#manon of the spring

[filmap]

Manon des sources / Manon of the Spring Claude Berri. 1986

Church Rue Haute, 84160 Vaugines, France See in map

See in imdb

[sacredwhores]

Claude Berri - Manon of the Spring (1986)

[mad-prophet-of-the-airwaves]

Manon of the Spring (1986, Claude Berri, France)

[wehavewords]

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Manon Ballerina

[charlvr]

- put your head on my shoulder

Pairing. Sophia Lafortezax Reader

w.c. 6.0 k

In the relentless rhythm of comeback season, Sophia is everything she’s supposed to be : composed, tireless, unshakably perfect. But when the cameras go dark and everything else falls away, it’s Y/N who stays.

The lights were always too bright.

Not in a way that hurt Sophia's eyes, not quite. She had long since trained herself not to squint, not to blink too much, to hold her gaze firm and open no matter how harsh the glare from the stage rigging or the camera flashes. But it still got into her head, the brightness. Not exactly painful but lingering. It crept into her thoughts and clung to her skin, made her feel hollowed out after long days of being seen, always seen.

She sat now on the floor of the practice room, her spine pressed flat to the mirrored wall. Her arms rested across bent knees, fingers loosely knotted. The air was thick with heat and humidity, faintly tinged with the chemical scent of old sweat and rosin. Her body hummed with the ache she knew too well: the pinch in her lower back, the dull, deep soreness blooming in her calves, the tense, knotted line running from one shoulder to the other no matter how often she tried to roll it out.

Around her, the other girls were scattered, their laughter filling the space like birdsong in spring. Lara and Daniela were bickering playfully over choreography counts. Megan was lying flat on the ground like a starfish, arms splayed dramatically. Manon scrolled through her phone, humming something under her breath. Y/N was recounting a funny story, while Yoonchae was giggling into her water bottle, legs swinging as she perched on a bench.

Sophia didn’t join in.

The rehearsal had taken more out of her than she liked to admit. Her legs had trembled, just slightly, when she’d pushed herself up from the floor. A faint, betraying quiver at the knees. But she’d ignored it, told herself it was nothing. Just the practice. Over six hours spent drilling the same eight counts until the moves lost their shape and her muscles gave up remembering them on their own. Her body was just tired, that was all. All the girls were tired. This was what it took to be good.

She told herself these things like they were mantras.

When the music started again, sharp and familiar like a knife she knew too well, she stepped into formation without hesitation. Her limbs obeyed without thought, muscle memory guiding her through the angles and pivots like machinery built into her bones. But her mind had drifted. Not fully, not dangerously. Just enough for a hum to start in the back of her skull. A low, pulsing rhythm that didn’t belong to the song.

It was a warning. One she knew to ignore.

She was slipping. Slowly, quietly. In ways no one was supposed to notice.

And they couldn’t. Not when they needed her. Especially now, with the comeback looming like a deadline written in permanent marker. Management had been relentless lately, as if each of them were raw material waiting to be reshaped. Slimmer silhouettes. Tighter formations. More engagement. Cleaner visuals. Always cleaner.

Yesterday, the teaser had gone live. A fifteen-second flash of perfection meant to sell everything they were. And like a fool, Sophia had scrolled through the comments.

"The group would be great if their leader smiled more." "She always looks like she’s trying too hard." "How is she one of the oldest and still not the best dancer?"

And then the ones that cut deeper, not aimed at her directly, but through her.

"Their maknae’s clearly better than her already." "Does she even lead them?"

She had deleted the app by morning. Thrown her phone face-down on the bed and stared at the ceiling until her chest stopped aching.

She had to be better. Had to be everything they needed her to be. So when the choreographer’s voice rang out again with a flat, familiar "Five, six, seven, eight," she jumped.

Too late. A heartbeat behind.

The disappointment in their trainer’s face was immediate. Not anger, not frustration. Just the subtle tightening of the jaw, the way the clipboard lowered slightly, the absence of praise.

"Reset. Again."

She didn’t dare to make another mistake.

Not for the next hour. Not ever again. Not a single missed beat, not a single misplaced hand.

But the way she locked her jaw every time the music restarted, the way her arms moved like they were made of steel wires, too taut, too precise: it wasn’t from the fluid grace they had once praised her for.

It was survival.

When practice finally ended, and the others filed out around her, chattering about dinner plans and shared showers and who had borrowed whose hairbrush, Sophia hung back. She pretended to check her water bottle, to tie her shoelaces. She smoothed her hair back even though no one else was watching, kept herself believably busy with the small things, until the room emptied.

Almost.

She turned, reaching automatically for her bag, and froze when she saw Y/N still standing in the doorway.

Her figure was silhouetted, one hand gripping the strap of her gym bag, the other holding the straps of Sophia’s. Her gaze was steady, not asking anything. Just waiting.

Sophia’s throat closed.

“You don’t have to—” she started, already regretting the sound of her voice, too rough, too revealing.

“I know.”

That was all.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t approach. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there, quiet and patient, giving Sophia the choice to come or stay.

And somehow, it felt like the first time someone had given her a choice.

—

That night, in the dorm, Sophia barely made it past brushing her teeth before her hands began to shake.

She wrapped herself in a hoodie three sizes too big and padded into the living room on quiet feet, curling into the far corner of the couch. The lights were dim. A single lamp near the hallway cast a soft glow over the fabric, warm and golden, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her legs tucked under her, she gripped the hem of the hoodie sleeves and pulled them over her fists.

The others were still in their rooms. Someone—Manon, maybe—was playing music behind a closed door, something soft and old, with a gentle rhythm and watery vocals. Laughter filtered out from Lara and Megan’s shared room, bright and sudden, then faded again.

Sophia closed her eyes. Tried to breathe. Remember her rhythm. But her chest was tight in that way it always got when everything caught up to her too fast.

It had started after practice.

The message from their choreography trainer had come through while she was still on the van ride home. Not cruel, just clipped. Clinical.

Still too tight in the transitions. Watch your timing. You're always half a beat behind.

She already knew. That had been the worst part. She had felt it in her body, the slight lag, the slippage between mind and motion. Felt it in her chest, everytime she tripped up. 

She didn’t respond back. Couldn’t scrape up the dignity to. 

At the dorm, she had barely stepped inside when one of the managers pulled her aside. Yoonchae had frozen up before they could film a quick promotional video: some silly, throwaway clip for social media, a trend they were meant to jump on with pre-made choreography and a one-liner about the new album.

“She’s just a little homesick,” the manager said, glancing toward the hallway, where the youngest had locked herself in the bathroom. “Can you fill in? Just this one.”

Sophia said yes. Of course she did. Even though she had vocal practice in twenty minutes and hadn’t eaten since noon. Even though her throat was raw and her feet burned. She smiled for the camera. Hit every mark. Said the right line. Laughed on cue.

Then, later, after scarfing half a protein bar and washing it down with room-temperature water from her tote bag, she got the message she had been looking forward to all day. A missed call from her mother. Just one ring before it stopped.

She tried calling back, but management had double-booked her again. A one-on-one dance session they hadn’t warned her about, followed immediately by a briefing for a skincare CF. When she pointed it out, the reply had been simple: Just be quick. The rep can wait five minutes if needed.

She had rushed through both. Fumbled a transition in the solo run-through. Missed a small but important note in the product script. The staffer’s face afterward had been polite, but something in their eyes told her she had slipped again. That there was something else to fix tomorrow.

Failure after failure after failure.

Now, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

She didn’t cry. She never cried. Not where anyone could see. But her jaw was clenched so tight her molars ached, and she stared blankly at the weave of the cushion beneath her fingers, trying to remember what it felt like to be a person. Not a brand, not a leader, not a checklist of deliverables and rehearsals. Just a person. A girl.

A shadow passed over her peripheral vision, causing her to blink, slow and sluggish, as a mug of warm tea appeared in front of her held by steady hands.

Sophia looked up.

Y/N stood over her, dressed in a faded university sweatshirt and pajama shorts. Her hair was still damp, curling softly at the ends like she had just gotten out of the shower. She didn’t say anything. Just held out the mug, both hands wrapped around it like it was something she had warmed herself with first.

Sophia reached for it slowly, and their fingers brushed. A light touch, but it sparked something beneath her skin, small and electric.

“Chamomile,” Y/N said, voice low, almost lost in the rustle of fabric “It’s supposed to help.”

Sophia’s gaze dropped to the mug, and then back to Y/N. The implication wasn’t loud, but it was clear. Her throat tightened. She curled her fingers around the warm ceramic as if it could anchor her.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Y/N didn’t go far. Instead, she eased down beside Sophia, settling in without a sound, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever held the moment in place. Their knees touched, but neither of them shifted.

The tea was warm in Sophia’s hands. Steadying. The steam ghosted against her face, carrying the faint floral scent of chamomile and something sweeter she couldn’t name. She took a careful sip, then another, letting the quiet stretch out between them.

On the coffee table, a half-folded blanket sat beside a remote and a phone charger. The room had that lived-in feel, cozy in a way that only came when everyone else was tucked away in their own spaces. Behind the closed doors, the dorm buzzed gently with muffled voices, humming water pipes, and the distant click of someone typing.

Y/N leaned forward slightly and grabbed the remote. She didn’t ask before flicking on the TV, and the screen lit up with the familiar blue-white glow of the home screen. A few clicks, then a pause, and the opening bars of Mamma Mia floated into the air.

Sophia blinked. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the mug.

Of course.

It wasn’t a secret that the filipino loved the movie. The others teased her about it sometimes, when she insisted on watching it for the third time on a tour bus, mouthing the lines under her breath. But she never really talked about why. There was something in the messiness of it, the sunshine and absurdity, the way things still somehow ended up okay, that made it feel like a safety net.

She didn’t say anything. Just let the corners of her mouth lift, barely, as the camera panned across the sea and the first few lines of “I Have a Dream” played soft and familiar.

Y/N leaned back, one leg tucked under the other. Her head tilted against the couch cushion, gaze relaxed. “It was just on,” she said, offhand. “Figured it was better than scrolling.”

Sophia hummed quietly.

A few minutes passed. The tea was half gone now, the warmth from the mug slowly soaking into her palms, loosening something she hadn’t realized was clenched in her chest. Her body was tired in the deepest way, like the exhaustion had reached her bones, but she still sat upright, shoulders held in their practiced, unshakable posture.

The light above them buzzed faintly. Y/N shifted.

“Too bright,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “I’m turning it off so I can see the screen better.”

She stood without waiting for a reply and crossed to the switch near the hallway. The room dimmed instantly, leaving just the flickering light of the TV to wash over them. Everything softened in its glow. The room felt smaller now, warmer, like a cocoon. Sophia blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting, the sudden absence of overhead light making the tight band behind her temples ease just a little.

Y/N returned without ceremony, but this time she brought one of the couch pillows with her. She sat down again, closer than before. The pillow ended up between them at first, but then she adjusted it, tucked it behind her back instead. The space narrowed.

“It’s kind of cold,” she said, as though that explained it. “It always gets drafty near the window.”

Sophia nodded, quiet. The words didn’t matter. She knew what Y/N was doing, even if they were both pretending not to notice.

She felt it when their shoulders brushed, then settled. When Y/N angled her body just slightly, so that her knee pressed more fully against Sophia’s thigh. When the slow pressure of a hand, gentle and unassuming, found its way to the small of her back.

It was barely a touch. More like a weightless presence, a loose curl of fingers that moved in lazy, rhythmic circles. But it steadied her. Like ballast. Like the pressure reminded her she was here, not performing, not holding everything together. 

Sophia didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her eyes drifted to the TV. Donna was arriving on the island, the screen a blur of colors and summer heat: sunlight in hair, singing at the top of lungs, a mother dancing barefoot on old floorboards.

Y/N’s scent curled around her. Something clean, a little citrusy, mixed with damp hair and the faint, lingering sweetness of body cream. And underneath it all, the same scent that had clung to the mug of tea—chamomile and warmth.

Sophia’s grip on the cup loosened. Her shoulders dropped, just slightly. The tension she had been holding for days, maybe longer, began to ease away. Her heartbeat slowed, and she let her head tilt. Just barely. Resting against the space between Y/N’s shoulder and collarbone. And when sleep came, uninvited but not unwelcome, it came gently. 

The mug, now empty, rested on the couch beside her.

—

Sophia didn’t mention the tea the next day.

She didn’t mention how she had drifted off to sleep in the living room, her head tilted softly onto Y/N’s shoulder, or how Y/N had stayed with her until the movie ended. She didn’t mention the gentle nudge that woke her, or the way Y/N had guided her to her bed with one hand resting lightly at the small of her back, no words, just presence.

She woke up still in her hoodie, her hands curled loosely like she had been holding something in her sleep even though she wasn’t.

The morning unfolded as it always did. The dorm was loud in its usual, comforting way. Megan wore mismatched socks again. Daniela argued cheerfully with Manon over who got to use the bathroom first. Lara braided Yoonchae’s hair from behind as she scrolled through her phone, never asking, just humming tunelessly. Y/N sipped her coffee in silence. 

That afternoon, they were called into the studio to record harmony layers for the bridge, each girl vanishing into the booth one at a time. Sophia had done this so many times it felt like breathing. She knew how to place her voice just behind the melody, to let it bloom then disappear.

When it was her turn, she adjusted the headphones and stood in the dim blue light.

The producer’s voice filtered in through the headset. “Give us that first harmony line, soft. Breathier. You know the mood.”

She did. Of course she did. The song had lived in her for weeks. It was all breath and ache and quiet yearning. Something that sat under the skin and stayed there. She sang it three times. Each take lighter than the last.

“Almost,” the producer said, not unkindly, “Give us something more fragile.”

Sophia closed her eyes and tried again.

This time, something shifted. Not her voice, that stayed even, trained and unwavering, but something inside her chest. Not a collapse. More like surrender. Like she had loosened her grip on whatever she was holding too tightly.

The silence in her headphones was longer than usual.

Then, “Good. That’s the one.”

She stepped out of the booth and back into the dim-lit studio. Manon offered her a banana with one hand while balancing a notebook in the other. Sophia took it silently and sat down.

Y/N was the last to record. She didn’t say much, just moved with easy familiarity, tying her hair back loosely and rolling her sleeves up to the elbows. She adjusted the mic herself, tested with a small hum, her fingers brushing the stand like she was tuning something delicate.

Sophia watched her through the glass. She wasn’t pretending to check notes or scroll on her phone. She just watched. The shape of Y/N’s mouth forming each note, the slight furrow in her brow when she focused, the way her body leaned into the sound without performing.

Their eyes met once. Only for a second. Y/N looked up and caught her gaze through the glass. Not long. Not deliberate. But it stayed with her anyway.

Later that evening, after dinner and cleanup and the slow settling of the dorm into quiet again, Sophia found herself in the laundry room, folding towels just for something to do with her hands.

The fluorescent light buzzed above her. The dryer clicked as it spun down to silence. She hadn’t turned on any music. There was a kind of comfort in the hush, even if it was edged with the kind of stillness that asked too many questions.

She was down to the last towel when Y/N stepped inside, holding something in her hands.

“You left this in the living room,” she said, lifting Sophia’s hoodie slightly.

Sophia took it with a nod. “Thanks.”

Y/N didn’t leave. She leaned against the dryer, arms crossed loosely, her face unreadable in that way she had: not guarded, just... unoffered.

Sophia folded the last towel with care. She didn’t rush. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but full. Then Sophia said it, quiet, barely louder than the sound of cotton being smoothed flat.

