really need words !? More than 10 years and he have showed us more than enough that he care a lot about jimin. Even from their debut era, when the requirements where so not acceptable by him, he did it for the sake of doing it . That to push jimin away for fun, to make fun of him. From jimin's words we already know that jungkook used to say sorry for all these during night while the other pretend to sleep so he could listen. You think jungkook don't care ? He didn't care ? He won't care ? No, thats not the case. He is a pure soul, was a shy baby even to make eye contact with army from the beginning. As they grew up, he was inspired to be a dancer rather than a singer. He decided on that. They have discussed how jimin was shocked when he heard about this and how he wanted jungkook to be a singer, as an important member in their group like everyone. You think jungkook will never care about that person who stood always by his side day or night, ups or downs, happiness or sadness. You think Jungkook is some kind of ungreatful brat? That might be in your delulu fanfiction. In reality (what they have shown us, real reality is unknown to fans ) he seems very kind, generous, soft and care every other person. Too polite, a gentleman! So what made you think that jungkook never care about jimin ? Just tell me one reason why ? Just one !?

Keep the 'ship' aside. I never use that term to disrespect their bond. Never !

Now just think, when you say that jungkook never care about jimin, aren't you indirectly pointing out that he is a brat? An arrogant? The doe eyed boy which carry a galaxy in his eyes, who grew infront of ARMY, who claimed he loves ARMY the more - is arrogant? Is he faking?? How can you even bring this up ?? How can you ever think like that??

Whats your problem when it comes to jimin and jungkook? Why can't you digest the fact that they click each other easily. Just why ? Will it affect the rotation of earth?? Will it cause global warming 2 times more ? Just why CAN'T YOU accept the FACT ??

I want this fandom normalise jikook like every other duo ! No freaking ship !! Their bond should be respected! Their love should be valued ...

♡

i don't know how I reached this far, just talking about them and how fandom treats them fumes me like anything hahaha..

So.... My park filter, yeah ! You both deserve all the happiness and love. Keep going my loves

[widowromanova]

Sniper (part 1) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence (guns etc.)

word count: 1244

You've been trying to catch and stop Natasha for as long as you can remember; you finally see her again, after 3 years.

a/n: inspired by a prompt I saw on TT that suddenly gave me insane motivation to write

Your former work for SHIELD, coupled with the glowing recommendation Fury had written for you, had opened doors you never thought possible. High(er)-level intelligence agencies had practically lined up to recruit you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself entrenched in a new world of operations and classified missions. Your current boss, a calculating and ambitious higher-up with ties that ran deep, had recently assigned you to a high-priority duty. The mission was clear but personal - the kind that made your pulse race and your resolve waver. After three years of chasing her, she was finally within your grasp.

Natasha Romanoff had become chaos, her cunning mind orchestrating a series of events that threatened to destroy global stability. She manipulated world leaders, sowing distrust among allies and tearing apart her long-standing professional relationships. Whispers of a bio-weapon project capable of targeting populations only added to the growing unease among those who suspected her involvement. Yet, to the public, and even some former allies, she maintained an innocent facade, always frustratingly one step ahead. She had made her plan clear to you all those years ago:

Natasha had locked her piercing gaze onto yours. "You know how bad it's gotten, Y/N. The leaders are puppets, and the people-” she paused, “they don’t even realize they’re asleep.”

“You can’t seriously believe getting rid of all of it is the answer,” you’d argued, the weight of her words settling uneasily. Her lips had curved into a faint smile, not of humour, but of certainty.

“It’s not about belief. It’s about necessity. Only through destroying one thing can we rebuild something that works. Governments, alliances - they don't work. They need to be erased.”

“Erased? Do you even know what you sound like, Natasha? And replaced with what? You?”

She paused.

“If that’s what it takes.” Her voice had been calm, no sense of hesitation, her conviction chilling. “Survival of the fittest. No corruption. No weakness.”

At the time, you’d thought it was just frustration talking, the cynical musings of someone who’d been through too much. But now, you realised she’d meant every word. Natasha wasn’t just dismantling the world’s structure - she was forging it into her vision of perfection. And you had been too blind to stop her then.

From then, you knew every move she made was deliberate - you had known her to be an incredibly smart woman ever since you met her. And of course, your history with her proved to be of convenience to organisations, though you were frequently hesitant to speak her name.

The night air was cold, the city sprawled out beneath you in a labyrinth of lights. The sniper rifle before you felt like an extension of yourself; "That sounds ridiculous," you thought, but every inch of the weapon's polished surface was familiar to you. You leaned into the scope, propped up on your elbows. Silence, broken only by the occasional hum of traffic below. You knew, of course, that Natasha would never trust anyone else to do work for her, she was after all a self-proclaimed "lone wolf" (you had always made fun of her for that). You couldn't see her yet, but you knew she was coming.

Your superior had instructed you simply: to wait, and then take the shot when you saw her. Each minute that passed, the tension in your shoulders grew, your thoughts tightening into a knot of uncertainty.

You adjusted the focus on the scope, making sure every inch of the room was visible, your pulse steady. You felt your warm breath mix with the stinging cold of the air around you, manifesting into a puff of smoke.

There you saw it, her gleaming red streaks of hair.

For a moment, the city below seemed to disappear, the noise fading into a distant hum. All that remained was the image of her, framed perfectly in your sight. Your heart beat a little faster, not from the tension of the mission, but from something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. The memory of her, the way she used to make you feel. You held your breath, the moment heavier than anything else you had ever done.

And then, as if she could sense your gaze, she turned. Her head shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the window across the street. You froze as her eyes locked onto yours through the scope. The world blurred around her stare, and everything you had told yourself about this mission - about her - faded into the background.

She knew. The realisation hit you like a punch. She had always been sharper than anyone gave her credit for, but in this moment, it wasn’t just about strategy. It was a silent acknowledgment, that you were no longer just playing a game of cat and mouse. Her lips barely parted, as if she were about to speak - though the words never came.

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of it pressing in from all sides. You didn’t know if she would move, if she would even give you a chance to make the shot. The corner of her mouth was slowly tugged up her face, the faintest smirk forming as if she knew exactly what you were feeling: she could sense the panic radiating from your skin. Of course she knew, she always knew.

Your trigger finger twitched, the red spot on her forehead suddenly becoming painfully obvious. She slowly raised her empty hands up to the air as if to surrender, the smirk still prominent on her face. Her right hand began to form a gun shape, her fingers curling into a mock trigger, and with a playful yet mocking precision, she brought it to her temple. She paused, and then, with a small grin, mimicked pulling the trigger, the "pew" sound escaping her lips exaggeratedly. It was a cruel game of control. The image of her - carefree, taunting - causing your finger to tense on the trigger.

You watched as she lowered her hand slowly, the smirk still playing on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. "Come on, you still have it in you, don’t you?" she taunted through the wiring in the room feeding directly to your ear, her voice a low, amused whisper.

The mockery squeezed at every nerve in your body. Every instinct told you to act, to end this, but you faltered. She was still the woman you once knew, the one who had shared everything with you, and now she was daring you to pull the trigger.

"You know where to find me," she whispered again.

In an instant, the room’s lights flickered, a low hum filling the air. Before you could react, the lights completely blackened, plunging you into suffocating darkness. The only sound that filled the silence was your own breathing, shallow and sharp, as rage set in once again. The weight of the rifle in your hands seemed heavier now as you dropped onto your arms in sudden exhaustion.

The lights flickered back to life, but the room was empty. Your heart skipped a beat as you scanned the space, your eyes darting from corner to corner. Nothing. As if she had never been there at all.

You lowered the rifle slowly. She had just given you the slip again. You clambered up, kicking your equipment out of your way in your anger.

"Fuck."

a/n: part 2 coming soon ;)) (promises of SMUT SMUT SMUT)

[meo-eiru]

Breaking my lurker status (forgive my english I don't speak the devils tongue/j)

1.-I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO SO SO MUCH PLSSS-- you write so good and you draw even better it's so fun to see a notification pop up bc it also means I can see the silly people that also like your characters just as much as I do! I find it so cute to see all the different ways people live this characters I love it💥💥

2.- I beg of thee, to spare a crumb if One Eyed monster once again (when you have time bc remember to rest, eat and drink aguita💥), I've been OBSESSED with that one since I saw your first post about him, I just find him so endearing!

Like imagine scene! He is just so head over heels over by us but be doesn't have the courage to come talk to us, but oh! What's this? We are going out of our way to talk to him? HE MUST BE DREAMING! And we are just gushing over how cute he looks with his hair covering his face bc it makes him look so tiny and sweet that we can't help but reach to touch his face and in his daze we move just a little bit of his hair and he only notices that we have seen his full face when he can see more clearer (bc having so much hair in front of your only eye must never tough) and he just PANICS-- like just completely and utterly scared that he takes off running already crying and thinking that we will never wanna see him again and that we are disgusted by him, he only stops in an alley far away to catch his breath.

But in his break down he fails to notice how we ran after him, yelling for him to stop, following him to the alley and seeing in a front row seat how he is just completely broken saying between sobs how we'll hate him now.

But we never had hated him to begin with, we found him cute at the start so we got close to him, and when we saw that big doe-eye it was like staring at the most beautiful star in the sky, we would never hate him after all.

He doesn't hear our steps towards him, he only reacts when he feels our hand lightly touch the top of his hair, his head snapping up to see who it was, his heart almost jumping out of his chest when he sees it's us, both with joy and sorrow, I mean, we are probably there to mock him right? To tell him how ugly his one eye is and to tell him we never wanna see him again, after all,

¿If not for that why else would the one person he loves more than everything be there before him after seeing his one eye?

When he only manages to babble a weak - why? Here? You...Huh...? -

But we don't say anything, we just kneel down and hug him, holding him close, letting him cry in our shoulder, with one of our hand rubbing comforting circles on his back and the other petting his hair, waiting for his cries to stop.

When they do all we say is a simple couple of words, almost got loud enough but just for him to hear, leaving his once broken heart renewed and beating so fast he feels he might have a heart attack.

- You are even more beautiful than I could ever imagine... -

Something so little to anyone else, but something so big for him that he doesn't think his fragile heart could take anything else.

But he doesn't need anything else, he only needs this,

He only needs you

(I propose the name Jade for him, ¿why?, bc when I first saw him I related him with one of my favorite gemstones💥)

-Yummy-

Oh my god this healed my soul, improved my grades, my eyes and skin are shining, world peace is happening, global warming ended and there’s no longer world hunger.

It just means so much to him, he’s so different from everyone else, he’s a monster. There’s no way you could love a creature like him who can’t even talk to you directly without exploding from nerves. He’s not handsome, he’s not charismatic, he’s not funny, he’s just a stalker who’s too pathetic to breath the same air as you.

Only thing bringing a bit of solace to him is the fantasies he has about you. Holding hands, going on dates, watching movies and cuddling, you saying you love him even if he’s a monster… Yes fantasies, such a thing can only happen in his fantasies.

So what’s happening right now? Is he dreaming? You’re so warm he can’t think straight. You think he’s beautiful? This can’t be real surely he misheard you. He can’t talk from the tears rolling down his eye. Please forgive him for getting your shoulder wet. He’s so just so, so happy right now. All he can do is hug you back and sob as he prays this is not just a dream.

[goldenempyrean]

An Icy Plunge

〚 Notes - Life's been busy! New job, exams, writers block (only for sickfics too which is beyond annoying) but here's a little something which I thought of while rewatching BlackWidow an hour or so ago - I did sob at the end credits of course.. 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - As a result of falling into the icy Norwegian waters, Nat ends up getting sick as you two make your way to Budapest. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1400 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“I told you we should’ve tried to get you warmed up properly.” You sighed quietly, more to yourself then anything as Nat sniffled softly. Her head resting on your shoulder as the pair of you sat at the back of a crowded train carriage. 

It had been almost 2 days since both you and Natasha were ambushed by an unknown person on your drive into town. Nat had taken the brunt of their attack, in turn, getting herself kicked off a bridge, plunging down into the icy Nordic waters below. 

She was fine for the most part, only a handful of bruises which all things considered, she got away pretty lucky. But there’d been a picture attached to the glowing band of red vials that she’d stashed in her pockets and by the time you had made your way down to the riverside to help her out of the water, Nat had already come up with a plan. 

You were going to Budapest. 

You hadn’t wanted to pry too much; she had told you it had something to do with her sister, but you didn’t know all the exact details – you still had some questions. All you knew was that Budapest was the place Nat thought she’d get the answers to her own questions, so that was where you were going. 

With both yourself and Natasha being global fugitives, getting to Budapest wasn’t as simple as hopping on board the first commercial plane. You were going to have to do this the hard way. It had taken almost half an hour to walk your way to the nearest town from the river, by the time you arrived, Nat was shivering helplessly beside you. 

The temperate was already in the low minuses as it was, but that icy water must’ve been excruciatingly cold. Even with your jacket draped over her, it was clear to see she was freezing.  

“Do you think we should stay in a hostel or something for the night? You’ll get hypothermia if you stay in those clothes. We can leave at first light.” You had offered as the two of you made your way deeper into the town, passing by a small convenience store. 

Natasha seemed to debate your offer, nodding her head after a moment as she fought back another shiver, “Yeah, that’s probably best.” She agreed, before looking around and pointing to a charity shop in the distance, “They’ll sell clothes in there, can you go get us a bed?” She asked, nodding back at an inn you’d walked past earlier. 

You agreed with Natasha's plan, and she headed towards the shop while you made your way to the inn. The place seemed quaint from the outside, but you couldn't shake the feeling that it might be a little too rustic for comfort. However, beggars couldn't be choosers, and you hoped it would at least provide a warm bed for the night. 

The innkeeper was a gruff-looking man who eyed you suspiciously as you inquired about a room for the night. "We got a room, but don't expect any luxury here. No hot water tonight, and the heating is barely working," he warned. 

Well, you had a bed atleast. 

The innkeeper handed you a key, and you made your way up the creaky staircase to find your room. The space was small and dimly lit, with a single window covered by thin curtains that did little to keep out the harsh cold.  

You had a double bed so that was a positive you’d supposed. It was honestly comical the amount of times you and Nat had to share a small single bed together, but it wasn’t like you minded that anyway. Talking of Nat, she’d only been 10 minutes or so behind. Shuffling into the room with some rough but warmer looking clothes bundled under her arm. 

“Get what you needed love?” You asked, as she began to strip out of her soaked clothes. 

“The pants aren't exactly my style, but they’ll be better than these,” She sighed, taking her new clothes and heading into the tiny attached bathroom, “I’ll try hang these wet ones to dry.”  

When she came out, she looked more like herself, although the lingering chill was still evident in her eyes. "I could really use a hot shower right about now." she mumbled, rubbing her pale hands together in an attempt to generate some warmth. 

"Sorry about that," you apologised sympathetically, "The guy at the desk mentioned there's no hot water tonight. I can go check out town a little to see if there’s anywhere, you’d be able to get one, clothes can only do so much to warm you up." 

She shook her head, “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.” Natasha sighed, but she didn't complain. Instead, she walked over to the bed and crawled under the covers, fully dressed. You joined her, wrapping your arms around her to share body heat. The cold from the room made the close contact comforting rather than stifling. 

The night passed with the two of you huddled together for warmth. The room, despite its lack of amenities, did provide some respite from the biting cold outside. The next morning, you awoke to the soft light filtering through the thin curtains and the sound of Natasha stirring beside you. 