“Are you worried about the comeback?”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was no hesitation.

“Yeah. I mean, how could I not be?”

Sophia gave a small breath of a laugh. It wasn’t bitter. Just real.

“But,” Y/N continued, her voice steady, “I think we’ve got it. We’ve been working hard. And it shows.”

Sophia looked at Y/N. Really looked. The soft line of her jaw, the calm in her eyes, the way she stood with her weight on one leg like she wasn’t afraid of stillness. There was no rush in her posture. No urge to fill the space. Just stillness, held without apology.

Y/N didn’t say the right things. She was the right things. Quiet and solid and warm.

It was like she knew Sophia didn’t need reassurance. She didn’t need praise or comfort or someone to tell her to slow down. What she needed, what she had, was someone who saw her. Who knew how hard she had been holding everything together and still chose to say nothing, to stand with her without trying to fix it.

Sophia nodded once, then tucked the hoodie under her arm.

“I’m going to start another load,” she said.

Y/N gave her a small smile. “I’ll help.”

And that was it.

Just the two of them in a too-bright laundry room, folding towels and sorting laundry, shoulders occasionally bumping as they moved. Together.

—

Sophia couldn’t remember exactly when the dizziness started. Only that it was always there now.

Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just persistent. A slow, creeping tilt beneath her feet, like the floor had shifted by a single degree and never settled back.

It followed her.

In practice rooms where the mirrors sweated and the music pressed like a second heartbeat under her skin. At night, when the hum of the dorm was too quiet to soothe her and too loud to ignore. During interviews, when her smile was so precisely shaped it left her jaw sore long after the cameras stopped.

She carried it like she carried everything else. Silently.

The weight, the expectations, the invisible calculations she performed daily to keep the others steady. Who needed more rest. Who hadn’t eaten. Who was nearing a crack in their veneer. She made herself the buffer without thinking, because that was what leaders did.

She didn’t resent it. Not really. She had made peace with the truth early on: people depended on her, so she didn’t get to fall apart.

But lately… she was slipping.

Not in a way others could name. Not in ways that would alarm anyone.

Megan handed her extra water bottles during practice without making it a thing. Manon joked louder near her, like joy could be volume-controlled. Lara would squeeze her hand before shoots, firm and grounding. Even Daniela wordlessly draped her jacket over Sophia’s shoulders on days when the heat didn’t reach her.

They noticed.

But Y/N, she saw.

And that was harder.

Because Y/N didn’t hover. She didn’t fill silences. She didn’t treat Sophia like a role to be performed. She simply existed beside her, quiet and steady — a stillness that never demanded, only invited. A stillness Sophia found herself drawn to more often than she ever intended.

It began with the small things.

A neatly folded packet of ginger candies, slipped by her bag on the day her throat burned after too many hours pushing her voice. A soft tug on her sleeve at midnight when she was still watching rehearsal footage on loop, eyes heavy and red, the tug saying clearly: enough for tonight. A subtle redirect during an interview when Sophia paused, words briefly caught between thought and phrasing, and Y/N filled the space with something warm and natural, giving her just enough room to breathe without anyone noticing she’d needed it.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t romantic.

And maybe that’s what made it dangerous.

Because if Y/N had made it obvious — if she’d reached out with concern etched on her face and said, I know you’re tired. Let me help — then Sophia would have known what to do. She would have smiled and said, I’m fine, and built the wall back up.

But there was never a wall to build. No grand gesture to reject. Just quiet. And warmth. And the way Y/N’s hand might press briefly to her back as they passed in the hallway, grounding her like gravity. The way her voice softened when she said Sophia’s name. The way she never asked for space, but made enough of it for Sophia to step into when she couldn’t find her own.

And now, with every moment she leaned into that space, every time she let herself rest in it, even just for a breath, something twisted faintly in her chest.

Because Sophia knew what it meant to rely on someone. She’d spent her whole life making sure no one had to rely on her too much.

But here she was. Letting herself be seen. Letting herself rest in someone else's shade.

And it was getting harder to pretend it didn’t matter.

Harder still to admit how much it did.

—

The guilt didn’t arrive with a bang. It crept in softly, like a tide. Barely noticeable until her feet were already wet. Until it was too late.

It found her one afternoon, during a rare sliver of downtime. The studio had gone quiet. No shoots. No back-to-back rehearsals. Most of the girls had drifted off for bubble tea or sunlight in the back stairwell.

Sophia stayed behind, claiming she had emails to answer. She sat in the practice room with her laptop open in front of her, the cursor blinking on a half-written reply to their stylist. 

But she wasn’t answering emails. She was listening.

Y/N was just down the hall, her voice drifting through the slightly ajar door as she helped Yoonchae film a quick Q&A segment for socials. Light questions. Favorite snacks. Most-used emojis. Their laughter rang out, full and unguarded.

Sophia sat frozen, hands still, eyes on a screen she couldn’t see.

She didn’t want to be part of the moment. That wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was that she hadn’t even thought to be.

Y/N was always there. Always nearby. Never pressing. Never asking. Just quietly present, like a breath Sophia hadn’t noticed she was taking until the air got too thin. But that also meant that every quiet act of care — every mug of tea, every offered silence — came at a cost Sophia had never properly tallied.

And it made something bitter stir in her chest.

She closed the laptop and stood, suddenly needing air that wasn’t full of her own self-awareness. She grabbed her jacket and stepped outside the building, where the sky had gone faintly grey, spring light filtered through clouds.

She didn’t get far before she heard footsteps behind her.

“Skipping out on emails now?” Y/N’s voice was easy, teasing.

Sophia didn’t turn around. “Finished them.”

A pause. Then Y/N fell into step beside her.

They walked together for a while, not far. Just to the edge of the lot behind the studio where the pavement gave way to gravel and the smell of blooming grass lingered after the rain.

Sophia kept her arms folded. Not because she was cold.

Y/N said nothing for a few minutes. Just let the silence settle between them like breath. Then she nudged her shoulder lightly into Sophia’s. “You okay?”

It wasn’t intrusive. Wasn’t heavy. Just a thread cast out.

Sophia nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just needed a break.”

Another pause.

“Everyone does sometimes,” Y/N said.

Sophia didn’t answer.

She didn’t want to lie. She didn’t want to tell the truth.

Instead, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and said, “You’re good at that. Showing up. For everyone.”

Y/N tilted her head, like she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning. “I try.”

Sophia hesitated. Then, too quiet: “I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

Y/N blinked. The wind lifted a strand of her hair, brushing it across her cheek. “You don’t.”

“But I could,” Sophia said. And then caught herself. “I mean, it’d be easy to. You don’t—”

She stopped. The words turned sour on her tongue.

Y/N didn’t press her. She just looked at her, really looked. The way she always did.

And it was too much.

Sophia turned her face away, jaw tense, eyes fixed on nothing. She said nothing. She couldn’t.

Then, quietly, Y/N stepped closer, not quite touching, but near enough that their shoulders almost brushed again.

“I don’t offer things I can’t afford to give,” Y/N said, voice steady. “So if I’m here, it’s because I want to be.”

Sophia’s throat tightened. Her hands disappeared deeper into her sleeves. 

The words were kind. Solid. True. And Sophia didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.  

—

That night, Sophia laid awake. 

She laid still long after the others had gone quiet, her body aching in every way it could: knees stiff, back tight, chest sore from holding too much. Her body longed for rest, but her mind ticked forward like a second hand gone haywire. Like if she didn’t move soon, she’d fall behind on something even if nothing was scheduled.

She rolled onto her side, the sheets whispering against her skin.

Across the narrow stretch of their shared room, Y/N lay in her bed, a soft silhouette framed by the silver pull of moonlight. Her blanket rose and fell in quiet rhythm, and even asleep, she faced Sophia, always curled that way, always toward her. It wasn’t something they talked about. It just... was.

Sophia stared at the shape of the other girl and felt like a thief.

—

The next morning, the rain came.

It started during their second run-through of the choreo: light at first, barely more than a whisper on the high windows. Then harder. Louder. Wind pushing it sideways. The rehearsal studio dimmed as the gray outside swallowed the morning. The mirrors fogged around the edges, and their reflections blurred into pale ghosts.

Everyone was dragging.

Manon missed a cue. Daniela’s ankle rolled slightly on a pivot. Megan kept rubbing her thigh between counts.

Sophia picked up the slack.

She shouted louder. Counted harder. Caught the missed formations. Cleaned transitions that weren’t even hers to fix. Her voice cracked halfway through, but she kept going. Her shoulder pinched. Her right knee gave a little shake at the end of a turn. But she kept going.

She always did.

Until she couldn’t.

Near the end of the fourth full-out, her balance slipped. It was not a full stumble, just a flicker, a shift in her center that made her land a beat late. She caught herself before anyone could say anything. Hit the final pose like always. Chin up. Core tight. Smile in place.

But she saw it.

Y/N saw it too.

When the trainer called dismissal, Sophia waited. Let the noise surge.

Someone shouted about fried chicken. Another cheered for bubble tea. The team took a blurry group selfie, everyone sweaty and radiant and too loud for how tired they were.

Sophia smiled, like it didn’t cost her anything.

Then she slipped out.

Not far. Just the hallway outside, dim and humming with rain still against the windows. She pressed her back to the wall, the tile cold through her damp shirt. Her hand was curled into the hem of her tank like she could press the tremor out of her fingers. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. The ringing in her head got louder as she did her best to stay upright.

Don’t fall apart. Don’t fall apart.

Her breath hitched. Sharp. Shallow.

And then there was movement. 

Y/N. 

Towel looped over her neck. Face pink from exertion, knee darkening with the start of a bruise. She didn’t say anything. Just came close. Closer. Until their forehead touched.

Just that. Nothing more. And it almost broke Sophia completely. 

She clenched her jaw. Bit down on the inside of her cheek. Swallowed the sound building in her throat.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a scrape.

Y/N didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just stood there, breathing in tandem.

“I can’t—” Sophia tried, then stopped. Her throat worked around the truth. “I can’t keep needing you like this.”

Still, nothing.

Sophia turned her face slightly away, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t deserve it.”

This time, Y/N answered. Soft. Sure. “Why not?” 

Sophia blinked hard.

“Because I don’t give back the same way. I can’t. Because you’re always—” She broke off. Her breath came faster. “Because you’re always the one who catches me. And if I fall too hard, and you’re not there... I won’t know how to fix it. I won’t know how to be okay.”

Silence.

Sophia’s fists trembled at her sides. “I’m scared. I’m scared of letting you in too far. Of what it means. Of what it makes me.”

Y/N stayed quiet.

And that silence hurt — not because it was empty, but because it was patient. Because it meant she was still here.

Sophia looked at her, eyes glassy, throat raw. “I don’t even know what this is. It doesn’t feel like friendship. But it’s not just romance either. It feels... more. Somehow.”

Y/N reached out, brushing her fingertips along Sophia’s arm. Shoulder to elbow.

Sophia flinched. Not away. Inward. Like the contact struck something buried deep. But she didn’t move.

Y/N stepped closer. Slower this time. She leaned in, not to kiss, not to claim, not to fix. Just enough to press her lips to Sophia’s shoulder. A soft, fleeting touch on the edge of her damp sweatshirt.

Just enough to be real, to say: I hear you. I’m here. 

Sophia’s face crumpled. Her body sagged forward, surrendering inch by inch until her forehead found Y/N’s collarbone. Her whole frame shuddered once, then stilled.

Her hand reached blindly. Found Y/N’s. Their fingers tangled together, tight and desperate, a tether more than a hold.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sophia whispered. “Not without ruining it.”

Y/N’s reply was soft, nearly lost in the fall of rain.

“Then don’t do it alone.”

Sophia trembled again. Once. Twice. 

And finally, finally, she let go. 

Not of Y/N.

Of the guilt. Of the fear. Of the weight she'd carried since the moment someone called her strong.

And in that small, rain-damp hush, they stayed.

—

Comeback week felt like a storm that never broke.

Everything happened faster now: call times, interviews, late-night rehearsals. Choreography on glossy floors that bruised their knees. Scripted soundbites. Smile for the camera. Blink. Breathe. Repeat.

Sophia moved through it like a machine.

Efficient. Composed. Dependable. 

Her voice stayed level. Her shoulders didn’t slump. She waited behind when the stylists needed last-minute fixes. She smiled, even when her chest pulled tight with exhaustion so deep she felt it in her teeth.

She didn’t complain.

Because this — the exhaustion, the discipline, the price — was the job. And she was good at it.

It was only in the silence after that Sophia ever felt the cost.

One afternoon, after an especially exhausting day, she sat on the practice room floor after the others had gone. The overhead lights were off, just the glow of her phone casting long shadows across the mirror. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. She just sat with her knees drawn up, arms draped over them, as she stared into her reflection: Dim. Distant.

For the first time in what seemed forever, she let herself go. In this room, she didn’t need to hold herself upright for anyone else. She could just feel. All of it. The tremble in her fingers, the ache behind her eyes. The sinking pressure that didn’t quite have a name.

She didn’t hear the door open, but she knew who it was the second the silence shifted.

Like clockwork. Like a prayer. 

Sophia didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. 

And when Y/N reached over — slow, deliberate — and uncurled her hand from where it had been clenched into her hoodie, Sophia didn’t resist.

She simply let their fingers twine again. Familiar now. Sacred. And exhale. 

— 

Later, they would walk into the press event together, full makeup, styled hair, eyes bright like nothing ever tired them.

Sophia would smile with practiced ease. She would thank the interviewer, compliment the fans, lift Lara’s answer with a joke when the question got too deep. She’d stand in the middle of the group like she belonged there as if the foundation didn’t tremble beneath her feet.

And when it was over, when the cameras went off and the car doors shut behind them, she’d sit in the farthest seat in the van, head pressed to the window, and feel the ache return in silence.

But in the middle of it all, between the chaos and the pretense and the exhaustion so deep it hollowed her out, there would be that small moment from earlier.

The hum of the T.V. 

Y/N’s steady shoulder against hers.

The shape of breathing, shared.

Not a lifeline. Not a cure.

But proof.

That somewhere inside the exhaustion, she could fall. And that even if she did, Y/N would catch her.  

And that was enough.