"Morning," you greeted, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

Natasha groaned in response, her voice sounding hoarse and congested. "Morning," 

Your brow creased in worry at the sound of her voice, “You don’t sound too good honey, I knew we should’ve gotten you into a hot shower.” Your hand came to cup her face, your thumb drawing soft circles on her subtly flushed cheeks. 

Natasha shifted uncomfortably, her hand reaching up to touch her forehead. "I'll be fine," She tried to offer a weak smile but was quickly replaced by a damp sneeze. It’s probably just a little cold. Besides, we can't afford to stay here too long anyway. We need to get to Budapest," she insisted 

Despite Natasha's insistence that she would be fine, it was clear that she wasn't in the best shape. She sniffled and shivered under the covers; her body temperature higher than it should be. Still, she pushed herself to get up. 

"I'll be alright," she reassured you, her voice wavering slightly. "Let's get going. We can't afford to waste any more time." 

You reluctantly agreed, helping her gather her things and head downstairs. The innkeeper gave you both a sceptical look as you settled the bill, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not being able to pay for a more comfortable stay. Nevertheless, you and Natasha made your way to the bus station, where you boarded a bus bound for the nearest train station. 

The bus had dropped you off at a larger town where you had to transfer to a train. The train station was bustling with people all rushing about, and you held Nat’s hand as the pair of you navigated through the crowds before coming to a ticket stand where you both bought tickets to take you to the border, from there you’d have to take a ferry to get into mainland Europe then another 2 or 3 trains to finally arrive in Budapest. It wasn’t a direct journey by any means, the several stops, long distances and changes meant it was going to take a few days to get there at the minimum. 

This had led you to where you were now. A couple hours or so into your long journey to the border with Nat resting on your shoulder, small stuffy breaths coming from her parted lips.  

She sneezed suddenly, a sharp sound that seemed to startle even herself. She looked at you with a mix of surprise and irritation, as if the sneeze had betrayed her. 

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Bless you," you said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. The skin felt warm against your lips, and you couldn't ignore the worry gnawing at you. Natasha sighed, leaning into your touch for a moment. 

"Thanks," she mumbled, her voice still raspy. "I hate being sick." 

"I know, love," you replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Once we get to the border, we'll find a pharmacy or something but for now just try to catch up on some sleep, okay?” 

“We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.” 

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[w1w2]

What We Don’t Say

Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7,5k

Synopsis: As the global sensation Blackpink takes over the world, Y/N and Lisa are forced to keep their love hidden behind rehearsed smiles and careful distance. Then rumors, misunderstandings, and the suffocating weight of secrecy push them to their breaking point.

Requested by 🍓Anon

Notes: I feel like I lost the vibe halfway through creating this… I need someone to break my heart so I can be better.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The air inside the practice room was heavy with exhaustion, thick with the scent of sweat and determination. It was past midnight, long after the other trainees had left for the night, but Y/N and Lisa remained. Feet aching, limbs burning, yet neither willing to be the first to call it quits.

Lisa groaned, flopping onto the cool wooden floor, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. "I think I’m actually dying this time," she huffed dramatically.

Y/N, still standing, rolled her eyes but smiled. "You say that every night."

"Yeah, but this time, I really mean it," Lisa whined, reaching out blindly toward Y/N, fingers curling in the air as if begging for help.

Y/N sighed but gave in, crouching down and offering her hand. The moment Lisa’s fingers wrapped around hers, she yanked Y/N down with a mischievous smirk, sending her tumbling onto the floor beside her.

A breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as she landed, her shoulder brushing against Lisa’s. For a second, neither of them spoke, just lying there, side by side, staring at the ceiling. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and their slowing breaths.

These nights had become routine. When everyone else had gone, when the world quieted, when there was nothing left but music, sweat, and aching bodies, this was when Y/N felt closest to Lisa.

"You ever think about giving up?" Lisa asked suddenly, voice softer now.

Y/N turned her head, meeting Lisa’s gaze. Her brown eyes were darker in the dim lighting, filled with something unreadable.

"Sometimes," Y/N admitted. "But then I remember why I started."

Lisa hummed, considering. "And why did you start?"

Y/N hesitated, then exhaled. "Because I love it. Even when it hurts, even when it feels impossible. I still love it."

Lisa smiled, slow and warm. "Me too."

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it felt heavier, charged with something neither of them could name yet.

Lisa shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "You know, I always noticed you."

Y/N blinked. "What?"

"Since the first day," Lisa said, her lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "You were always so… serious, so quiet. But then I'd catch you watching, listening, and I don’t know… I just wanted to know you."

Y/N swallowed. Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, and she wasn't sure if it was from the exhaustion or something else entirely.

Lisa’s smirk softened into something gentler. "And now I do."

Y/N looked away, staring at the ceiling again. "You're too smooth for your own good."

Lisa laughed, bright and carefree. "You love it."

And maybe Y/N did. Maybe she loved the way Lisa could be playful one second and sincere the next. Maybe she loved the way Lisa’s presence always made everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world didn't press quite as hard on her shoulders when she was around.

Maybe she had loved Lisa for a while now.

The thought scared her.

They were trainees. They weren’t allowed to have distractions. And yet, Lisa had never felt like a distraction. She had always felt like home.

"Come on," Lisa said, nudging Y/N’s foot with hers. "Let’s do the routine one more time, and then we can go grab some snacks before the convenience store closes."

Y/N groaned. "You just said you were dying."

Lisa grinned. "I came back to life."

Y/N sighed, pushing herself up. "Fine. But you're buying."

Lisa hopped to her feet and held out her hand again. This time, when Y/N took it, she felt it. The spark, the unspoken promise, the quiet confession between their fingers.

And neither of them let go.

That night, as they walked side by side to the convenience store, Lisa kept their fingers loosely intertwined, only letting go when they stepped under the fluorescent lights inside. It was subtle, unspoken, but Y/N noticed the way Lisa’s hand lingered near hers, how their arms would brush, how Lisa would lean in just a little closer than necessary when teasing her about her snack choices.

And Y/N let her.

The following months passed in a blur of grueling practices, sleepless nights, and silent moments that said more than words ever could.

It was in the way Lisa would always wait for Y/N after training, even when she wasn’t finished yet, claiming she just "happened to be there." It was in the way Lisa would steal the seat beside her during vocal lessons, nudging their knees together like a secret only they shared. It was in the way Y/N would find herself looking for Lisa in a crowded room, her heartbeat steadying the moment their eyes met.

Nothing was spoken. But everything was understood.

Still, Y/N found herself hesitating.

Because what did this mean? Where did they stand between the fleeting glances, the almost-touches, the electricity that never seemed to fade? Was it real? Or was it just something they both wanted to be real?

She didn’t have an answer.

And maybe that was why, on the night the rain poured heavier than ever, she found herself wide awake. She sat curled up by the window, knees pulled to her chest, watching the city lights blur behind raindrops sliding down the glass.

It was late, past curfew, past exhaustion, but sleep never came easy on nights like this. Nights when her mind refused to be quiet.

Lisa sat on the floor beside her, back resting against the edge of the bed, legs stretched out carelessly. Unlike Y/N, she wasn’t looking outside. She was looking at her.

"You're thinking too much," Lisa murmured, voice softer than usual, like she was afraid to break whatever fragile thing was keeping Y/N together.

Y/N exhaled, slow and deep. "I always do."

A small huff of laughter. Then Lisa nudged Y/N’s knee with her own, warm even through the fabric of their sweatpants. "Want to tell me?"

Y/N hesitated.

She always admired how easy things seemed for Lisa, how freely she laughed, how effortlessly she moved through the world, like she had never once doubted her place in it. But Y/N? Y/N always hesitated. Always overthought, always questioned.

Lisa, though, was patient. She never pushed, never demanded. She just waited, and maybe that was why, this time, Y/N finally let the words slip out.