—

was thinking about making this a hurt/no comfort piece, but then remembered that not everything has to be painful. sometimes, good things can simply be good. happy pride month, y'all. thank you for reading.

listen to. don't cry, put your head on my shoulder by tom odell

[4kozy]

sophia as ur monster gf hcs

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sophia is a vampire, so messes in your home is a guarantee. she’s a messy eater; regardless of if it’s your blood or someone else’s, there’s gonna be a lot of cleaning up afterwards.

vamp soph has very pointy ears and teeth. she doesn’t have claws–common misconception–but she likes to get acrylics to match the look. she’s deathly pale when hungry, a big problem for her because she misses the natural color of her lips from time to time, but hates having to feed to get it back.

vamp soph mentioned feeding on you as nonchalantly as she could ( so as obvious as possible ) at the start of your relationship… saying how good you smelled, how much she wanted to try you, how feeding was an honor… it was kinda cute, so you kept teasing her as if you never heard any of it. she got so sick of it😭 she almost tackled you so you’d listen… ( ended differently than planned )

vamp soph always kisses you deep before eating–she says it makes you taste better, but you think it’s an excuse to make out. you also know that it’s to relax you before her fangs pierce your pulse, and that way, it hurts you a lot less. ( sometimes she gets drunk off of it, not stopping until you weakly push her off, in which case she profusely apologizes, giving you the aftercare of the gods🙏 )

vamp soph does NOT go outside. no, the sun doesn’t burn her alive, but it might as well… she also doesn’t do well in temperatures that aren’t moderate. fall and early spring are the times you go out the most–not too cold; not too hot.

vamp soph would sooner fly you everywhere you need to go than invest in a car. she thinks they’re the root of all evil, and would rather you stay home anyways.

vamp soph is very expressive–she never has to say that she’s feeling anything because she wears her heart on her face…? she’s upset? oh, you know. she’s pleased? oh, honey we can tell. you don’t tell her this either, because she will lie in your face about how she’s feeling even though it’s really obvious.

when vamp soph first fed on you, it kinda linked you two together. when you feel physical pain, so does she. it’d be a bit more romantic if you weren’t so clumsy at the job.

vamp soph doesn’t sleep period. she will lay in bed with you with her arms crossed and eyes open. she is literally counting the seconds until you wake up again. she never brings it up because she knows you like sleeping with her and you’d feel bad.

vamp soph can’t eat anything but blood ( and odder enough, raw butter ) and STILL takes the time out to make you dinner; yes, it’s good asf; yes, you ask for seconds and thirds.

vamp soph likes to play games with you more than anything. you two don’t play collaborative games anymore–a phantom woman knocked on your door and kinda cussed y’all out… ( you guys apologized and now hang out regularly. sophia has to wear 3 layers though. )

vamp soph likes to collect antique sharp objects! it’s cool until you’re asleep and wake up to sophia holding a broadsword over your face! more incidents of falling weapons occur and you thank whatever otherworldly force for her reflexes.

vamp soph broods like a teenage boy and listens to ptv very obnoxiously when it’s her journaling time. she likes to say that vampires have concerns the world would blow up over… falling over while attempting to stand up after a week of flying straight is not one of them.

vamp soph is super protective over you. remember how she can feel when you get hurt? it took months for her to stop showing up at the job after a prick–she still shows up for a fall every time; she also takes you home, because why would anyone beef with a vampire?

when vamp soph met you, she swore off eating anybody else… you think it’s cus she’s picky, and she thinks you guys are soulmates.

vamp soph loves receiving cheek kisses. especially after rescuing you from work, it’s like her special reward.

like manon, i also see vamp soph as being lesser on the possessive side, just because everyone can see that you’re taken. also she’s really confident in herself; you’d be stupid to try anything. you are very very smart! ( unfortunately some people are not. sophia knows she swore off eating anyone else but when that idiot man was messing with you, she got so mad she couldn’t control herself. she didn’t fully eat him–he tasted quite gross–but the point was made when his mangled body was found off the side of the road… oh how protective your girlfriend gets. )

vamp soph’s fav thing to do with you is talk. conversations with her are never dull, so you enjoy them too!

vamp soph was turned a long, long, long time ago. you don’t ask about her age, or who turned her, it’s a topic that isn’t taken very well. ( sophia spent the first thirty years of her life post-turn almost animal-like–vampires only get more human the more they feed )

another ability of vamp soph’s that backfires on her a lot is her shape shifting. this one is still one she has yet to control, her body usually going haywire when you make her flustered. ( tugging on her cheeks teasingly ended up with them stretching to 22 inches. it took a lot of butter, hard work, and apologies stifled by laughter–on your end–to fix it. )

vamp soph can also hypnotize you. she doesn’t realize when she’s doing it most of the time, until she jokingly tells you to die on the game and you rush to the nearest weapon ( which wasn’t far due to her odd obsession with them ) and she has to restrain you for the next hour.

vamp soph is really loud and argumentative; this is only exacerbated by the fact that she’s lived for hundreds of years so she thinks she knows better than you do. when google gets pulled out, phones get broken. and better phones get bought…

when vamp soph gets asked her favorite era of life, she will 100% without fail say it’s the one with you in it. it’s not meant to be corny, it’s genuinely how she feels about you.

vamp soph likes taking extravagant baths with you, and she will do one every night with a different theme. your favorite was pride month ‘23.

you like to massage vamp soph a lot! for such a homebody she gets a bunch of knots in her back. ( it has something to do with her workout routine… flying… for a long time… )

vamp soph likes to capture spiders in your home and name them. you currently have a lot more than you’d be comfortable with, but you love sophia more than you hate spiders.

you like to crochet vamp soph new clothes all the time. you originally picked it up as a side hobby, but seeing her enjoy every piece–from the ugly ducklings to the beautiful swans–you continued. she wears everything and proudly shows them off to everyone in the building, despite your embarrassment.

you and vamp soph’s favorite place ( outside of your home, that is ) is the beach! especially at night, you both love it there.

where the phantom neighbor’s apartment is minimal with barely anything but string lights and the occasional clothes on the floor, you and vamp soph turn your place into a maximalist dream–there is stuff everywhere, in a way that’s full but not cluttered. it reminds her childhood home in a way, her father was a toy store owner in their town.

you laugh at all the jokes vamp soph tells, even when they aren’t funny, just because you know your laughter makes her happy.

after 4 years of being together, and multiple internal monologues, you finally bring up to vamp soph about your wish to be turned. sophia stares at you like you’ve grown three heads. this is equally because of her trauma and her need to keep you safe at all costs. she tries to argue with you, saying you’ll need to eat a lot to turn human, you’ll have horrible pain for the first few weeks–or in her case years, and that living forever means watching the people you love die. you’re determined though, telling her that it’s forever with her or nothing, and you’d be willing to do anything it takes for it to work. after a few months of pleading, she finally relents, and just as she told you, it hurts like fucking hell. she brings you humans every day, hoping that you’ll have it just a bit easier, taking care of you the best way she knows how. when you recover, all you can feel is overwhelming love, and you know you’ve made the right decision 🩷

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wow vampire sophia😍😍??? how surprising!!! all i know is that i need her–and bad. (in a tone of voice that is not appropriate)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Not sure if you’ve ever done something like this, but I think a miraculous ladybug style love square featuring Danny would be absolutely hilarious. It can be with literally any bat (I’m partial to either Damian or Tim, but honestly any would be amazing). But literally just Danny coming to Gotham and going out as Phantom, running into the bat of choice and BOOM instant crush. And then Danny running into that same bats civilian ID and BOOM another instant crush going the opposite direction. Not particularly picky about who has the civilian crush, and who has the vigilante crush, but we would definitely need to see interactions between all four identities a la Miraculous.

Danny Fenton loathes Bruce Wayne. It's not because Sam's parents have often attempted to pawn off their daughter onto the guy or that Danny, as her once boyfriend, felt threatened by him. He can see the intelligence in Bruce's eyes, and the man still acts the way he does.

What's worse is that they are the same age, which means when Sam's parents started pushing for her to attend galas at age fifteen, Danny had been forced along to help deflect annoying rich boys. He met Bruce hiding behind curtains, making faces at his butler when the older gentleman attempted to push fifteen-year-old Bruce back onto the dance floor.

He would have felt sympathy for the wealthy heir—being an orphan so young with everyone around him foaming at the mouth for his wealth and titles was rough on anyone—were it not for how he spoke to poor Mr. Pennyworth.

Bruce acted like Mr.Pennyworth was an accessory to his image, as if the man wasn't treating him with the obvious care and attention one would a son.

Danny found his feet, leading him to Wayne just as the teenager instructed Mr.Pennyworth to wait in the car—four hours, four hours, in the freezing cold!

The first words he ever said to Bruce Wayne were, "You do not talk to him like that, you self-centered jerk!"

Then he had to dodge a fist because apparently Wayne had anger issues, but Danny had been dodging ghosts for an entire year. He sidesteps and pushes the boy on his ass. Mr.Pennyworth seemed frozen by the wall, and Wayne dared to stare up at him like someone standing up to him was such a wonder.

Sam had called him away, so with a long look down his nose at the rich boy, he spun around and strutted away.

___________________________________________________________

Bruce Wayne adored Danny Fenton.

Ever since the firecracker appeared in his life, with a grace that rivaled even his best of masters, Bruce has been infatuated with him. Fenton came from a small town in Illinois as a guest of the Manson family.

The Manson were new money, having only developed their wealth two generations ago. They had no real social connections and lived in the middle of nowhere. Mr. and Mrs. Manson were eager to pair their daughter off with someone with better standing, but it is evident that they only pushed a little for her to find a rich husband.

They wouldn't have allowed Fenton to tag along if they genuinely wanted their daughter to build connections through marriage. The couple just seemed to want their daughter to stop being goth.

The teenager was unapologetically middle-class, and Bruce found himself watching Fenton move about Galas with a defiant air that left him breathless. He insulted people to their faces, returned passive aggression tenfold, and someone tried to talk down to him; Fentn had the brain to quickly turn the tides.

The Manson's standing shouldn't have shielded him, not when they barely had any social power, yet somehow no one dared to bother Fenton outside of events. It was all so fascinating.

Fenton didn't often come to Gotham, as the Mansons mainly stayed in their own little part of the world, but every year, without fail, they were there for the Charity event in Spring and the Halloween Fest. The dark-haired, sharp-eyed eye, blue-eyed boy would be at Miss Manon's side, muttering into the goth girl's ear.

Bruce's heart constantly fluttered when the days were approaching the two high society events because it would mean seeing Fenton again. Years passed with Alfred attempting for Bruce to strike a friendship with Fenton, but something always made Bruce nervous.

Excited and nervous, like he was about to hit the drop of a rollercoaster. It was a rush whenever their eyes locked, even if Fenton's hardened into a dangerous glare.

Eventually, Bruce went off to do his training, finally getting close to his goal of making the rot of Gotham pay. He didn't see Fenton for a while, and the angry teenager lingered in the back of his mind until Bruce rocked back to Gotham with his new Brucie persona.

Only to have his jaw drop the moment he caught sight of Fenton. The boy was now the CEO of VladCo. after his godfather had taken a sabbatical for medical reasons. Fenton was still unapologetic about his roots and seemed enraged whenever Bruce brought out his playboy persona.

"Cut the crap," Fenton hissed into Bruce's face, unaware of the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. "We both know you're not dumb. I can see your intelligence, and how you're downplaying it is sickening."

Bruce fought the urge to fan himself, heart racing, as he smiled absentmindedly. "Whatever do you mean?"

Fenton made a screech of outrage before turning and stomping away. Bruce hated watching him go, but he loved to watch him leave.

"Sir," Alfred muttterd as he stepped up behind him. Bruce snapped out of his staring, turning his head slightly to pick up the man's whispered words better. "A break-in at Gotham Bank. Nine hostages"

"Understood." He made a show of diving into the fountain with Fenton, looking like he would pop a blood vessel as an excuse to leave. As he drives, Bruce Wayne fades into Batman in more ways than a costume change, and his mind races with plans to save the hostages.

He just hopes that Dofus Phantom doesn't get in his way again. The ghost would pop up randomly in his city, and no matter how many times Batman threatened him, the idiot came back again and again.

Phantom had no detective mindset. He stopped crimes right before him without considering the bigger picture. Dofus probably died in a small town with low crime rates. He didn't understand the complications of deep corruption, power vacuums, or gang violence.

Out of all the people who could have turned into a poltergeist, it had to be the clumsy fanboy Phantom.

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢?

         ⊹ ࣪ ˖ some mysterious disappearances in your small town have megan acting extremely weird— and insanely protective.

         ˎˊ˗  🌘  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: werewolf!megan skiendiel x f!reader

          ➴ genre + wc: 4k, protective!megan, highkey brainrot fluff don't take this seriously 🤭

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: decode- paramore. ♫

megan was one of your best friends in elementary school, your dad having been close with her family. but it's easy to be close when your town is only a few thousand people, sleepy and quiet, little to wake up to. it felt like a culture shock to move in middle school, but you try not to give it much thought. you guys had kept in touch the first few years, but as you got busier and busier, it got harder to make time for your phone calls.

megan is the first one to come out to greet you when you move back home for a few months to finish your senior year. it was either forks, or moving to florida, and your better option is painfully obvious.

you're only a few boxes into unpacking when your giant dresser begins to tip out of the back of the moving truck, threatening to flatten you beneath it, before there's a body quickly catching it. your eyes meet, and she looks like a statue of atlas— effortlessly catching it on her back and propping it back up as if it's nothing. you're certain it would have crushed you, and you want to ask her how the hell she didn't get hurt beneath the giant thing, but before you know it, she's swooping you up in a giant hug, beaming from ear to ear.

"y/n, where the hell have you been, loca?!"

(it's been years, but she's taller than you expected her to be, and if lifting the dresser wasn't enough, the way her powerful arms wrap around you and squeeze you in their embrace hint that she's way, way stronger than she was back then when you were both just scrawny kids.)

-

she offers to be your tour guide to re-familiarize yourself with forks the weekend before you're supposed to start school. she's so animated, showing you around the whole town, and admittedly, most of it is the same— even megan. sweet, goofy, and so proud to be a forks native, she talks about the small mom and pop shops as if they're a wonder of the world. she takes you down to the beach even though it's the middle of a spring frost, but she doesn't care.

she takes you on a hike in the wooded area behind your house, and warns you not to come out at night due to all the wild animals that call the woods home. you see her seem most at home among the nature, pointing out cougar prints in the mud when you guys hike in the woods.

"aren't those wolf tracks?" you ask, noting a faded print up the trail. you're certain you make it up, but her face almost seems to fall, as if you've said something you shouldn't have.

"too big to be a wolf, it's gotta be a bear," she tells you, shaking her head, but something behind her eyes changes— you've spooked her.

-

you catch her constantly looking uncomfortable when her friends start to make digs at some classmate of yours, a family that megan's friends make abundantly clear they are not a fan of.

"they're just fucking weirdos," dani says about sophia and manon, the adopted sisters from a family that always happens to be gone camping when it's not raining.

"they've been pretty nice to me," you admit, though the most of your interactions have mostly just been them politely ignoring you as you're paired for work in a class you share.

megan looks up quickly from the game of tug-of-war she's playing with lara, her brows knitting together.

"please don't tell me you've talked to them?" she questions, and you simply give her a look, confused as to why she cares so much.

"like, once," you say, and she's closing the distance between you in seconds, a panicked look in her eye.

"promise me you'll keep your distance from them," she pushes, dropping her chin for her dark gaze to dig into yours.

"fine, you weirdo, i'll keep my distance," you roll your eyes, and you hear her sigh as if she's relieved... what the hell is she so weird about this for?

-

megan, out of nowhere one day just stops calling, stops texting, stops reaching out. you assume she's busy with lara and dani, considering they live downtown and attend a different school, but when the next day passes and you get no reply, you're confused as to where the hell your best friend disappeared to. three days go by with no replies by the time you take it upon yourself to drive up to the old property dani's family own in the woods where the three spend most of their free time playing with junk or just talking amongst themselves. that's when you see her— fresh, dark ink embedded into the skin of her left shoulder, and what looks like the fading indents of teeth just beneath.

"did you ditch me to get matching tattoos?" you question, trying to piece it together. the rain is matting her hair down against her face, and her eyes look heavy, tired.

"you can't be here," lara says quickly, and you notice something similar on her arm— a sigil tattoo, and a bite mark just underneath.

"y/n, please," megan cuts in, reaching for your wrist to turn you both around, walking you in the direction back of your car. "you really shouldn't have come."

"are you going to tell me why you and your friends look like you just got caught summoning a demon?" you laugh, but she doesn't laugh with you.