"Do you ever…" she started, her voice quieter than the rain outside, "feel something, but you don’t know if you’re allowed to?"

Lisa didn’t respond right away.

Y/N could feel the shift in the air, the way the playful glint in Lisa’s eyes faded into something softer, something serious.

Lisa swallowed. "Yeah," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "All the time."

Y/N turned then, looking at her.

Lisa wasn’t smiling anymore. She wasn’t teasing, wasn’t trying to make light of the situation. No, her expression was open, vulnerable, as if she knew exactly what Y/N was trying to say, even if Y/N wasn’t sure she could say it yet.

"And what do you do?" Y/N asked, her voice so quiet she almost wasn’t sure she’d spoken aloud.

Lisa was silent for a moment. She glanced down at her hands, fingers flexing slightly, before she inhaled, steady but deep.

"I stop pretending I don’t feel it."

The words hit Y/N like a tremor, shaking something loose inside her chest.

Her heart stuttered, an uneven, traitorous rhythm, and suddenly she wasn’t sure if the pounding she heard was from the rain or from the way Lisa was looking at her, like she had already figured out Y/N’s secret long before she’d even admitted it to herself.

"Lisa…" Y/N breathed, but she didn’t know what she was going to say. Didn’t know if she could say anything at all when her emotions were tangled so tightly around her throat.

Lisa met her gaze, unwavering. "You don’t have to say it. Not if you’re not ready. But I just… I need you to know."

The unspoken words lingered between them, thick with meaning.

Y/N clenched her fingers into the fabric of her hoodie, her mind screaming at her to be careful. To think of the consequences. To remind herself of the rules, the expectations, the risks.

But then she looked at Lisa again, at the girl who had been by her side through every struggle, every late-night practice, every exhausted breakdown. The girl who had always been home in a way no place ever had.

And maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was terrifying.

But Y/N reached out anyway.

Her fingers trembled as they curled around Lisa’s hand, hesitant at first, but Lisa responded instantly, her grip warm, firm, certain.

Lisa let out a slow breath, one that sounded like relief, and gently lifted their joined hands between them.

Her thumb brushed over Y/N’s knuckles, a soft, lingering touch, and the world outside faded. The rain, the city lights, the weight of everything that told them they shouldn’t be doing this.

They didn’t say what this was. What it meant. What it could become.

But they knew.

In the quiet of that rain-soaked night, fingers entwined in a silent promise, they chose each other.

At first, love was easy.

In the small world they had built as trainees, where their days were measured in sweat-soaked hours of practice, late-night ramen runs, and whispered dreams of debut, there was safety. Their love was quiet, unspoken, but always there, woven into every lingering glance, every shared laugh, every moment stolen in between training sessions.

Back then, they didn’t have to think about the world outside their bubble. Back then, Lisa could reach for Y/N’s hand in the dimly lit hallways of the practice rooms, and Y/N could let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this love wouldn’t have to stay a secret forever.

Then, Blackpink debuted.

And suddenly, everything changed.

Their world expanded, brighter lights, bigger stages, louder cheers. Their names became headlines, their faces broadcasted to millions. With every new success came more eyes watching, more rules to follow, more pressure to become the flawless, untouchable idols the world expected them to be.

And love became something they had to hide.

But no matter how much they tried to pretend, no matter how well they performed their roles as mere bandmates, Y/N could feel it. Lisa still looked at her the same way she did on that rainy night.

And Y/N still felt the same way she had when she first reached for Lisa’s hand.

Only now, loving Lisa wasn’t just reckless.

It was dangerous.

For years, Y/N and Lisa had mastered the silent language. They had learned how to love in the shadows, to exist in a world where their feelings had to be carefully hidden behind rehearsed smiles and scripted interactions. It had always been this way.

But lately, it had started to feel like suffocation.

“Alright, let’s go again!”

The director’s voice echoed across the brightly lit studio as the five of them reset their positions, preparing to film the next take of their interview. Y/N shifted slightly in her chair, hands resting on her lap, shoulders poised as she waited for the cue to begin.

Lisa sat beside her. Not too far, not too close. Just enough distance to make it look natural.

The interview went smoothly, filled with playful banter and perfectly timed responses, but Y/N barely heard a word of it.

She was too focused on the way Lisa’s laughter filled the room, how effortlessly she shined, how easy it was for her to play along with whatever questions were thrown at them.

And then it happened.

The interviewer, a charming host with an ever-present smile, leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“Lisa, you’ve been quite the topic of discussion lately,” he said, his tone teasing but calculated. “Rumors have been swirling about your special friendship with someone. Anything you’d like to clear up?”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the stomach.

She forced herself to stay still, to not react, to not let anything show on her face as the entire room seemed to shift its focus onto Lisa.

Lisa, to her credit, barely hesitated. She let out a small laugh, tilting her head slightly. “Ah, you know how rumors are,” she said breezily. “People love to talk.”

The host chuckled. “So nothing’s going on there?”

Lisa shrugged. “I mean, I have a lot of friends.”

It was the perfect answer. Polite, neutral, dismissive. But Y/N couldn’t shake the sick feeling curling in her stomach.

Because she knew the truth.

She knew that Lisa hated rumors like this, that she had rolled her eyes every time a new one popped up, that she had once whispered to Y/N late at night, “I wish I could tell them it’s you.”

But she couldn’t.

So instead, Lisa smiled through it. Laughed it off. And Y/N sat there, silent, pretending it didn’t hurt.

The dorm was quiet, too quiet.

Blackpink’s schedule had been relentless, and after a long day of interviews and rehearsals, exhaustion should have made sleep come easy. But for Y/N, rest was impossible when her thoughts were this loud.

She sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over her legs, the television flickering dimly in front of her. Some variety show was playing, but she wasn’t paying attention. The voices blurred together, white noise against the storm in her mind.

Lisa stood a few feet away, leaning against the kitchen counter, phone in hand. Her fingers scrolled absently, but Y/N knew she wasn’t really reading whatever was on the screen. She could tell from the way Lisa’s jaw was set, from the way her other hand gripped the edge of the counter just a little too tightly.

Neither of them spoke.

The distance between them wasn’t physical, but it felt like a chasm, one that had been slowly widening over time, one they both pretended wasn’t there.

Y/N hated it.

She hated how, just hours ago, they had sat side by side in an interview, forced to smile as Lisa laughed off dating rumors with him. Hated how Lisa had to act like it was nothing, even though Y/N knew it frustrated her just as much.

She should have been used to it by now.

After all, wasn’t this how they had always lived? Hiding. Pretending. Denying. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt heavier.

Finally, Lisa sighed and set her phone down with a soft thud, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “You’re quiet,” she said, voice softer than usual.

Y/N didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m always quiet.”

Lisa exhaled sharply, pushing off the counter and walking toward her. “Y/N.”

Something about the way Lisa said her name, soft, pleading, made her finally turn.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, Y/N saw everything.

She saw the exhaustion in Lisa’s gaze, the frustration lingering beneath it, the way her shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something neither of them knew how to put into words.

Lisa, in turn, saw the walls Y/N was desperately trying to keep up.

“Say it,” Lisa murmured, stepping closer. “Whatever you’re thinking. Just say it.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket.

She wanted to.

She wanted to tell Lisa how much it hurt to sit there, smiling through questions about another person. How much she hated the way people assumed Lisa belonged to someone else, when Y/N was the one who knew her better than anyone.

She wanted to tell Lisa that no matter how many times she convinced herself that she could handle this, handle the secrecy, the pretending, the rumors. She couldn’t.

She also knew how unfair it was. Lisa wasn’t choosing this. She never had.

So instead, Y/N forced herself to swallow the words, to push them down like she always did.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Lisa’s expression flickered, hurt flashing in her eyes for just a second before she masked it with a slow nod. A barely-there movement.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Then she turned away.