"y/n, it's just like, really complicated stuff with our families," she says anxiously, glancing over her shoulder as if at any moment, she'll be caught with you. "please just trust me. i'll text you later."

"i just wanted to make sure you were okay," you press, giving her an anxious look as she gets you back in your car. you motion to her arm. "did you all get bit by something?"

"i'm okay," she reassures you. "but i'll be better once i know you're safe and out of here."

"megan," you press. "please talk to me."

"i will." she nods, and it brings you the slightest reassurance at how serious she seems about her promise. "soon. for now, stay out of it, and stay away from sophia and manon. please."

you drive away, and in your rear view mirror, you see her walking back to the other two. in a flash, the three of them are gone, disappearing into the woods behind them.

-

a week later, and megan is finally getting back to her normal self. she calls you friday night, asking if you can make time for her the next morning. you have half a mind to turn her down, but you can't stay mad at her for long— especially remembering how panicked she seemed about whatever she was going through.

it's raining the next morning, when she comes over to come get you for your coffee hang out, and dani and lara are in the back of her car to join the two of you. the moment the door swings open and your eyes lock, you can't help but smile, feeling relieved to see her in one piece.

but... megan does something weird.

your eyes are locked the whole time you walk up to the car, hoping for some kind of greeting or indication that she's happy to see you, but all she does is just stare at you, her expression blank. then suddenly, her eyebrows furrow, she looks almost.... pained? she pushes back in the drivers seat with a gasp as soon as you open the car door, and dani and lara instantly share a concerned look between the two of them.

"did you seriously just fucking—" dani starts, but megan cuts her off.

"y/n," she greets simply, her eyes lighting up as soon as you get into the passenger seat. the pained expression melts away from her face, replaced instantly by a smile. "missed you."

"you're kidding me," lara groans, tossing her head back against the seat, but you're lost as to what is going on.

"will someone tell me what's going on?" you beg, desperate for some clarity.

"it's just been a long week," megan waves them off. "let's go get something to eat, i'm fucking starving."

-

the four of you are at the local diner, and you're in absolute shock at just how much the three of them are ordering. between the trio, they've ordered enough food to cover the entire table, and they make no small work between them to take it all down plate by plate.

"are you guys bulking or what?" you question, confused as to how exactly they can still be hungry.

"what meg said. it's been a looong week," dani smirks, stealing another pancake off of lara's plate.

"did you hear about the mountain lion attacks this week?" you ask, spotting a man across from you with the newspaper. your dad had warned you not to go too far into the woods after another hiker had come up mauled to death.

megan's face goes stony, her fork dropping against the plate. "how do you know about that?"

"it's all over the newspapers," you tell her. "they cancelled a mountain club hike because of it."

"it's those fucking—" dani starts, but lara swiftly kicks her under the table and shuts her up.

"it's what?" you prod, but the three of them share a look between them, a look you're starting to get sick of. "i just wanted to make sure you guys were safe. what the fuck bit both of you last week?"

"we just played too hard with dani's dog," lara says weakly, and you see daniela pull the sleeve of her jacket up to cover her arm. a lucky guess would tell you that she probably has the matching tattoo and bite combination as the other two.

"be so forreal, lar. each of you, in the exact same spot?" you ask. "do you guys think i'm stupid or what? what are you hiding?"

a crack of glass against the table and the sound of dripping liquid shocks you out of your questioning. you look up quickly to realize megan has accidentally crushed her coffee mug in her grip, the ceramic clanging as it falls to the table, a few shards left in her hand.

"what the fuck?" you gape.

"sorry, sorry," megan shakes her head. "please stay out of it, y/n."

"if you don't talk to me, i'm going to start looking around for answers," you threaten, feeling your neck heat up. the three of them avoid your gaze, reaching for napkins to clean up megan's mess, but you can't handle being around their weirdness any more.

you storm out of the diner but you hear her right behind you, a strong arm pulling you back. since when was megan's grip that powerful, since when was her skin so warm?

"y/n, i know things have been super weird," she starts, and you don't want to bring yourself to look at her, but you can feel her eyes pleading with you. "but i promise, everything is happening to keep you safe."

"i'm going to figure this out sooner rather than later," you threaten, finally looking up at her.

"you need to back off," she nearly growls, her voice low and heavy. she softens slightly, and you see something change in her eyes. "i can't let anything happen to you."

"what would happen to me?" you ask quickly. "megan, please. i can help you."

"just stay out of it, please." the look in her eyes says it all. she's begging at this point.

you pull your arm from her grasp and turn to start walking towards the library. you need answers, and you need them now.

-

try as you might, your research yields nothing. your best bet is to guess that she is joining some kind of weird occult thing with lara and dani, and you're not quite sure where that leaves you. if she's embarrassed about doing some weird spells in the forest, why is she acting like you catching her would cause you some sort of harm?

your walk home has given you plenty of time to think about how you're going to approach it. you don't want to give megan the cold shoulder, but if she's going to be weird and secretive with you, you're going to demand answers whether she wants it or not.

you don't want your dad asking about where you've been, and you know he's in the living room watching TV, so you hop the gate into your backyard to enter through the back door and hopefully escape his view. you're unlocking the back door when a cracking branch catches your attention, sending you spinning to try and see where the noise is coming from.

you see a few moving figures in the tree line of the woods up against your backyard. you feel your heart start to race before you see a familiar shape emerge from the trees, locking eyes with you.

"megan? what the fuck are you doing in the woods this late?" you question.

she's running up to you, panicked expression in her eyes as she glances behind herself, back at the woods.

"i thought you got home forever ago," she says, almost angry, as if you've ruined something for her. "you can't be out here. you need to go inside, like, now."

"this is my backyard," you push back in confusion. "what is–"

megan steps in your eyeline, blocking your view of the woods behind you. she's breathing heavily, her skin looking flushed. you realized in the freezing weather, she's in a stupid pair of shorts and a t shirt. isn't she fucking cold?

but then she speaks, and the harshness in her low voice makes your pulse race.

"go inside, y/n, and lock the door." she grabs you hand, her skin impossibly warm, and places it on the doorhandle, as if to rush you. she glances back over her shoulder, before looking at you with a panicked expression "please."

you don't know what's going on, but her panic is enough to push you into working the lock, pressing the keycode in. you look back over her shoulder and spot a figure, a person, at the edge of the treeline. your toes go numb at the sight— they stand there, menacingly, blankly, terrifyingly.

"who is that?" you try to ask, but your voice is a mere whisper. your hands are shaking too hard to work the lock and you feel yourself stuck with a scream in your throat.

megan yanks the door open after you finally press the code in, and you see the wood splinter from how hard she pulls it.

"i'm not fucking asking," she says in a low growl, her hand on your waist to guide you into the doorway. "inside, now. close the window and don't look out."

"who the fuck is in that my backyard, megan?" you ask shakily, but whatever is happening, time is up. megan gives you an apologetic look and pushes you forcefully inside, slamming the door behind you. you hear your dad snore from the living room and rush to go wake him up, but freeze before you make it to the living room.

why didn't megan want you looking outside? 

you know it's probably a bad move to deliberately disobey her, but you’re on the cusp of getting answers. you won’t let yourself be pushed away again. 

you take shaky steps back into the kitchen, your breaths quickening as you approach the window. you push the curtain to the side and put your eye against the crease of the window that forms.

in the sliver of the moonlight, you spot it by the treeline again, the form of the person waiting. they’re just standing, and you have half a mind to take a picture of them and report them in the morning, but before you can do anything, the person hunches over, as if they’re waiting, watching for something.

then, your stomach lurches. a bear, so much more massive than you ever thought they could get in forks, washington, bursting out of the treeline, diving directly towards the person.

you clamp a hand over your mouth to cover your scream, and realize quickly it’s not a bear. but a bear is the only thing that describes the massive size of the creature. shaggy black hair and enormous in stature, your eyes feel like they’re playing tricks on you. a wolf, the size of a large bear, but it’s not attacking the person. you see it snap it’s massive jaws once, twice, the sound of their closure loud enough to reverberate to you even through the shut window several yards away in your backyard. 

you’re horrified by what you think you’re about to see, a mauling in your own backyard, but you suddenly spot another two giant wolves rushing out from the trees. a smaller golden colored one, and another black one with a white patch just above the eyeline, both snapping their jaws in tandem with the first one. almost as quickly as they emerge, the person disappears into the woods, moving nearly so quickly you could swear they disappear in a blink. 

you’re not sure whether to call someone, something, anything at this point to figure out what the hell just happened in your backyard. you pull your phone up to try and get a picture of the creatures, so much bigger than you could have possibly imagined wolves could get, but the golden one and the white patched one have already disappeared right back into the woods.

the first one stays, though.

you pull back the curtain all the way to try and get a better picture, but the moment the moonlight hits it, you drop your phone in shock.

those eyes. those familiar, painfully comforting dark eyes.

it’s looking straight at you. you don’t know how, and you don’t know why, but it feels like an answer to all the questions you’ve been asking.

and just as quickly, it disappears into the woods, following the other two.

-

who the hell are you about to try to convince about what you just saw?

you fall asleep on the couch next to your dad, too shocked to make it into your room. the next morning, you wake up at the crack of dawn to escape out of the house and seek her out. you need answers, and you need them now.

you drive up to the avanzini property, wondering if you’ll see them there, and you park in the dirt driveway just as you spot them. you see dani first, then lara, but by the time you see megan, you see a slightly taller girl in front of the three of them. before you can recognize her, the taller girl is shoving megan backwards, the younger girl flying backwards and down into the dirt. she kneels above her, looking over at dani and lara, who you half expect to do something, or at the very least, you expect megan to do something.

but none of them do, and the older girl says something to the three of them before landing two fast, painful looking punches to megan’s face. you feel your heart lurch as you watch her just sit and take it, the girl grabbing megan by the collar and saying something just inches from her face before she lands one final blow and steps back.

“yunjin,” lara says, as if she’s warning the girl to your presence.

“get off of her, what the fuck?” you nearly scream, pushing her away from megan. you can’t understand why megan, this insanely strong, rather stubborn girl, would just lay there and take such a harsh looking beating.

“no, it’s fine y/n,” megan tells you, getting up from the ground as she realizes you’re there. you wince as you see the angry red of her cheek and eyebrow from the blows, her nose dripping with blood. you want to turn and give this yunjin girl a piece of your mind, but you remember what exactly you’re there to establish in the first place.

“you owe me so many explanations,” you warn, pointing a finger in megan’s face, but the puppy dog eyes she gives you is enough to soften you. you confirm something you had almost hoped you were making up— those eyes are the ones you saw last night.

“so you’re the girl.” yunjin’s nostrils flare, clearly displeased with your interruption. she eyes you up and down, then glares back over at megan. “the patrols, the hunts, the nights, all this for her?”

“yes,” megan says firmly, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her wrist. 

yunjin glares at you for a little longer, before looking back over at dani and lara. she shakes her head, then focuses back at megan.

“make sure she understands,” she snaps coldly, motioning to you. “nobody else can know. you’ve put everyone in danger. all over a girl.”

“it was worth it,” megan pushes back bravely, albeit a bit quietly. yunjin eyes her, her jaw hard.

“i don’t know why i got stuck with you as my second-in-command, but remember who you need to put first. just because you imprinted doesn’t mean you can just leave your pack behind to protect some girl,” she hisses, before turning to walk back inside.

“what is this about?” you ask, trying to piece it together from yunjin’s cryptic comments.

megan rubs her neck, her nose wrinkling. 

“dani told her about how i um…” she lets out a quiet breath. “i did something, when i saw you again.”

“okay.” at this point, anything will be better than your hypothesis of a cult. “what did you do?”

“i just kind of, always knew i wanted to protect you,” she starts quietly. “and after someone turns for the first time, your instincts like, reveal stuff to you.”

“turns?” you question, but you figure there are more important questions at hand. “what kind of stuff?”

you see her smile nervously– a full 180 from the angry, dark-eyed girl who was barking you around the night before.

“it just tells me who i’m meant to be with or whatever, no pressure.”

“lots of pressure,” you laugh, confused about what she’s rambling about.

“it also makes it impossible for me to not worry about you,” she goes on. “and you’re super fucking stubborn about getting yourself into dangerous situations.”

“i’d be less stubborn if you just talked to me,” you remind her. she lets out a quiet sigh.

“you wouldn’t believe any of this, if i tried.”

“just try me,” you plead, reaching fo her hand.

“before i imprinted, i liked asking the pack to just take a lap behind your property, just to make sure there was nothing there that wasn’t supposed to be there.” her voice is shaky, gentle, like she’s trying to pick her words to not overwhelm you. “after i imprinted, it made me go crazy thinking something would happen to you. like i just kept getting this feeling. i made us all go back after the first patrol. i’m glad we did. last night, something tried to get to you.”

“she’s so annoying about you, y/n.” dani finally cuts in, and you’ve forgotten that they’re both still there, standing off to the side. “i liked you so much better when you weren’t the only thing she thinks about, it’s like a radio stuck on one fucking song.”

“what?” you ask, hoping someone will clarify.

“they can like, read my mind when we’re shifted,” megan confesses sheepishly.

“what do you think about?” you ask curiously, and the girl’s eyes go wide.

“that’s way too embarrassing,” she quickly shakes her head, but lara lets out a loud snort. 

“the last thing was about how she wishes she would have kissed you, before she was fighting that vampire,” lara butts in, and megan shoots her a glare that speaks volumes.

“my protector,” you grin, wrapping your arms around her neck.

“i’d never let anything happen to you,” megan tells you firmly, her hands wrapping around your waist as if to anchor you there. her eyes are warm, imploring, sincere as she looks into yours. “ever.”

“i believe it,” you tell her, and the way she lights up makes your heart race in your chest. “i think i owe you a token of gratitude.”

“great. another thing we’re never going to hear her shut the fuck up about,” dani groans.

the both of you ignore her. you have enough questions, and not enough answers, but at the very least, you can let megan kiss you as if it’s the start of solving something.