Y/N let her.

Even though all she wanted was to pull her back. Even though all she wanted was to say, It’s not nothing. It’s everything.

The sound of Lisa’s door clicking shut echoed in the silence.

And Y/N sat there, staring blankly at the screen, feeling like she had just let something break between them.

To the world, Lisa was free. She could laugh and joke and be seen standing next to any guy without consequence.

But Y/N?

She was just another bandmate. Just another secret Lisa had to keep, and no matter how much she loved her, some nights, that truth felt unbearable.

The night of the Gala des Pièces Jaunes was dazzling.

Thousands of fans filled the venue, the roar of the crowd vibrating through the floors as Blackpink took the stage. The air was thick with excitement, the flashing of lights syncing with the pulsing bass of the music. Even through the deafening cheers, Y/N could hear her own heartbeat, steady yet heavy in her chest.

They had done this a thousand times before, stood under the spotlights, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, voices blending seamlessly as they performed for the world. And tonight was no different.

Yet, something felt different.

Y/N could feel it in the way Lisa looked at her during Shut Down, their gazes locking for a fleeting moment between the choreography. She could feel it in the touches when they brushed past each other on stage, the way Lisa’s fingers ghosted over hers during the final chorus of Pink Venom.

For a few brief moments, under the glare of the stage lights, it almost felt like they weren’t hiding.

Like it was just them.

But as the final notes faded, as the applause erupted like thunder, reality came crashing back.

The energy backstage was electric, a dizzying mix of post-performance adrenaline and industry charm. Staff members weaved between clusters of guests, coordinating last-minute details, while photographers snapped shots of celebrities draped in designer clothes. The air smelled like expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint lingering scent of stage fog.

Y/N felt like she was floating through it all, present, but not really there.

The applause still rang in her ears, the bass of their songs still thrummed in her chest, but the high of the performance had long since faded. Now, exhaustion was creeping in, settling in her bones, pressing against the edges of her carefully maintained composure.

She should have been relieved. The night had gone smoothly. The crowd had been incredible, the performance flawless. They had smiled, waved, thanked their fans.

But Y/N wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She was waiting.

Waiting for Lisa to find her, to slip through the chaos like she always did, to pull Y/N into a quiet corner and whisper something stupid just to make her laugh.

Waiting for Lisa to lean in, her voice low, asking, Are you okay? because Lisa always knew when she wasn’t.

Waiting for something, anything, to remind her that the space between them wasn’t as wide as it felt.

But Lisa didn’t come.

Y/N’s fingers curled around the bottle of water in her hand, gripping it tight enough to feel the plastic bend under the pressure.

When she finally spotted Lisa across the room, a small flicker of relief sparked in her chest, until she saw who she was with.

Frédéric Arnault.

The relief vanished.

Y/N froze, her grip tightening as she watched Lisa laugh, bright, effortless, like she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere else.

Frédéric leaned in slightly, saying something she couldn’t hear over the noise of the room, and Lisa tilted her head, her expression open, engaged.

Too engaged.

Y/N knew Lisa. She knew when her laughter was polite, when her smiles were manufactured for the sake of formality. This wasn’t that.

This was easy. Natural. Comfortable.

Something sharp lodged itself beneath Y/N’s ribs.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen them interact. Lisa was Lisa, charming, magnetic, the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking into it. And with her ever-growing status in the fashion world, it was no surprise that she had built relationships with people like Frédéric.

This was normal. Expected.

But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

Then, he touched her.

It was nothing, just a casual brush of fingers against her arm, a meaningless gesture in the middle of a conversation. But Lisa didn’t pull away. She didn’t shift, didn’t step back, didn’t create even the smallest amount of distance.

She just stood there, still smiling.

Click.

A camera flash. Then another.

Y/N didn’t even have to check her phone to know the images would be everywhere within hours.

Her stomach twisted, something bitter rising in her throat.

She knew it was nothing. She knew Lisa hated these kinds of rumors, that she always brushed them off, that she had promised Y/N long ago that no matter what the world said, her heart belonged to only one person.

But knowing didn’t stop the ache. It didn’t stop the jealousy, the frustration, the exhaustion of constantly having to pretend that she was okay.

And what made it worse?

Lisa didn’t come looking for her.

Not after the conversation ended. Not as the event wound down and the guests began to slip away. Not as their team prepared to leave for the hotel.

Lisa stayed exactly where she was, caught up in conversation, oblivious to the fact that Y/N had been keeping her distance, that she had been waiting for something, anything, that never came.

By the time they reached the hotel, Y/N had already made up her mind.

She wasn’t going to ask.

She wasn’t going to beg for an explanation, for reassurance that Lisa should have given her without her having to ask.

Instead, she shut down. Because if Lisa wasn’t going to act like it mattered, then Y/N wouldn’t let it matter.

Even if, deep down, it already did.

The distance between them wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t an explosion, not an obvious severing of ties. It was slow. A gradual unraveling, so quiet, so subtle, that if someone were to look from the outside, they might not have noticed at all.

But Lisa noticed.

At first, it was little things, Y/N walking ahead instead of beside her, not waiting after practice like she used to. Excuses that sounded too rehearsed, too polite. A smile that never quite reached her eyes.

Lisa noticed the way Y/N no longer lingered near her, how she never let their fingers brush by accident anymore. How she stopped looking at her when she laughed, as if avoiding something painful.

Lisa noticed everything.

She told herself it was fine. That Y/N was just tired, just overwhelmed with schedules, just in her own head like she sometimes got.

But the more Lisa reached out, the more Y/N pulled away.

Every interaction became forced, every moment that should have felt theirs now felt scripted, performed. Even in front of the cameras, even when they smiled and laughed for the fans, Lisa could feel the distance.

And she was patient.

She tried to be patient.

Until she couldn’t be anymore.

The practice room was empty except for them.

Everyone else had left an hour ago, leaving only the sound of their breathing, the faint buzz of the overhead lights, the soft squeak of sneakers against the polished floor.

Y/N grabbed her hoodie from the bench, her water bottle in her other hand, movements robotic. She had planned to leave without a word, the same way she had been for the past days.

But Lisa wasn’t letting her go this time.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?"

Y/N froze, fingers tightening around the fabric in her hands.

For a second, she thought about pretending she hadn’t heard her. Thought about brushing past her, like she didn’t feel the weight of Lisa’s voice, sharp and unyielding.

But Lisa wasn’t going to let her run.

Slowly, Y/N turned, her expression unreadable. "I’m not ignoring you."

Lisa let out a humorless laugh, one that didn’t match the warmth Y/N was used to. "Oh, really?" She crossed her arms, frustration evident in the tense set of her shoulders. "So it’s just a coincidence that you suddenly don’t have time for me?"

Y/N exhaled through her nose. "Lisa, I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?"

Lisa stepped forward, closing the space between them in one determined movement. "No." Her voice was lower now, edged with something raw. "Because you’re lying."

Y/N clenched her jaw, eyes flickering away. "I don’t want to fight."

"Then stop acting like a stranger and talk to me."

Silence.

Lisa’s breathing was uneven. She was angry, not because of whatever was wrong, but because Y/N wouldn’t let her in.

Y/N looked at her then, really looked at her.

Lisa’s eyes burned with frustration, but beneath it, there was something else. Something that looked a lot like hurt.

Y/N swallowed against the lump in her throat.

She could say it. 

She could tell Lisa that she saw her that night, that she watched the way she smiled at him, that it felt like someone had reached inside her chest and twisted until she couldn’t breathe.

She could tell Lisa that she hated how easily she fit into rooms Y/N felt like an outsider in, how she laughed so effortlessly in conversations that didn’t include her.

She could tell Lisa that she didn’t know how much longer she could do this, love her in the dark, stay quiet when the world asked questions, pretend that she wasn’t breaking piece by piece every time Lisa had to be someone else’s in the public eye.