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. forget her ⭑ M.B

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis you let go of manon thinking forgetting her would mean healing, but love doesn’t vanish with memory, it lingers in the gaps, in the ache you can’t name, in the places your mind avoids but your heart won’t.

disclaimer : manon bannerman x fem!reader. i recently watched esotsm for the first time and it has yet to leave my brain and i kinda wanted to make a fic based off the movie. angst…ofc. esotsm spoilers…kind of- just the basis stuff (memory erasing...lol) idk chat..they were just toxic

currently playing: forget her - jeff buckley

you met her on a tuesday.

not that tuesdays are particularly magical or memorable, but this one stuck. it was cold and rainy, and you were in line at a hole-in-the-wall bookstore-slash-café, the kind that smelled like old paper and espresso beans. you were tired, burnt out from work, and had just finished your conversation, ranting to your friends about how you were probably going to die alone watching netflix while your dirty pile of laundry stares at you untouched. but then you saw her again.

she was standing in front of you, hair a beautiful shade of brown, wet curls sticking to the sides of her face. she was humming to herself, something you vaguely recognized from a french indie playlist, and tapping the heel of one foot like she was too big for the space her body occupied. her coat looked thrifted and covered in enamel pins. she smelled like strawberries and something artificial, maybe candy.

when she turned around, it was because you sneezed. violently.

she blinked at you. "bless you."

you offered a half-smile. "thanks. sorry."

she tilted her head. "don't apologize for being allergic to the universe. it's not your fault."

you blinked. and maybe that was the first moment she had you.

she stepped aside in line. "order with me. i can't decide if i want coffee or tea and i need someone to force a decision."

you hesitated.

she looked you dead in the eye. "c'mon. it's just caffeine, not marriage."

so you ordered with her. she got an espresso and jasmine tea. you went with black coffee, no room for cream. she winced dramatically when you said that. "you're definitely a taurus or something," she said.

you weren't, but you didn't correct her.

the place was crowded, so she said, "let's share a table. if you try to murder me, i will throw this scalding tea in your face and scream. deal?"

you laughed before you could stop yourself. "deal."

you don't remember most of what you talked about, not in detail. you remember the rhythm of it. how fast she spoke. how fast she made you forget to be guarded. how she asked you questions with her whole body, like everything you said was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard.

her name was manon. "like 'manon of the spring,' but more annoying," she said, sipping her tea. "i do art. and other things. i get bored easily."

you told her you worked in design. you didn't tell her how lonely it felt. how most days you went to bed feeling like you'd sleepwalked through your own life.

she leaned forward and said, "you feel sad. not like... right now, but like, in general. you carry it around."

you blinked. "you always this blunt?"

she smiled, unbothered. "yeah. sorry. it scares people sometimes. but i'm not trying to scare you."

you weren't scared. you didn't leave. you didn't want to.

she wrote her number on a napkin with a heart beside it.

you texted her that night.

the beginning was chaos and thrill. manon didn't just walk into your life, she burst in, electric and too bright, like a song turned up too loud. she was spontaneous and unpredictable. she'd show up at your place at 11pm with a bottle of sake and a stolen traffic cone. she'd disappear for three days and then come back with three new tattoos and a story about a drag show in queens.

you never knew what to expect with her. but for a while, that was the whole point.

she made you feel alive. she made you feel like something was happening.

you first kissed in the middle of an empty street at 2am, both of you half-drunk and laughing, the snow falling around your shoulders. she told you she was a terrible girlfriend. "just a warning," she said. "i'm messy. and loud. and i change my hair every two weeks. and sometimes i say things i don't mean."

you said, "i don't care."

you meant it.

but love wasn't enough.

not when she came home exhausted and refused to talk. not when you sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to say something, and all she did was sigh and bury herself under the covers like you didn't exist.

not when she accused you of not listening, of holding things in, of being cold. "you never let me in," she said once, curled up on the couch, eyes rimmed with red. "it's like you've already decided i'll leave, so you're trying to get ahead of it."

you didn't answer.

"say something," she begged.

and you said, quietly, "i don't know how to love you the way you want me to."

she stood up, shoved on her boots, and left. no jacket. just fury and heartbreak, storming into the street like the night could swallow her whole.

she came back hours later, drenched and shivering, cheeks raw from the wind. you helped her out of her soaked clothes. she let you. she let you wrap her in blankets and press kisses into her hair while she cried silently into your chest.

other times, it was louder.

like the time she found your old journal. read the part where you questioned everything. whether you were happy, whether you were safe with her, whether you'd made a mistake letting her in.

"you don't trust me," she said, standing in the doorway, journal clutched in her hands. "you've never trusted me."

you tried to explain. "that was months ago. i was scared—"

"you still are."

she threw the journal on the ground like it burned her. "why do you even keep it if you're not going to tell me these things to my face?"

"i don't say everything out loud. that doesn't mean i don't feel it."

"that's the problem! you never say anything until i'm already drowning in it."

the fight lasted hours. you cried. she cried. you screamed. she left again, always leaving, like pain was a revolving door she had to walk through to make sense of things.

but then came the soft moments, too.

she'd come home with groceries and cook your favorite meal. "you need to eat something that doesn't come in a box," she'd say, handing you a bowl, eyes tired but gentle. you'd sit together on the floor, eating in silence, knees touching.

or the time she stayed up with you until 4am, talking you through an anxiety spiral. you couldn't breathe. she got in the shower with you fully clothed, let the hot water run over both of you. "you're okay," she whispered, over and over. "i've got you."

and maybe that was the worst part, the way you kept surviving the breaking.

it always ended in some fragile apology, some middle-of-the-night confession under shared blankets. "i'm trying," she'd whisper.

"i know," you'd say. "me too."

you'd kiss her then, slow and exhausted, both of you already knowing it wouldn't last. but the softness made you stay anyway.

there was always another fight. another snap. another silence that lasted too long.

like the one over her friend you never liked. someone who texted her at 2am and sent hearts too often. you didn't accuse her of cheating. you didn't have to.

"you don't trust me," she said again.

"because you keep putting me second."

"i can't make the world disappear just to make you feel secure."

you told her to sleep somewhere else that night. she didn't. she curled up on the floor, crying quietly, refusing the bed. you watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, and hated how much it hurt to see her hurt.

she moved back to the bed eventually. you held her while she shook.

"i'm sorry i don't know how to be softer," she said, voice cracking.

"i'm sorry i make you feel like you have to be," you whispered back.

but the apologies were wearing thin.

you accused her of turning everything into a game, of never taking anything seriously, of loving the version of you that smiled more than the version that shut down. she told you she couldn't read your mind, that she wasn't a mind-reader, a therapist, a punching bag.

you told her she made everything too loud. too sharp. that she didn't know how to sit still with things, how to let silence be a comfort instead of a weapon.

"i don't think you actually like who i am," she said once, during a fight that started over dishes and ended in catastrophe.

"that's not fair."

"you want me to be simpler. quieter. someone you can manage. that's not me."

"you want drama," you snapped. "you create it. you can't go five minutes without chaos."

she flinched like you hit her. "at least i am able to feel things."

that night, she didn't sleep in your bed.

you laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her breathing on the couch. the distance between you felt endless.

a week later, she left.

no dramatic speech. no closure. just a note on the counter in her handwriting:

‘i think we broke each other. maybe that's all we were ever going to do.’

you wanted to scream. you wanted to chase her. say you could fix it, again.

instead, you sat on the floor of your apartment for hours, holding a hoodie she left behind, breathing her in like oxygen.

you didn't see her for two weeks after she left.

there were no texts. no calls. no breadcrumb trail. just silence. thick, total, deliberate.

it was almost worse than a fight.

you went through the motions of life like someone underwater. work, home, sleep, cry. you deleted the photos. then re-downloaded them from the cloud. you opened her favourite book to find the underlines she made in the margins. you told yourself you were fine.

then the envelope came.

plain. unmarked. just your name on the front in stark block letters, no return address. you slit it open with a key, half expecting it to be a letter from her.

but it wasn't a letter. it was a form. a cover sheet. clinical. cold.

lacuna, inc.

our clients thank you for respecting their right to privacy, comfort, and mental wellness. the following individual has undergone a memory erasure procedure and has specifically requested that you do not contact them or attempt to rekindle any prior relationship:

manon bannerman.

you read her name twice before it fully landed.

there was a line below it. your name, typed in sharp black font.

you flipped through the rest of the packet, hands trembling. it was a list of instructions, like you were contagious, don't approach, don't call, don't attempt to remind them. for the sake of her emotional well-being, you were to pretend she never knew you. like you never happened.

the paper crumpled in your grip. your ears rang. you felt sick.

she erased you.

not blocked. not ghosted. not pushed away in the heat of an argument. she deleted you from her brain. like it would make things easier.

you called the number on the bottom of the page.

you don't even remember what you said. something about an appointment. something about making the pain stop.

—

you went in on a tuesday.

the office looked like a dentist's waiting room. pleasant. generic. you sat in a stiff chair beneath a framed painting of a meadow. the girl at the front desk offered you tea. she wore blue glasses and smiled like she wasn't telling people how to forget each other all day long.

then someone called your name.

dr. mierzwiak was older than you expected. soft-spoken. polite. with a tiredness behind his eyes like he'd seen people make the same mistake too many times.

"we'll need a few things," he said, handing you a clipboard. "anything and everything that reminds you of her. gifts. pictures. notes. clothes. audio recordings. we use those to map the memories."

you stared at the form. "how long does it take?"

"the mapping takes a couple hours. the procedure itself is overnight. you won't remember the session. you'll go to sleep and wake up, and she'll be gone."

gone.

it echoed in your chest.

you came back the next day with a box. it felt like a betrayal, giving her things away like they were evidence in a case you were losing.

inside was the hoodie she left. the journal with her handwriting. a playlist burned onto a cd. photos. receipts from your first trip together. a birthday card. her hair tie.

you left out the ring she gave you, a cheap, silver one from a flea market that didn't fit either of you right. that one stayed in your coat pocket.

dr. mierzwiak didn't ask.

that night, they put a cap on your head, wires connected to a computer, a screen flickering with dots and lines you didn't understand. you stared at a monitor while someone asked you to describe her.

her face. her voice. her smell after the rain. the way she licked her thumb before flipping pages in books. how she always said your name twice when she was drunk.

"start from the beginning," the technician said. "we'll move through the memories one by one. try to let yourself fall into them."

you closed your eyes.

manon's laugh. her teeth against your neck. the fight about the dishes. her eyeliner smudged after crying. your hands clutching her hoodie in bed the first time she left. the way she kissed your knuckles when she thought you were asleep. that look she gave you from across the subway platform.

the technician typed something. "okay. we're good."

you laid down on the recliner. a blanket was tucked over you. they dimmed the lights.

"sleep well," the woman said gently. "when you wake up, it'll be like she was never there."

and maybe that was the worst part.

because you didn't want to forget her.

but you already felt her slipping.

the memories began to disappear one by one.

you were inside them, literally inside them, watching yourself move through old moments like a dream you couldn't control. there was no linear order. they came at you like waves during a storm, some soft, some furious, some you didn't even realize you still remembered.

the first time you met.

you were sitting alone in a coffee shop, reading something you'd later pretend to love just to impress her. she walked in wearing a green coat and silver hoops, her hair a messy halo of red and copper, like she had sprinted there from another life. she ordered something absurd, matcha with oat milk and cinnamon, and when the barista gave her a look, she winked. then she saw you.

"is that any good?" she asked, nodding to your book.

you blinked, startled. "not really."

she grinned. "at least you're honest."

that was it. then when you saw her again, you knew that was the beginning of something unforgettable.

you watched it fold in on itself, the smile fading from her face, the ambient coffee shop sounds muting into a soft hiss. you tried to hold the chair she sat in, tried to keep the way she bit her straw when she was nervous, but it slipped through your fingers like water.

the memory collapsed.

the park in spring.

manon in a yellow sundress, her knees scraped from falling after trying to climb a tree because she wanted a better view of the sunset. you had laughed. she had pouted dramatically, holding her scraped hand out to you like a child needing a band-aid. you kissed her palm. she blinked, stunned for half a second, then pulled you in by the collar.

that kiss lasted forever. until now. now it was nothing.

gone.

another memory surged up, violent and raw, the fight in your bedroom at 3am. you were both screaming over something stupid. dishes? plans you'd canceled? it didn't matter. she had tears in her eyes and mascara streaked down her face. you had said something cruel. you didn't even mean it. her lip had trembled before she slammed the door behind her. you chased her down the hallway. apologized in a broken whisper. she had folded into your arms like paper.

you tried to hold that too. but it faded.

the next memory hit like a knife.

you were both lying in bed in total silence. one of those nights after a fight where no one knew what to say. the room was dark, your backs to each other, but you had reached out, your pinky finger brushing hers, just enough. she turned, barely, and murmured, "i don't know why we keep hurting each other."

you whispered, "because i'm scared of losing you."

she turned all the way, her voice soft. "then stop pushing me away."

you didn't answer. you never did. and now you never would.

gone.

another memory.

the night she got drunk and started crying about her mother. you hadn't seen that version of her before — the one that unraveled like thread. you held her in the kitchen, the smell of tequila and salt and grapefruit sharp in your nose. she told you, slurring, that sometimes she felt like she wasn't real. that maybe she was just a storm pretending to be a girl.

you had whispered, "you're the most real thing in my life."

she had kissed you then like it was a promise.

gone.

the memory of you bringing her soup when she was sick. of her groaning dramatically under blankets and calling you her "nurse" in a fake british accent. of feeding her strawberries and rubbing her back while she sniffled. of her half-laughing, half-coughing and whispering, "don't fall in love with me, okay? i'm too much."

too late, you'd said. and meant it.

gone.

the memory of your birthday.

she'd filled your entire apartment with string lights and old records and tiny photos of the two of you stuck to the wall like constellations. she gave you a ring, a cheap, silver one that turned your finger green, but you wore it anyway. she looked scared when you opened it, like she thought you'd say no.

"i just wanted you to have something of me," she'd said.

you had kissed her slow and deep and whispered, "i already do."

gone.

gone.

gone.

you started to panic.

the memories were unraveling faster now, fraying at the edges before you could even feel them fully. you started running — through doors that no longer led anywhere, past places that no longer had names.

the fights. the nights apart. the quiet moments. her sleeping on your chest. her dancing barefoot in your kitchen. the way she always said "i hate you" before kissing you senseless.

the night she said "i think we're doomed" and you laughed until you realized she meant it.

her crying into your coat at the train station. her voice shaking as she said, "i don't know how to stop loving you, but i also don't know how to keep doing this."

your hand reaching for hers. her stepping back.

then, in the middle of it, she was there.

not the memory version. her.

manon.

or some figment of her your brain was clinging to with everything it had left.

she looked different here. blurry. soft around the edges. but her eyes were the same.

she looked at you like she'd just woken up from a nightmare.

"why are you here?" she whispered. "you're not supposed to be here."

you reached for her. "you left. you erased me."

she looked down. "i didn't think you'd do it too."

you grabbed her wrist. "i didn't want to."

"then why did you?"

you swallowed. "because i couldn't keep waking up without you."

her eyes glistened. "i was scared."

"i was too."

she leaned into your touch. "we can hide. we can stay in the memories. think of something. there are still places they won't look."

you followed her.

you buried yourselves inside the cracks.

a made-up apartment with walls you painted together. a childhood treehouse. a drive through a city you never visited. the night sky from her hometown. a room filled with books you never read, but she swore you'd love.

each time, the walls collapsed around you like paper burning at the edges.

you clutched her tighter.

"i don't want to forget you," you choked out.

she looked at you, eyes glassy. "then remember me now."

"tell me something only i would know."

she leaned in close. "you cried after i kissed your shoulder for the first time. but you said it was because of the movie we were watching."

you laughed, even as you cried.

"tell me again."

she kissed your cheek. "i loved you."

the room faded.

"say it again."

"i love y—"

gone.

you woke up gasping.

and the ache in your chest was enormous. like something had been torn out without anesthetic. you didn't remember her name. her face. her voice. but you missed her.

you missed her so much it felt like drowning in a dream you couldn't quite remember.