She could say all of it, but saying it would make her sound petty. Insecure. Needy.

So instead, she inhaled, slow and careful, and said, "There’s nothing to talk about, Lisa."

Lisa’s jaw tightened.

She searched Y/N’s face, waiting, begging, for her to say something else.

To fight. To give her something to hold on to.

But Y/N said nothing.

And then.

"If you can’t handle this, then maybe we should stop."

The words landed like a gunshot.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Lisa must have realized it the second they left her mouth because her face changed instantly, her own words slamming into her like she hadn’t meant them, like she wanted to pull them back.

But it was too late.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

She just stood there, staring at Lisa, something inside her cracking, breaking so quietly that neither of them were sure if it could be put back together.

Lisa’s breath was shaky, like she wanted to say something else, like she was already regretting it.

But Y/N didn’t give her the chance. She turned, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door.

And this time, Lisa didn’t stop her.

The sound of the door clicking shut was louder than it should have been, ringing through the empty practice room like the final note of a song that wasn’t supposed to end yet.

Lisa stood there, frozen, her own words echoing back at her, sharp and unrelenting.

"If you can’t handle this, then maybe we should stop."

She hadn’t meant it.

God, she hadn’t meant it.

She had said it out of frustration, out of desperation, because she had been reaching for Y/N and Y/N kept slipping through her fingers. She had wanted Y/N to fight back, to tell her she was wrong, to say something, anything, other than “There’s nothing to talk about.”

But Y/N didn’t fight, she just left.

And Lisa let her.

She stood there for a long time after that, staring at the door like she could somehow will it to open again. Like if she waited long enough, Y/N would come back, storming in with that fire in her eyes, telling Lisa she was an idiot, telling her that stopping was never an option.

But the door stayed shut, the room stayed empty.

And for the first time in years, Lisa felt what it was like to be truly, completely alone.

The silence between them wasn’t the kind that followed an argument, the tense kind that lingered in the air like a thick fog, waiting for one of them to be brave enough to break it.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that led to a hesitant text, a soft knock on the door, a whispered, “Are we okay?”

No.

This was something else entirely.

This was absence.

A bottomless, aching nothingness where something beautiful used to be.

And the worst part?

Lisa let it happen.

She didn’t chase after Y/N that night. She didn’t run after her, didn’t grab her wrist, didn’t beg her to stay. She didn’t knock on her door, didn’t send a message, didn’t even try to fix what had shattered between them.

Y/N had once believed Lisa would never let her walk away, not really.

Lisa had always been the reckless one, the one who acted first and thought later, the one who loved so loudly, so unapologetically, that sometimes it terrified Y/N.

But this time, she had let her go.

And Y/N didn’t know which was worse, Lisa being too angry to fight for her, too exhausted to try again, or the terrifying possibility that maybe, just maybe, Lisa had already accepted this was over before Y/N had even walked out the door.

Either way, the result was the same.

The world kept turning. The schedules kept coming.

They stood on stage together, sat beside each other in cars, moved in the same orbit like nothing had changed.

But Y/N felt it.

The weight of everything unsaid pressed down on her like a stone in her chest, each breath heavier than the last. The silence between them wasn’t just a lack of words, it was a void, stretching wider and wider between them with each passing day.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if they would ever find their way back.

Days passed.

They still existed in the same spaces, still moved through the same schedules, still lived in the same orbit, but it felt like they were spinning further and further apart, carried away by a force neither of them knew how to fight anymore.

Y/N stopped waiting for Lisa after practice. Stopped lingering near her during rehearsals, stopped seeking her out in those in-between moments, the ones where, before, Lisa would have leaned in close and whispered something just to make her laugh, or nudged their shoulders together in the way that used to feel like home.

She stopped giving Lisa anything at all.

At first, Lisa tried to pretend she didn’t notice. She laughed too loudly with Jennie and Jisoo, cracked jokes in interviews with a little too much energy, threw herself into rehearsals and training as if working herself to exhaustion would somehow make the ache go away.

But the little things? Those were impossible to ignore.

Y/N no longer sat beside her in the van, choosing instead to stare out the window, earphones in, completely unreachable. When Lisa spoke to her, Y/N responded only when necessary, short, clipped sentences that carried no warmth, no familiarity, nothing of the closeness they once had.

And suddenly, Lisa was hyper-aware of every tiny moment she had once taken for granted.

The way Y/N used to glance at her across the room, just to share a look only they would understand. The way she used to press a hand against Lisa’s back when they were in a crowd, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that she was there. The way she used to feel like hers in the spaces between the world’s prying eyes, when it was just the two of them, where no one else mattered.

And now?

Now Y/N barely looked at her at all.

Lisa wanted to believe it would fix itself, that Y/N just needed space, that this, whatever this was, was temporary.

But then, the world started to notice.

At first, it was just a handful of comments online, fans picking up on what Lisa had already been trying to ignore.

"Lisa and Y/N used to be glued to each other, what happened?" "They don’t even look at each other anymore." "Did they fight? I won’t survive another cold war."

Lisa told herself it didn’t matter.

But then came the edits, the side-by-side comparisons, the painfully obvious shift from what they had been to what they had become. Clips of them on stage from months ago, laughing, teasing, effortlessly in sync, juxtaposed with the present, where every interaction was calculated, restrained.

Where Y/N barely acknowledged her at all, Lisa told herself to ignore it.

But it became impossible to ignore during performances.

Their chemistry had always been part of their magic, silent glances, teasing smirks, the kind of unspoken connection that made every movement between them feel like something more. It had been the easiest thing in the world, like breathing.

But now?

Now, their moves were just choreography.

Lisa would reach out, expecting Y/N to meet her there like she always had, like muscle memory, like instinct, but she was met with distance. A half-second hesitation. A subtle step in the opposite direction.

Y/N still danced as flawlessly as ever, still sang with the same power, still smiled when the cameras were on.

But she wasn’t there.

Not with Lisa. Not anymore.

Everything was calculated now. Forced.

The spark that had once come so naturally had vanished, and the fans could see it.

Lisa saw it too, and it was killing her.

Off stage, Y/N buried herself in work.

She stayed late at the company, rehearsing until her limbs felt like they weren’t her own, until the mirrors reflected nothing but movement, nothing but perfection, something she could control. She locked herself in the studio, pouring her energy into songwriting sessions, letting lyrics swallow her whole because words on a page were easier than the ones she wanted to say to Lisa.

She told herself it was better this way.

Because if she slowed down, if she let herself breathe, if she let herself think, then the weight of everything she had lost would crush her.

So she didn’t let it.

She woke up, went to schedules, danced until her muscles screamed, smiled when she needed to, spoke when she was expected to, and then went home and did it all over again.

The ache never left. It settled deep inside her chest, hollow and unrelenting, a silent grief that stretched wider with every day Lisa didn’t reach for her.

Every day she let the silence continue.

Every day she convinced herself that this version of them, this cold, distant thing they had become, was something she could live with.

Lisa had learned, over the years, how to read the shifts in her moods, how to pick up on the things left unsaid, how to listen not just to the words Y/N spoke but to the ones she kept locked behind tight lips and careful glances. She had never minded waiting, had never minded taking a step back when Y/N needed space, because she had always believed that, eventually, Y/N would come back to her, like she always did, like she always had.

But this time was different.

This wasn’t a temporary fight, wasn’t just an off week, wasn’t something time would naturally smooth over, but this was Y/N pulling away.

Lisa had tried to be patient. She had spent weeks watching Y/N slip further and further away, feeling helpless as every attempt to reach for her was met with polite indifference, with a forced laugh that never quite reached her eyes, with an empty space where something warm and familiar used to be. She had told herself to give it time, that maybe Y/N just needed a break, that maybe if she waited, things would go back to normal.

But things hadn’t gone back to normal.