—

it was snowing again.

not the heavy kind, not a storm, just a slow, drifting fall, like the sky was emptying itself in the gentlest way it knew how. the kind of snow that softened the city, blanketed the world in hush. traffic moved slower. voices grew quieter. every sound was absorbed into white.

you walked down 7th street with your hands in your coat pockets, scarf drawn up to your nose. you didn't have a destination. just movement. sometimes it helped. sometimes it didn't.

today, everything ached without explanation.

your fingers were cold. your chest was heavier than usual. there was something playing on your phone through your earbuds, lo-fi, wordless, the kind of music you always chose when you didn't want to think too hard. and still, something stirred.

a memory that didn't feel like a memory.

a girl laughing in a kitchen.

cigarette smoke on a balcony.

a fight in a hallway that ended with someone saying, "don't walk away again."

but no name. no image. just static where something important used to be.

you pulled your coat tighter. turned the corner by a bookstore you used to like but didn't remember why. that feeling was happening more often now, small places or objects or sounds tugging at something you couldn't quite grab. you figured it was just déjà vu. or anxiety.

the wind blew past.

and then-

you saw her.

walking toward you on the opposite side of the sidewalk. the crowd parted like a trick of fate, just long enough for your eyes to find her.

she wasn't looking up at first, she was pulling something out of her bag, her pace quick, her hair short, auburn maybe, with streaks of gold like it had once been bleached and grown out. she wore a navy coat and brown boots, and she had a small tear in her scarf, right near the collar.

you stopped.

your breath caught in your throat before your brain could catch up.

then she looked up too.

for one unbearable second, her eyes met yours.

and the world stopped.

not metaphorically. not just in your head. it truly stopped.

the wind stilled. the snowflakes froze mid-air. a bus idled in the street but didn't move. your heartbeat thundered in your ears, not fast, just loud, like it was echoing off of something deep and hollow. the shape of her face, the tilt of her head, the slope of her mouth, none of it felt new.

but you couldn't place her.

she looked at you like she was trying to solve a riddle. her eyes scanned your face, then flickered down to your hand, where you were clenching something without knowing, the corner of a wrinkled paper, sticking out from your pocket. you hadn't noticed it before.

you didn't know where it came from.

she didn't say anything.

you didn't either.

but something passed between you. a heaviness. a pull. a gravitational echo of a thousand things left unsaid. her mouth parted like she might speak, but didn't. instead, she gave the smallest smile. polite. cautious.

familiar.

and then she walked.

right past you.

you turned, just a beat too late, just in time to see her disappear into the crowd. you could've called out. could've said, excuse me, have we met? but you didn't.

because how do you ask a stranger if they once held your heart in both hands?

you kept walking.

and the snow kept falling.

you didn't notice you were holding the paper until the wind almost stole it.

you pulled it from your pocket and opened it. there was no return address, no letter, just a page, yellowed and creased, torn from a notebook. on it, in handwriting that looked an awful lot like yours, were the words:

"remember her anyway."

you stared at it for a long time.

then folded it and tucked it back into your pocket.

you didn't know who she was. or what she meant. but tonight, you'd dream of someone dancing barefoot in your kitchen. you wouldn't know why it hurt.

you wouldn't know why it mattered.

you'd forget again.

but something would always stay.

a/n: in my head, this was supposed to be longer ☹️ i fear i might not have done the movie justice... getting back into my angst era. the season is changing and i’m sad

[sacredwhores]

Claude Berri - Manon of the Spring (1986)

[daniiii267]

7th member f! Reader x Katseye (once again, not romantically or is it..?)

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️: I am NOT a good writer, I am NOT a writer to begin with so yeah😔🙏 these are just fun little scenarios of katseye! Reader and the Katz, wholesome stuff yk.

🐈‍⬛️Best of Yn and the Katz 2🐈‍⬛️

~♤Sophia Laforteza● WE GA(Y)MIN'😎 Weverse Live●♧~

You and Sophia wanted to play this new game called Split Fiction, and so you guys decided to go live and enjoy it with Eyekons.

You are about an hour into the gameplay, after a bunch of eardrums bursting (just yours yk how loud Sophia can be) and a LOT of bickering, you guys jump into a portal taking to a fun short side story.

"We're pigs! This is the pig level!" You gasp, Sophia just seems to have registered. "WAIT, WE'RE PIGS!?!" She basically shouts in your left ear. "Oh my g-" your hand shoots up to your assaulted ear as you give the camera a blank but defeated look. Sophia notices and chuckles nervously as she says hurriedly "Sorry sorry sorry"

You both start to mess around in your in-game pig form, hopping around each other until, "I CAN FART GLITTER!" She shouts in excitement, letting out a loud laugh at the discovery of having an ability to fart glitter and rainbows. "WHAT?" you burt out laughing with her at the silliness of it all, "wait, YOU got fart power, and I get THIS?" You say as you activate your own piggy power of being able to extend your body like a coil spring. "Oh jeez, oh you're scary.." She says, cringing her teeth, "first you get the cooler weapon, and now the cooler Piggy power.. Not fair!" You say molding at your lack of luck in the game.

"Yeah, I have rainbow farts, I'm way cooler" She says in a haughty tone with a proud smile, you throw her a playful glare.

Throughout the rest of that side story you guys would not stop laughing at the fart sound that plays everytime Sophia uses her power like two little kindergarteners, "this is so dumb" you say between laughs all the while Sophia is now holding her stomach in laughter, her controller already forgotten on the couch between you two.

{ -#couplegoalsfr

-I feel for yn's left ear😔🙏 }

~♡Megan Skiediel & Jeong Yoonchae● Yoonchae's grad party Vlog on the official Katseye YouTube channel●♤~

Upon Yoonchae's recent graduation, You and the Katz(excluding Yoonchip) decided upon throwing her a little surprise grad party at your home. But for it to be a surprise for her, you guys needed to come up with a diversion plan to somehow get her out of the house for a couple hours for the others to prepare the surprise. So after the cameras started rolling to film your new challenge of "recreating viral tiktoks" and splitting into two teams: Manon & Dani, Lara & Sophia and lastly you, Megan and Yoonchae in one team.

The video cuts to you, and Megan huddled around the camera that Megan was holding, "Okay, so here's the plan." She says and laughs goofily (it's an actual word i can't💀) and roll your eyes at her usual silly self, "SO Yoonchae obviously thinks that we're filming content, right?" She explains as she turns to you "yup!" You answer. "Well, WRONG! We're not filming content. We are actually her distractement?" She says hesitantly "Distractors?" She turns to you again as you try to stiffle your laugh. "Yeah, distractor... right?" She says directly to you. "You mean... distracTION?" You say with a playful tone, a smirk painting your lips. "Oh! Omg how did I forget that-" She bursts out laughing, her laugh contagious that it was inevitable to not join in on it.

"Anyways! We have to distract her. Which I'm really good at" She states confidently. "Ehhhhh I... don't know about that" you say with slightly squinted eyes at her. She gasps faking being hurt. "Well, are YOU good at it then??" As she points an accusatory finger to your chest. "Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy" You scoff. "ANYways! We're literally the impostors. " "If Yoonchip finds out we're getting ejected by the rest of the girls so we better not mess this up.."

Yoonchae can be heard saying her bye's to the members inside the house "let's go, guys!" "Oh f-" they had to cut it out...

You three are inside the van taking to your filming location, you decide to interview Yoonchae a little. This time your are holding the camera and pointing at Yoonchae "Give us some ideas of what you're thinking" Megan asks her. "Actually, I don't know." She answers shaking her head "Huh?" You chuckle at the younger member's cluelessness when it came to internet trends "I don't watch TikTok" She whines holding her hat. "Yoonchip, aren't you the youngest here? Istg you're like, physically 17 but mentally 71" you tease her as she snaps her head toward you in offense "Hey! I'm not!" "So how are we gonna win?" Megan says laughing "I don't know" the star of the show answers in a high pitched voice. "Welp" you say as you zoom into her face "Guess we'll figure something out when we get there lol".

You guys made it to the park, where you filmed a bunch of silly but lowkey funny tiktoks you were beat and exhausted. With the three of you resting on a bench, you spot an ice-cream truck "Hey want some ice cream?" You turn to the two girls that look completely drained of energy, but as you say that both of them straighten up from their previous slouched positions at the word "ice-cream" lol these kids. "YES!" The two of them shout simultaneously in enthusiasm, and you giggle at their reaction. The three of you go up to the ice cream truck, and you pay for them. Once you finish paying, you turn to see both of their energy already restored to the max after a single scoop. A small but gentle smile adorns your face. Good, now you can make it back home in high spirits for the surprise awaiting.

{ -the mom in Yn is showing whenever she's with these two istg🥹

-Yoonchae got the best sisters ever, she's in good hands😭💕 }

~♧Manon Bannerman● Manon Weverse live●☆~

It was no news that Yn is Manon's biggest simp, some might say that she is down horrendous. If you thought that you are Manon's biggest fan, wait until Yn walks into that room. So it was just another one of those times in which Manon only exists and Yn relishes in that fact.

In this live, Manon was trying out different hairstyles, testing out which one looks the best. She turns to you for your opinion on yet another look and says somewhat quietly almost sneakily, "How's this one? I don't think it's giving", you take a good look at her, "You literally look phenominal in ANY style, you don't gotta stress it you'll still remain the diva that you are." You respond in a matter of fact tone but with underlying sincerity in it.

"Aww, Ynnnn, you're so sweet, baby." She reaches over, encircling you in her arms in a tight side hug, and she then gives you a little peck on the cheek. You grumble at her actions and try to push her off you gently, known for being the "don't-you-dare-initiate-any-physical-contact-with-me" in the group, but everyone and their mothers know that you secretly like it. "Alright now, ma'am, I know you're fine shyt and can bag anyone with a single bat of your pretty eyelashes, but take me out on a date first, jeez." You say with a hint of smirk in your voice.

"What do you mean, babe? We're already past that stage, don't you think?" She says with that killer smile of hers and that playful look in her eyes,"oooKAYY i'm done" but you obviously couldn't handle when she reciprocates your playful but flirty remarks, and you get shy and escape with a red face. That's just the Ynnon dynamic.

{ -stop edging me bro😔

-valid reaction, I would also run away if Manon looked at me like that

-Yn proving time and time again that she is NOT God's strongest soldier😭 }

~☆Daniela Avanzini● video uploaded by Yn on Weverse●♤~

The video shows you and Dani in a skating park (one of your other friends is taking the video), and it is apparent that you are in the midst of teaching Dani how to stabilize her weight on a skateboard.

"Alright, looks like you're a goofy" you tell her while she is holding onto your hands outstretched to her for dear life, "are you seriously making fun of me right now, yn??" She says with a small frown and an accusing offended tone. You chuckle at her, "no idiot, goofy is term for a stance, to explain it better it is basically if you put your right foot on the skateboard and the left one goes on the floor." Her face lightens and her frown quickly disappears as you explain, "Oh! Well that's stupid. Why is it called that tf?" You shrug with a smirk "I don't know. Alright, now time to start moving!"

"Don't you DARE let go of me I swear to god Yn I'll murder you if you do" She threatens quickly with a panicked voice as she practically claws onto your arms that she's already holding tightly. "Relax! I'm right here next to you. I won't let go okay? You trust me right?" You reassure her. "Mehh debatable" she says, in one motion you let go of her with a blank expression on your face. "WAIT WAIT IM SORRY HOLD ON TO ME PLEASE" She says in panic, and you instantly hold on to her again "that's right. Now... slowly just keep your eyes forward, feet no too wide apart," you adjust her feet correctly on the board "and push with your left one with small force".

"OKAY! seriously, don't let go of me. I will slip and fall and break my Shakira hips, and no one would want that." You roll your eyes playfully at her dramatics,"Ugh FINEE drama queen." After much reassurance, she FINALLY starts moving the skateboard with you keeping her steady by holding on to her waist and the small of her back, but at one point when you thought that Daniela got the hang of it you decide to sneakily slide your hands off her. And Dani overly concentrated on her board, and balance doesn't even realize it. You turn your head to give the camera a proud smile and thumbs up. You chuckle watching her stray further and further from you on her skateboard, that's when Dani realizes something is amiss. She looks down at her body, then at you a couple meters away from her, "YN-"

And the video ends. Legends say that poor Yn still hasn't heard the end of it from Dani to this day...

{ -"and that's how I met your mom.."

-AWW YN LOOKS SO PROUD OF DANI I CANT😭😭

-WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THAT YN SKATES????? }

~♧Lara Raj● spill your TEAAA🍵 Lara Weverse Live●♡~

It was just another day at the Rajagopalan household. Lara is in her room on live chatting with Eyekons as they spill their tea and ask for advice on different situations.

" -So if I were to ever have hypothetically done that, even though I don't(🤨)" She chuckles as she reads the comments clocking her lying ahh she spots a comment from you.

-The1&Yn: girl help, my brain can't withstand any more strategic big brain play🫠

" 'Girl help, my brain can't with any more big brain play'" she bursts out laughing after she reads your comment. You see, you wanted to tag along with Lara and go to her house but somehow you got roped up into playing multiple games of Chess with her dad. So Lara chose to go up to her room and go and let you two continue your game, but after you won the first game, Mr. Rajagopalan kept insisting on playing one game after another. It is your 7th game already, and to say your braincells were fried is an understatement so you decided to seek Lara's help because you couldn't find it in you to decline her father's offer to another game. Thing that leads us to our current present, but since Eyekons were unaware of what is going on and what you meant with your comment you send another comment to give a little more clarity to the situation,

-The1&Yn: Chess with the father🚪🚶‍♀️

Lara snickers at your comment, "okay okay, I'll come down to your rescue and bring you up here. One second." Lara stands up from her bed and runs out of frame, her running steps can be heard until silence engulfs the room.

-SO YN WAS HERE ALL ALONG??

-caught in the trap of a bored parent💀

-The1&Yn: man shut up😔...

-LMAOOOOOO

-The1&Yn: MY SAVIOR IS HERE YES

After a minute or two, laughs can be heard getting closer and closer, and then Lara and you pop into frame. "OH MY LORD! Don't get me wrong, I love your dad he's the sweetest, but NEVER AGAIN" you say in an exhausted voice as you flop down on her bed "what can I say, percs of being the Rajagopalans favorite. After me ofc!" Lara states with a shrug and stupid grin on her face, "Yeah yeah wtv" you say with a small smile adorning your face.

[vivilvr]

The Curse of Silver Springs

✧ Pairing: Manon Bannerman x Fem Reader

Long ago, a royal betrayed their lover to secure the throne. The lover died beside the sacred spring at the edge of the kingdom. In their final breath, they cursed the water:

"Let the ones who betray love never know peace. May their hearts stay tethered to the voice of the one they’ve wronged, Until the end of all time."

✧ An: PLEASEE listen to the full song below before reading, not required but I assure you will enhance the experience. This was heavily inspired by both Macbeth and Fear Street 1666. First katseye fic feeling kinda nervvyy >_<

✧ Wc: 3k ✧ Status: Completed

✧ Tags: Fluff, Angst, Homophobia, Princess!Manon, Attendant!Reader, Angst and Tragedy, Death, doomed yuri

♫ Now Playing: Silver Springs ♫

The forest just beyond the castle walls was bathed in a soft light, the kind that only passed through layers of ancient leaves and morning mist. It smelled of green things and distant rain.

Y/n walked two steps behind the princess, as always. Quiet and attentive. Shoes muddy from the trail, clothing plain and worn at the hem. Her eyes never strayed far from Manon.

Princess Meret of Silver Springs moved through the woods like they belonged to her. Her pale coloured dress fluttering just above the forest floor, her braided hair flowing back, and her eyes bright with the thrill of escaping the watchful eyes of the palace.

“I told them I had a headache,” she said grinning over her shoulder. “They believed me. Of course.”

Y/n didn’t smile, but her voice was gentle. “You shouldn’t lie, your highness.”

“I don’t lie,” Manon said, twirling once in sunlight that seeped through the blanket of leaves above. “I redirect.”

Y/n shook her head trying to bite back a smile.

“And how many times have I said not to call me highness in the absence of others, I enjoy hearing you say my na-“

Then the trees parted. And there it was. The Silver Springs.

A wide basin of water lay nestled between mossy rocks and overgrown ferns. It shimmered unnaturally, as though it was lit from within. The surface didn’t ripple unless you spoke. Locals rumoured the spring remembered every voice it ever heard. Some said it listened.