Instead, Lisa had spent the past few weeks trapped in the suffocating silence of something she didn’t understand, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. She had spent nights staring at her phone, her fingers hovering over Y/N’s contact, wondering if she should just call, just ask, just demand to know what she had done to make Y/N stop loving her like this.

But the part that scared her the most, the part that made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t want to think about, was the possibility that maybe she already knew the answer.

Because Lisa had let her go that night.

Had let her walk out that door without stopping her, without chasing after her, without doing a damn thing to stop everything from falling apart.

And maybe, in doing so, she had proven something to Y/N that Lisa never wanted to prove, that maybe Y/N didn’t matter as much as she did.

The thought made something tighten in her chest, made her heart race in a way that wasn’t excitement or nerves but fear, real and tangible, curling in her lungs and making it hard to breathe.

She couldn’t do this anymore.

She couldn’t sit back and pretend this wasn’t killing her, couldn’t let Y/N keep slipping through her fingers like she wasn’t the most important thing in Lisa’s entire world.

She had let Y/N walk away once.

But she wouldn’t let her do it again.

So that night, when they returned to the hotel after another long day of pretending, of standing side by side like strangers, of acting like their entire world hadn’t crumbled, Lisa made a decision.

Y/N was running on autopilot, her body exhausted, her mind shutting down, her heart weighed down by a heaviness she had carried for weeks. She didn’t let herself think as she stepped out of the elevator, barely noticing the quiet hum of the hallway, the soft padding of footsteps behind her.

All she needed was to get to her room.

To close the door.

To be alone.

To escape before Lisa had the chance to stop her.

But then Lisa’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

"Y/N."

Y/N didn’t stop walking. She couldn’t. “I’m tired, Lisa.”

“I don’t care.”

That made her pause. Just for a second.

Then Lisa’s fingers wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist, her grip just tight enough to keep Y/N from slipping away, just loose enough that she could pull free if she really wanted to. “Come with me,” Lisa said, her voice low, urgent.

Y/N’s heart clenched. “Lisa…”

“Please.”

The word was soft, but there was nothing weak about it. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a plea. It was something raw, something desperate, something that carried the weight of every moment they had spent avoiding each other.

Y/N hesitated for a moment too long, and Lisa took that as permission.

She let go of Y/N’s wrist, but only to open the door to her own room, stepping inside without another word, trusting that Y/N would follow.

And she did.

Because for all the walls she had built, for all the distance she had put between them, Y/N had never been able to deny Lisa.

Not when it mattered.

The door clicked shut behind them, the quiet deafening.

Lisa didn’t move to turn on the lights, leaving only the dim glow from the city outside spilling through the windows, casting long shadows across the room.

Y/N stood near the entrance, arms crossed tightly over her chest, every muscle wound so tight she thought she might snap. “What do you want me to say, Lisa?”

Lisa turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the low light. “I want you to tell me what the hell is going on."

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You know what’s wrong.”

Lisa’s jaw tightened. “No, I don’t. Because you won’t talk to me. You just…” She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “You just shut me out. And I don’t understand why.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, something bitter rising in her throat. She doesn’t unders

She was really going to make Y/N say it?

Fine.

"You seem fine with it," Y/N bit out, her voice sharp, cracking under the weight of everything she had been holding back. "You’ve been fine. Laughing, joking, standing next to him like it’s nothing,"

Lisa’s body went rigid. "What?"

Y/N’s chest ached. "I saw you that night in Paris. With Frédéric. The way you smiled at him. The way you let him touch you. And I just…"

Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep going, to finally say it, because the words had been clawing at her for weeks, burning at the back of her throat every time she swallowed them down.

"It didn’t feel like nothing." She sucked in a shaky breath, feeling her own heart pounding, the weight of weeks of silence pressing against her ribs. "Not when I’ve spent years hiding, pretending, watching you act like… like I don’t exist."

Lisa’s breath hitched.

Y/N looked away, swallowing past the lump in her throat, her voice dropping to something quiet, something exhausted. “I’m tired, Lisa. I’m tired of being the secret. I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that crushed.

"Oh my god."

Y/N’s eyes flicked up.

Lisa had gone pale, her hands running through her hair, her breathing uneven, like something had just hit her, like something had just clicked.

"That’s why?" she whispered, disbelief flashing across her face. "That’s why you’ve been… Y/N." Her voice broke on the name. "It was never real. The rumors, the pictures, it was all bullshit. I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t careful, but it was never…" She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes desperate, pleading. "It was never you I was running from."

Y/N swallowed, her chest tight, her eyes stinging. “Then why didn’t you stop me?”

Lisa’s expression crumbled.

"Because I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

And just like that, the weight of everything came crashing down on them.

The silence. The distance. The pain of losing something they never should have lost, it was all there, hanging between them, thick and suffocating, pressing down on their chests like an unseen force, like a wound that had been left to fester for too long.

Lisa exhaled shakily, stepping closer, hesitating just for a second before reaching out, finally, after so long, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s wrist, tentative, like she was afraid she might pull away again.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Lisa swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper, raw and broken. “I’ve missed you.” Her thumb ghosted over Y/N’s skin, light, almost hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was still allowed to touch her. "So much."

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Lisa took another step closer, eyes searching hers, desperate, pleading. "I love you, Y/N." She said it like a confession, like a prayer, like something that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for weeks, aching to be spoken aloud. "*No rumor, no stupid PR image, nothing, nothing could ever change that."

Y/N’s breath hitched.

And for the first time in weeks, she let herself believe it.

Lisa didn’t expect everything to magically fall back into place overnight.

Words had been said, wounds had been left open for too long, and just because the truth had finally been spoken didn’t mean the hurt disappeared instantly.

But for the first time in weeks, Y/N didn’t turn away from her.

For the first time in weeks, Lisa reached for her, and Y/N let her.

That was enough.

It had to be.

The changes were subtle at first, so small that they thought no one outside of them would have noticed.

Lisa wasn’t sure if it was intentional or if it was just instinct, but suddenly, Y/N was standing closer again. Not in the way that would make headlines, not in the way that would raise questions, but in the way that Lisa felt.

A lingering touch on her wrist before walking away. Fingers brushing together under the table during meetings. A glance, soft, real.

It wasn’t perfect.

There were still moments of hesitation, still the weight of the what-ifs pressing down on them whenever a camera flashed too close, whenever an interview question forced them back into their carefully constructed public roles.

But they stopped hiding.

Maybe they weren’t shouting their love from the rooftops, but they no longer buried it so deep that it felt like a secret even between them.

Lisa caught Y/N smiling at her during a fan event, really smiling, not just the professional kind, but the kind that meant something, and she didn’t fight the urge to lean in closer, to whisper something just for her, to let the world wonder.

She didn’t flinch when, during a chaotic moment backstage, Y/N absentmindedly reached for her hand, held it for a second too long before letting go.

And maybe, just maybe, she let her fingers tighten just a little, hold on for a beat longer than necessary, to make sure Y/N knew she was there.

They were still Blackpink.

Still global superstars. Still the names filling headlines, still the faces on billboards, still the people the world wanted to claim.

But beyond all of that, beyond the flashing lights and the schedules and the relentless, suffocating expectations, Lisa and Y/N were still them.

Still the girls who stayed late in the practice room, who whispered secrets in the quiet moments before the world woke up.

Still the girls who had chosen each other once, so long ago.

And now, standing side by side, their fingers brushing, their gazes lingering for just a second too long. They were choosing each other again.

And this time, nothing, not rumors, not the industry, not the weight of the world, was going to take that away from them.

[beardedmrbean]

You have a big, widely spread following, so I want to get out this perspective out for people but especially Democrats who don't understand why people would vote Trump:

During Trump's presidency, until Covid, boneless & skinless chicken breast was 1.99 per pound. When Covid hit that shot up to over $3/pound. Bunch of reasons for that, but let's just address vibes for now.