Manon kicked off her shoes.

“Don’t,” Y/n said quickly, stepping forward. “You can’t! Your clothes… the queen would have me executed!”

“It’s water.” Manon began untying the corset of the dress and pulled her arms out, letting the fabric fall down to her waist. “I’d rather be wet than spend another hour in that godforsaken dress.” She continued, now being left in her chemise and petticoat.

Before Y/n could even respond ‘SPLASH’. Manon jumped in with a laugh, white fabric floating up around her like sea foam. Y/n cursed under her breath, looking over her shoulder.

“Come in!” Manon called, flicking her braids back with her hand, cheeks flushed. “You can’t guard me from there.”

“I’m not a guard,” Y/n muttered, but her feet moved anyway. Always, always toward her.

She hesitated at the edge. “But my clothes-”

“Soak. With me.” (gaygaygaygaygay stop speaking in riddles just say u wanna hit)

It wasn’t a command. It was a dare. Y/n exhaled accepting defeat and then stepped in slightly. The water was instantly cold, but deep inside felt like a strange warmth. Suddenly, a handful of water directly hit her face.

“Ah!” Y/n lunged forward, splashing her back.

They circled each other with easy laughter, throwing water, slipping on smooth stones. Their hands brushed, once, then again. Eventually, the game slowed and the laughter quieted. The distance between them vanished. They stood inches apart now, half-submerged in silver water. Manon’s breath was shallow; her eyes fixed on Y/n’s. The latter’s heart thudded against her ribs. Neither moved.

The sunlight caught on the droplets on Manon’s face. Her lips parted like she was about to speak, but she didn’t. Y/n could feel the heat radiating off of her, even in the cold.

So close. So far.

Their foreheads might have touched, if one of them had swayed even slightly. But they didn’t. Seconds passed like whole seasons. Then Y/n quietly broke the silence. Not moving, not looking away.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Manon’s eyes flickered up and down the face of the girl in front of her, and the softest smile tugged at her lips.

“Neither should you.”

And neither of them noticed how still the water had become. As if it was listening.

-----

The east wing of the castle is quiet, lit with dusty gold candlelight. The books in the library are old, too old for most to bother with. But Y/n always comes. She moves along the shelves like she’s walking through a memory. Her fingers traced faded lettering. Behind her, a voice called:

“You always disappear when I’m not looking.”

She doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Manon.

“You were with your mother,” Y/n replies, not looking up.

“I left her,” Manon says, stepping forward. “She never notices when I’m gone. You do.”

Y/n’s hand freezes on a book. She finally turns and Manon is closer than she thought. Barefoot, hair undone, a long silky white slip dress. Not a crown in sight. Not the girl the world sees. Just her.

Manon stops at her side, not touching, but the air feels warmer now.

“You like it here?” she asks.

“It’s quiet.”

“You mean no one watches us.”

Y/n doesn’t answer and that’s all the answer needed.

She plucks a random book from the shelf, something old and heavy. As she opens it, a slip of parchment slides out and flutters to the floor. She bend to pick it up and squints at the words.

“What is it?” Manon asks, peering over her shoulder.

“Long ago, a royal betrayed their lover to secure the throne. The lover died beside the sacred spring at the edge of the kingdom. In their final breath, they cursed the water: Let the ones who betray love never know peace. May their hearts stay tethered to the voice of the one they’ve wronged, Until the end of all time.”

 “The Curse of Silver Springs,” Manon says humming, barely above a whisper. “My nursemaid told me the story when I was little. Said the spring was once sacred. Lovers would swear vows there, get engaged and the water would remember if they broke them.”

Y/n swallows. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I think some things don’t go away, even when they should.”

Manon moves in slowly and this time, she does touch. One hand rests gently at Y/n’s waist. And then without a word she leans in and presses a kiss to Y/n’s shoulder just above the fabric, where skin peeks through. It's slow. Unhurried. A vow without a sound. Y/n’s breath catches. Her eyes close.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she whispers.

“I know,” Manon replies. But she doesn’t move away.

For a moment, the only sound is the faint shifting of paper as the parchment settles back to the floor. Y/n turns her head slightly. Their faces are so close. But neither of them closes the distance.

Instead, they hover in the space where truth lives, quiet and unnamed.

“If we lived somewhere else, in some other time,” Manon murmurs, “where no one would call this a blasphemy… would you still want me?”

Y/n doesn’t look at her. She looks down at the worn marble floor between them.

“I already do.”

Another silence, soft and full.

Then a knock at the door breaks it all, a maid announcing supper.

Manon doesn’t speak again. But as she leaves, her fingers brush the other girls once more. And behind them, the parchment still lies on the floor with ink faded but not forgotten.

-----

The Queen’s private chamber is silent. Candles flicker like held breaths. Y/n stands outside the Queen’s chamber door with her palms sweating. She had been summoned with no explanation and no escort. Just a soft-voiced maid saying, “Her Majesty requests you. Alone.”

She knocks.

“Enter.”

The Queen stands by the window, her back turned. The light catches on the grey at her temples and the hard line of her jaw. When she speaks, her voice is cool as silver.

“Close the door.”

Y/n obeys.

“Tell me the truth. Do you love my daughter?”

The question strikes like a slap as Y/n’s stomach turns. “Your Majesty, I-”

“Do not insult me with lies.”

The Queen turns to face her. Her eyes are cold and sharp as frost.

“You think I didn’t see it? The way you look at her. The way she looks at you.”

A step closer. Her voice lowers, more dangerous for its calm.

“I saw you by the spring. You touched her.” A pause. “And she let you.” She continues, “It is unnatural.”

Y/n’s breath catches, her knees feel weak.

“She is the future queen,” the woman goes on. “Chosen by the Gods. And you… are nothing.”

Y/n flinches. The Queen’s expression doesn’t change.

“You think your feelings are noble. Romantic. But they are a perversion. A sickness. An indulgence of flesh.”

She circles around Y/n like a lion.

“You touched her. You defiled her. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“I never-” Y/n chokes on her words a sob threatening to spill out. “I never meant to hurt her.”

“You already have,” the Queen snaps. “You’ve dragged her soul toward damnation. You have stained her name. What man will stand beside her now, knowing she’s taken comfort in your hands?”

Y/n is silent. Ashamed and furious. She doesn’t know where to put her hands.

“She was to be a ruler. A wife. A mother. And you have twisted her into something else.”

The Queen picks up a small velvet case and opens it. Inside, the dagger gleams.

“There is still time,” she says. “To put an end to madness and cleanse the bloodline before the court learns the truth.”

Y/n stares at the blade.

“No…”

“Yes,” the Queen says softly. “You love her, don’t you? This is the only way she can be free. To die untouched by scandal. To go before the Gods unspoiled.”

Y/n’s voice is hoarse, her throat in pain. “This is murder.”

“This is mercy,” the Queen hisses.

She steps closer again, lowering her voice until it is nearly a whisper.

“Would you rather she be burned? Tried for heresy? Known through history as the queen who lay with woman and corrupted her crown?”

A pause.

“Let her be remembered as pure. Let her soul be clean.”

She holds out the dagger.

“Do it by the spring. Let the water cleanse her. Let it carry away her shame.”

Y/n doesn’t move. Her chest feels tight.

“You’re asking me to kill her because I loved her...”

“No,” the Queen replies. “I am asking you to prove that you did.” She takes a deep breath “If you love her, set her free.”

Y/n’s hands shake as she takes the blade. A silence falls between them while the Queen steps back satisfied.

“You may go.”

But before she can leave, the Queen speaks again: “And remember, girl… it is not only she who will answer to the Gods.”

-----

The forest hums quietly. Shadows stretch long across the moss and leaf covered path. Cold wind caressing the girls faces every so often. Y/n now walked side by side with Manon. But this time, her hands tremble in the folds of her coat, where the Queen’s dagger is tucked against her hip, feeling heavier with every step.

“You’re quiet today,” Manon says, casting a glance over her shoulder.

Y/n lifts her head and forces a smile. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Manon hums. “Mm. You never do, when we’re apart.”

Y/n looks away, she couldn’t bear the burden of laying her eyes up Manon.

They walked in silence. The trees began to thin ahead of them as the the soft gurgle of the spring called to them, silver emanating through the trees like spilled moonlight. The forest was silent. The water of the Silver Spring shimmered behind them, catching no breeze, no birdsong. As if it knew the fate of the girls which stood before irt. Manon let out a breath and ran forward, she kneeled by the water and cupped it in her hands, watching it pour through her fingers.

“It’s beautiful..” she says, almost to herself.

Y/n steps forward, slowly. Her pulse roars in her ears so loudly she was sure the other girl must hear it. Manon stood up brushing her off hands against her thighs. “I keep thinking… what if we just left?”

She smiles, suddenly girlish. “Disappeared. Wouldn’t that be romantic? The two of us, somewhere no one knows my name.”

Y/n swallows harshly. “You’d hate it.”

“Maybe,” Manon says. “But I’d have you.”

She walks toward Y/n, and suddenly they’re face to face. Their foreheads almost touch. Manon doesn’t move. Neither does Y/n. Y/n’s hand drifts half an inch forward. She could’ve touched her. Just once. But she doesn’t. They hold each other’s gaze for a breath too long. Manon smiles, a little sad as she turns and walks to the edge of the spring.

She glances back. “You’re not coming in?”. It had become tradition for the two to visit the spring alone every so often.                                                                                                        

Y/n forces a chuckle. “We’ll catch cold, the water must be freezing today.”

“Oh, live a little,” Manon teases. She spins once, arms raised to the sky. The silver hue from the water danced around her. She looks free. She looks glorious.

Y/n closes her eyes.

When she opens them, her hand is on the dagger.

She’d never held a blade like this before. It was forged with wicked intent, not ceremonial and definitely not royal. It didn’t belong in her hand. But fate had already made its choice.

Manon’s back was to her, she was humming something soft and tuneless, the kind of thing she only did when she felt safe.

Y/n stepped closer with her hands trembling. The water lapped at her boots. The dagger pulsed against her palm.

Manon turned, still smiling faintly… and then paused. Something flickered in her expression.

“…Y/n?”

The addressed couldn’t speak. Her throat burned. The trees blurred.

“I-” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

She lunged.

The dagger slid in between Manon’s ribs, right beneath her heart. A clean strike. For a moment, neither of them moved. Manon’s body jerked, then went still. She didn’t cry out. Didn’t fight. Just… froze.

Her eyes went wide, not in pain but in betrayal and confusion. She looked at Y/n like she was trying to understand. Like she still wanted to give up everything to know what this girl was thinking.

“…why?”

Her knees gave way. Y/n caught her, lowering her slowly to the moss next to the water’s edge.

Her own breath was ragged. Her hands slowly being enveloped in crimson. She couldn’t stand to take the dagger back out. The feeling of flesh beneath it was sickening.

Manon’s lips parted, but no sound came. A single tear dripping down the curve of her cheek. Her blood, dark and velvet, seeped across the stones and into the spring.

Manon was still breathing. Barely. Still looking at her.

She didn’t speak again.

She didn’t forgive.

She just… went quiet.

The spring shimmered once more. Then it stilled.

-----

Weeks passed since Manon’s death. The kingdom mourns a princess lost to a tragic accident: a fall, a slip, the spring too deep.

But Y/n knows better.

She wakes to silence. Yet simultaneously she wakes to Manon’s voice in her ears. Soft and breathing.

“Y/n?”

Sometimes it’s just her name. Sometimes laughter, faint and disconnected. Sometimes a whisper she can’t make out. Sometimes it’s her voice, screaming.

Y/n presses her hands to her ears, yet silence never comes back.

She doesn’t sleep much anymore. Her eyes are sunken, red and tired. Her hands shake when she does anything. She avoids mirrors, pools, polished glass and especially avoids looking in water too long.

But it doesn’t matter.

Manon is in every reflection. A pale face in a silver bowl. A white dress soaked in spring water. Blood blooming like roses on the fabric of her dress.

And always, her eyes. You could never forget her eyes.

“Why?”

She tries to pray. The chapel is cold, even in summer. She kneels for hours leaving her skin scraped and bruised, whispering words she barely remembers. Her voice cracks.

“Forgive me. Please~”

But the icons stare back, unmoved.

Her hands are still red. They never come clean.

She washes them. Again. And again.

Hot water, scented oils, scraping until her skin peels; but nothing works. She swears the smell of blood clings to her fingernails.

She hears maids behind her whisper, “She’s gone mad.”  “Must be hysteria.”

She returns to the spring only once at night. The moon is celestial and ethereal. The water is still. The stones are clean now, but she knows what lies beneath and what memories thay hold. What was taken and what was left.

She stands at the edge, shaking.

“You didn’t scream,” she says aloud. “You didn’t run.”

She kneels. Her hand hovers above the surface of the water.

“You looked at me like you still loved me.”

Her voice breaks.

“Why did you look at me like that?”

There is no answer. But the water ripples. And in the shimmer, she sees Manon again with her eyes wide and mouth just beginning to form a word that never comes. Y/n stumbles back, heart clawing like a wild animal to get out.

She tries to throw the dagger into the sea, get rid of the beast that rested within its steel. But it always finds its way back. First in a drawer she swears she locked. Then under her pillow. Then, once in her hand when she wakes up. Her hands again covered in that damned spot of crimson. She screams until the servants come. They find nothing.

Every celebration, every feast and every toast to the “beloved princess lost too soon” makes her stomach twist. She sees the Queen at every corner untouched by guilt.

Y/n wants to spit in her face. Or confess her sins. Or die. But she does none of those things. She stays silent because the curse has taken hold. She cannot speak the truth, not without damning them all so she carries it, like a ghost in her chest.

At night, she lies in the dark, clutching her own arms like it will keep her from falling apart. Sometimes she swears someone slips into bed behind her. Warm breath on her neck. A soft kiss just below her ear.

“Y/n…”

She turns.

No one.

Always, no one.

But the sound of her voice never leaves. It echoes in hallways. In water. In her bones and flesh. Y/n presses her forehead to the stone wall of the castle, weeping quietly and hopelessly.

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

She breathes.

“You should have screamed.”

And still, even with her eyes closed she sees how Manon looks at her. Not angry. Just broken.

“Let the ones who betray love never know peace…”

[donnadiddadog]

the reaper pt 1

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Inner Circle, and there is a decision to have a suicide mission that would help win the war against Hybern - and Y/N has to take charge of it. Azriel cannot let Y/N go just like that.

Word Count: 1.9K ish

Warnings: Mentions of death and soldiers being harmed in war, slight cursing (if any tbh i don't think so). If anything is left out, let me know below!

a/n: First Person (but I use Y/N as a character, not an OC), I am going to convert this into a series cuz I have an idea (this is going to be slightly based on Nesta’s whole spiral in ACOSF in the next few parts). All credit for the prompt and the inspiration of the first half (loosely based on the story part 1) to “Farewell my love” (written by @allthehopesforlove) - you should check it out, too. It's pretty well written (sending you much love @allthehopesforlove<3). Also, the concept of the Eight is based on Manon from the TOG series! I' 'll upload the next few parts by Jan end (I have finals in two days what am I doing here????)

14th Jan 2025, Writing 3

There is no way that the war can be won without this move. That was the consensus as we stood around the replica of the battleground - Rhys was motionless as he assessed the situation and Cassian kept pacing around the tent that swayed with the wind. Mor was leaning against the chair, her injuries preventing her from standing up straight. I looked at Azriel as he stared at the map and tried to figure out.