Democrats claimed they had the Solution to Everyones' Ills, and got elected in 2020.

During the entire time Biden/Harris have been in power there has been a consistent response to boneless, skinless chicken breast costing nearly $3 per pound. It's not all these responses at once, but it's one or two of them, and in no particular order they're something like this:

Trans teens are dying. Women can't get abortions! We need to Do Something. Ukraine needs our help. We need to stop global warming. You're a colonizer. You're privileged. Why are you so selfish? Israel must be stopped. It shouldn't be that cheap, eating animals is destroying the environment. It's greedflation. We'll fix it later.

If you said to a Republican that boneless, skinless chicken breast cost $3 per pound and you hated that, they'd say: That does suck, we should do something.

If you're asking yourself "how could anyone support Trump" at a total loss for understanding, there you go. Chicken breasts cost a shitload and only one side admits that's even happening at all.

Living in a town of ~1500 people, the other issues are window dressing. Nobody's bitching about abortions. They're bitching they can't get cheap chicken anymore. Everything else is secondary but Democrat policy says "you don't deserve cheap chicken".

I'm just gonna let this speak for itself

[bluelavendre]

Almost is never enough

jjk x reader angst

You fell in love in a world where everything was temporary—songs, fame, moments, even people.

But what you had with Jungkook felt like an exception.

It started with music. It always did.

You were an acclaimed producer and lyricist—the kind whose name was buried in the fine print but whose fingerprints were everywhere. Your songs won awards, but you weren’t the one holding the mic. You were the shadow behind the spotlight.

Jungkook wasn’t.

He was the spotlight—vivid, untouchable, and utterly seen. A global figure. A name screamed in stadiums. A heartthrob. A performer. A phenomenon.

And somehow, he saw you.

It happened in a studio—a shared project, a late night, two cups of black coffee. You played something you hadn’t meant to—something raw and unfinished. He stopped mid-sentence, turned toward the piano, and just… listened.

When the last note faded, he looked at you like he was seeing something no one else had.

You told yourself not to fall.

You fell anyway.

The relationship was private, quiet, something sacred in an industry that fed on exposure. There were no Instagram posts, no matching bracelets, no secret codes for fans to decode. But there were late-night calls, sleepy forehead kisses, quiet laughter in hotel rooms, and notes left in the margins of demo sheets.

He held your hand in parking garages, whispered your name when no one was around. He’d ask you about chords you liked and write them down in his journal. You shared headphones on flights. You ordered the same kind of ramen when he was homesick. He called you his muse. You memorized every freckle on his face.

It was enough—until it wasn’t.

You noticed the shift before you admitted it to yourself.

He stopped texting back as quickly. Missed calls became normal. Studio sessions got cut short. He started canceling plans with vague excuses—practice, meetings, press, photoshoots.

You told yourself it was the job. You were both busy. Careers like yours didn’t allow for softness. But deep down, it wasn’t about time.

It was about priority.

And then came the rumors.

The first article featured him walking beside a rising soloist. Nothing physical. Just smiles. But the media didn’t need facts—only an angle. “New Power Couple?” the headline read, complete with zoomed-in screenshots and cherry-picked quotes.

He brushed it off.

“You know how the press is. They’ll say anything.”

So you smiled. Nodded. Tried not to let it settle in your chest like a splinter.

But it happened again. And again. Each time, the girls changed—different idols, actresses, influencers—but the silence from him stayed the same.

And still… you stayed.

It was a Tuesday night when it cracked.

You’d been waiting in the studio for almost two hours, watching the same blinking cursor on your laptop. The track was finished, but the lyrics wouldn’t come. Your coffee had gone cold. The candles on the console had burned halfway down.

You checked your phone. No messages.

You had recorded a voicemail two hours earlier, but didn’t send it. Now you deleted it entirely.

When Jungkook finally walked in, hoodie loose, hair damp from a shower, he smiled as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late.”

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

He sat down beside you, reached for the notes on the table. “What are we working on today?”

You stayed still.

“I waited for you,” you said quietly. “Again.”

He paused, pen in hand. “Yeah. I’m really sorry, babe. The guys needed extra time, and there was a delay at the shoot.”

Your throat tightened. “You always have a reason.”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can recite your excuses better than I can recall the last time you looked at me without checking your phone.”

His head lifted slowly. “Y/N…”

You turned to face him, finally meeting his eyes.

“I don’t want to be something you only come back to when the lights go off.”

He blinked, stunned. “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” You laughed, but it wasn’t warm. “You’re everywhere but here. And when you are here, you’re only half-present.”

Jungkook stood, pacing a little, trying to find something to say. “You know this is temporary. This comeback’s intense. The label’s demanding so much. It’s not forever.”

“It’s been over a year, Jungkook.”

Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The quiet pain carried more weight than a scream.

You stood too, arms crossed.

“I can’t keep being the one who understands. Who waits. Who stays quiet. I’m tired of explaining why I don’t post you. Why I disappear when your dating rumors flare up. I have a career, too. A reputation.”

His jaw clenched. “So you think I’m ashamed of you?”

“I know you’re hiding me.”

Silence.

He opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. Then tried again.

“I never wanted to drag you into the mess. The media would tear you apart.”

“They already are,” you said bitterly. “But at least they’d get the story right.”

You stepped back, needing space.

“I’ve given you everything, Jungkook. My time. My work. My heart. And I don’t even have the luxury of defending myself when people think you’re dating every girl but me.”

He swallowed hard, eyes shining but unreadable.

“I didn’t know you felt like this.”

“You didn’t ask.”

The air between you was heavy, sharp.

Finally, he whispered, “Do you still love me?”

The question was soft. Wounded. Like a child asking if the storm will pass.

Your breath hitched.

“Love was never the problem.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like maybe there was still hope.

You took a deep breath, voice thick with grief. “But the truth is… I don’t recognize myself anymore. I don’t know who I am outside of being yours. And that’s not love. That’s loss.”

He moved toward you. “I can fix this. We can—”

You stepped away.

“I need more than apologies. More than waiting for you to maybe choose me publicly one day.”

A beat.

Then, finally, you said it.

“I’m walking away, Jungkook.”

He froze. Stared at you like you’d just ripped the floor from beneath him.

“I can’t stay where I’m invisible.”

His lips parted, but no words came. Just silence. Just pain.

And with a quiet, final look, you walked past him—out of the studio, into the hallway, into the cold.

You didn’t look back.

Three Months Later

People said heartbreak made the best music. You never wanted to test that theory, but here you were—your latest EP climbing every chart, praised for its rawness, its vulnerability, its truth.

You didn’t name names.

You didn’t need to.

Every note was soaked in memories. Every chord carried echoes of his voice, his laughter, his absence.

He didn’t reach out.

You didn’t expect him to.

But there were days—late at night, headphones on, when a familiar voice played through shuffled playlists—that your chest ached so deeply, you had to pause.

You still loved him.

Maybe you always would.

But love alone hadn’t been enough.

Six Months Later

You arrived at the award show in a deep burgundy gown, sleek and unapologetic. The cameras flashed. The media buzzed about your nominations, your genius, your elegance.

And then… he arrived.

He looked the same. Timeless. Eyes dark and unreadable. He wore black. No jewelry. No smile.

For a moment, the entire room seemed to shrink.

You locked eyes across the venue.

No words. No waves. Just recognition.

Later that night, when he took the stage to perform a new solo track, the room held its breath.

He didn’t dedicate it to anyone. Didn’t explain its meaning. But the way his eyes scanned the crowd—just once—toward your table, lingered long enough to say what his mouth never had.

Regret.

When you left that night, award in hand, you didn’t cry.

You weren’t broken.

You were becoming.

He had been a chapter.

But you were the whole story.

And now, you were writing a new one.

One where you chose yourself.

Completely. Unapologetically.

Finally.