The move was simple - a 300 soldiers in a formation that would cleave the Hybern army at the centre, at the weakest point. With the seperation of the army into fragments, the Spring, Autumn and Day Court Armies could take over the upper flank and the Winter and Dawn Court Armies taking over the lower flank; the Night Court attacks from the back to prevent anyone else from escaping. The Summer Court would join the 300 soldiers after they had seperated the army and prevent them from joining again which would turn the tide of the war against Prythian.

All 300 would most likely die. A 95% chance according to me, Cassian agreed with that figure, if not implying that the danger was higher. Feyre was watching her mate, I think she was just scared that he would choose to be the one to lead the soldiers now nicknamed the Regiment 300. The final stand.

There were arguments made in favour and against, Rhys and Cassian at each others throats, Azriel trying to calm the whole situation down. I stood there watching them all fight and try to figure it out while the clock ticked. Hybern would not stop their planning, their tactics just because we couldnt get our shit together. The other High Lords were aware of this plan, it was Beron who had assigned the final duty of choosing the Regiment 300 from the Night Court rather than any other Court. He deemed it fair - that it was us who had to shed the final blood. Meant it as an insult but it was right.

I dont remember much because it was a blur. I had slammed my fists into the table, looked them dead in the eye and explained why it couldnt be any of them. How if Morrigan rode out, she wouldnt make it ten steps before falling dead from her horse. How Feyre could not go to war because she was not trained enough yet. How Rhysand cannot go to war because he is the High Lord and his death would mean a constitutional crisis. How Cassian and Azriel cannot go to war because they had to lead the Night Courts attack with Feyre assisting. How Amren was not going to since she had to figure out the Cauldron’s final secrets. And that only left me.

I wasn't exactly a military person, like Cassian was. I was a strategist, I knew the military tactics but nothing more. I wasn't interested in the training part of it. But I was a damn good leader, people listened to me and I could hold my weight for a while in battle if it came down to it. I could do it, I had to do it. It was the only option left and I knew that I would have to do it. If only to see my family, the Inner Circle, see the sunrise day after tomorrow.

Azriel spoke almost as a whisper, “You cannot possible think that I would allow you to go and do that. To go and kill yourself.” Before Rhys could agree with him and argue with me, I looked Azriel dead in the eye and asked him to find another individual to sacrifice then. And he had stopped breathing, his mind turning. But he wouldnt accept it, his eyes betryaed that he would have rather tied me down than let me go. That is the male I know, the one who cannot bear to accept my demise. Oh Azriel, if only you knew how much I hate this decision of mine. Sweetheart, we were supposed to have a lifetime together.

Further arguments were made but I turned to Rhys and spoke to him mind to mind. He turned to me, face to face, man to man. And I reminded him of that phrase that all good monarchs were supposed to live by. I bent the knee, bowed my head and waited for him. He took a sharp breath in and spoke in his regal voice, “Y/N, you have been given command of the Regiment 300. Ride in the name of the High Lord of the Night Court and make your last stand. Defend Prythian and may the Mother be with you.” I rose and bowed to my High Lord as I turned.

I left the tent before Azriel could grab my hand, before he could see the tears drop. Cassian held him against his will and I could hear Azriel bellowing out my name, cursing the gods for letting this happen, attempting to hurt Cassian to reach me in any way, in any form. Feyre held Mor as she mumbled about this not being fair.

The decision was made, I would lead the Regiment 300 tomorrow at dawn. I had summoned the Eight - my military advisors but more than that my closest friends, we had grown up together, seen each other do things that we thought weren't possible, reaching positions and training to higher levels. My most trusted souls. Pieces of my heart each of them. They were going to join me in the suicide mission and I had to see them all one last time before dawn.

I went to my tent to prepare my armor and set my affairs in order. I told my sentry to prepare my horse and get the men together, I would address them as Commander about their suicide mission. That I would join them in their deaths would be my greatest honor. The last stand would be made. And we would win.

I remember the taste of blood in my mouth, the feeling of sweat dripping, the tightening of my hands on the spear. I remember the feeling of my horse running forward, looking to my right and my left to see my friends, my chosen few, surging forward through the mud. I remember it all.

And I remember waking up in that godforsaken tent with that male looking at me with hazel eyes full of concern and I knew what had happened. I had forsaken my soldiers, the regiment had been abandoned. I led them into war and I deserted them to die.

Slapping his arms away and throwing it off me, I ran out of the tent. Running to see that the sun was almost setting. We had set out at sunrise, it was now sunset. No, this cannot be true. Where are they? Please don't let it be true. I gasped at the sudden pain in my side, noticing that I had an injury to my left flank. The arrow hit me when we first made contact with the army.'

The battleground was barely half a kilometer away, clutching my side to prevent any bandages from falling, I ran the distance trying to see what had happened. I heard Azriel calling out to Rhys and the rest. They were alive but I didn't care about that right now, I had to check on the Eight, my regiment. It was mostly a downhill journey, with a few slips due to loose rocks. I kept my head down to not see what was ahead, I didn't want to lose hope, and I didn't want to accept what had surely happened.

I smelt it before I saw it. I didn't hear it because they were all dead with spears and arrows jutting out of their bodies. No, that is a lie - I did hear it. I listened to the vultures and crows in the sky and on the ground. Feasting. I reached the base of the slope and I looked up at the battleground. A crematorium. A graveyard. The site of my greatest failure.

And I tried catching my breath, looking at the bodies, at the mangled flesh and bone, at the blood that soaked the mud as my bare feet made contact with it, at the horses whose legs had been twisted and intestines hanging out, at the soldiers with cracked skulls, one with his leg blown off, and another completely impaled on a spear.

I couldn't feel anything, my face was numb, and my hands were numb. I was numb. I trudged along because I had found my entire regiment dead but I had to check on the Eight. I had to see their dead eyes so I could tell them that I would join them soon. That is my punishment, that is the price for this mistake. Blood will appease blood.

So I walked to the start of the bloodshed, the site where the regiment hit the Hybern army for the first time. Where I was supposed to lay dead and broken. I was the leader of that regiment, the commander who had told them that this was our last stand. Yet I was alive and they were dead. I stepped on something and I heard a crunching noise. I took a second, hyperventilating before I looked down and saw it. I saw her.

I had found what I was looking for - the Eight lay together in a small circle, almost as if they were trying to hold each other’s hands in their last moments. It seemed that they had tried to create a triangle to penetrate the defense. It had worked but it worked because they fought to the death. The rest of the regiment must have gone through breaking the army from the inside out and the move worked. The Summer Court must have shortly followed. And they didn't stop until they had won the war.

I fell onto my knees, into the mud, and I was shaking, with grief, loss, and despair. And I picked up her body to try to bring it close to mine, to try and hold her one last time. She was long gone but it seemed as if this would help, somehow reduce her pain and make it easier for her to go. I can only imagine what it was like when she had to go, how alone she felt, how betrayed and disgusted she felt that the Commander had been saved, not them.

If I could I would have saved you, I am sorry, it should have been me, I should have died. I don't deserve to live, I will join you.

I screamed those words into the air as I held her and crawled to the rest, begging for them to wake up, to not forgive me but to punish me, telling them that I would join them. That I was the betrayer, the reason for their deaths. That they should never forgive me.

I cried into the mud with their bodies next to me. My wound had already been bleeding profusely and I thought it to be poetic justice that I, too die next to them from a wound I received at the battle that they died in. Except they would die a warrior’s death and I would die a coward’s death. Right next to them.

This is what I deserve. And there was only one person to blame for this.

Azriel.

[eyekonimations]

and, fyi, the dsm-5 can only take you so far ⭑.ᐟ yn ln is a sophomore in university , a crappy drummer , and a minimum wage boba shop employee . expecting the worst once again for her third semester , yn's pessimistic world view is shattered upon serving her cutest customer to date ─ meret manon bannerman , a member of katseye , the darling influencer friend group rocking all of social media .

01. guidance counselors must die

written  word  count  :  1.4k

── habituation - a decrease in response rate due to consistent exposure to the same stimulus.

it would be unfair to say that you outright hated the smell of black tea and caramelized sugar, but you're definitely no longer as fond of it as you used to be. you grumble something under your breath while stepping out of moka’s car, and she shoots you a look.

“at least it’s our last time working weekdays,” she clicks her tongue and sucks in a breath through gritted teeth.

she’s right. but at the same time, it’s also your last few days of freedom before syllabus week. sure, you don’t have any classes, but it’s just not the same as being on break. it’s like the knowledge of being in school immediately drains your remaining motivation, which is already teetering on empty. also your hands hurt. BAD. you open and close your left fist, grimacing at the callouses forming where your palm meets your fingers. maybe it’s time to invest in a silent drum set? the wood from your drumsticks is gnawing at your hands, and it’ll only get worse when you start handwriting notes again. you cover your face and groan loudly. moka rolls her eyes at you and slams her door.

“i know,” you finally sigh, stepping out and closing the passenger side door. gently. she yelled at you last time you slammed it. moka's scary when she’s angry. you shove your hands in the pockets of your zip-up. 

your designated chauffeur clicks her keys twice and, with a beep, the locks turn. the pair of you head around to the back of the store. the girl in front of you has an unusual spring in her step.  

“do you have a date after this or something?” 

moka fishes around in her pockets for the store keys as you approach the back door. 

“no,” click. “but we do get our summer bonuses after this shift!” to that moka claps her hands together excitedly and swings the back door open. 

oh. you had forgotten about that. and you’re ready to spend it on more vbucks. or on the new battlepass. you make another mental note to text shinyu and ask if he can run fortnite duos with you later tonight. 

you languidly enter the familiar kitchen and proceed with your routine checks. lights on. chairs off the tables. spotify connected to the speakers. today’s feature: second gen kpop oldies, as per moka’s request. tv switched on, this time to a c-drama recommended to you by yunjin. said she cried at the ending. you’ve been watching it on and off during slow hours. maybe you’re an emotional rock, cause you just can’t get over how annoying the lead couple is. or maybe you’re just gay. moka shuffles out from the employee's only room with a hair tie in her mouth and her hands scrambling to tie her uniform apron behind her back.

“get changed,” she chides, brushing past you as you pretend to check the self service kiosk. 

“mmph,” you hum in response while moka curses and smacks the AC remote against her hand. 

your cubby is just as messy as your room. there’s old assignments, some study guides, and maybe even an essay or two shoved at the bottom, all crumpled under the weight of your backpack. you swipe your apron off its hook without looking and throw it over your head, tying it in a weak knot that you know you’ll have to be fidgeting with throughout the day. 

you bring yourself back to the front of the store to push its glass doors open, checking to see if they actually connect to the magnetic door stoppers you suggested your boss install the other day. and just your luck, they don’t. you blink. then you remember you’re not getting paid enough to care about this. you kick a nearby potted plant in front of the door to hold it in place. 

much to your dismay, there’s already a group of incoming freshmen and their families ogling at the menu board posted outside. 

“you’d think they’d be more concerned with moving in or something,” you huff, grabbing the company mandated cap out from your apron’s front pocket. 

“huh?” moka pops up from under the counter, now leaning against it. you assume she’s checking for extra cups and lids. you guys ran out last weekend. it wasn't pretty.

“there’s people outside already.” 

“great, so get behind the register and make those tips!” she meets your blank stare with a sweet smile.

“...and your total comes out to $24.50, ma’am.” you look up from the screen below you with the shittiest excuse for customer-service-contentment plastered across your face.

you whip around and get to work on what you assume is your hundredth order in the past two and a half hours. if you have to make another matcha latte you might just blow your brains clean out in front of the entire store. you can feel the shared air of agitation surrounding moka, who's now knocking over syrup bottles with her elbow and scrambling to drop a fraction of the drinks amassing at her station into the lid sealing machine. yikes.

“large thai milk tea with boba, medium 3Q milk tea, and a large strawberry green tea with popping boba!” calling out and reading off the ticket placed by the drinks, pushing them toward the group of kids waiting at the pick-up counter, "thank you, and enjoy your drinks!"

in your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of someone new waiting in your order line. 

“can’t have five fucking minutes without something–” you mutter lowly to yourself until your eyes meet hers.

you know all that love at first sight bullshit? yeah well maybe it isn’t actually so bullshit after all. 

standing in front of you is the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen: hair braided in a neat pattern from her hairline to her crown, a long wavy ponytail at her back and down her shoulders, clad in a soccer jersey whose logo you don’t quite recognize. there’s an almost bashful glint in her eyes as she catches your gaze, then quickly fumbles with her phone, and not-so-discreetly peeks back up to see if you’re still looking.

you just stand there, before her, mouth somewhat parted, and now with a rapidly rising heart rate. 

“umm,” she begins, quietly.

and, as quickly as you fell into it, you snap out of your trance. you blink yourself back into reality, feeling a heat spread across your face that reaches all the way to the tips of your ears.

“i’m so sorry, uh, what can i get for you?” fuckfuckfuck.

you swallow with a painstaking amount of effort, given your mouth is drier than that birthday cake minji and niki made for your 18th.

“you’re good, it happens sometimes,” the girl chuckles gently then checks her phone again. she sighs.

“alright so, could i please get a large mango green tea with lychee jelly, a medium brown sugar milk tea with boba, a medium taro milk tea with boba, another large mango green tea but with those little jelly stars, a large classic milk tea with boba, and…” she scans the menu once more as you frantically tap away at the screen in front of you.

“a medium matcha latte with boba? i’m really sorry, i know it’s a lot, i’ll tip you well i promise.”

what a small price to pay to be in the presence of a goddess amongst mortal men. hell, you’d make a thousand more matcha lattes if it meant just seeing her again. 

“no worries it’s…on the house!” your mouth moves before you can even process your own words. also your voice cracked. 

“...oh!” you immediately notice the subtle raise of her eyebrows, the faint widening of her hazel eyes, and the way her lips quirk into a surprised, lopsided smile. you swear your heart is about to pummel its way out from your throat. 

“thank you…?” her gaze drifts to the nametag pinned to the right strap of your apron.

“y-yn.”

“well, thank you, yn.” the mystery girl echos playfully, and with a soft giggle.

you might vomit.

“i’ll–i’ll get those started for you right away!” you turn your back as quickly as humanly possible to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. 

visibly amused, she glances over at moka, who, after smiling politely, promptly joins you and wraps an arm around your neck. 

“i hope you know that’s coming out of your paycheck, lovergirl.” 

a/n 08/06/25 : first chapter done lets fucking gooooo!!! unfortunately though guys my internship does start tomorrow😖😖then my summer classes😞😞😞shaking in my freaking boots BUT ANYWAYS i love u guys thank you for all the support & i hope yall like this one ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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crickets ...

[dimalry]

My SJM- based opinions that nobody asked for, but I‘m sharing anyway.

I made a lot of critical points that may trigger some people…

- Manorian sucks. They had potential until they became canon, and SJM turned Dorian into another shadow daddy. Dorian dominating Manon is a joke—it's just ridiculous. Also, Dorian should be shorter than Manon.

- Dorian and Sorscha are cute together. RIP, though...

- Chaol is one of the best male characters in the SJM universe.

- Chaolryne is the healthiest and one of the best ships in all of her book series.

- Sam’s death WRECKED me.

- Kaltain deserved better.

- I think I like Rowan with long hair better.

- The Assassin’s Blade and ToD are severely underrated. KoA wasn’t that great.

- I hate the spy theory with a burning passion for both Elain and Gwyn, especially Elain. Maybe it’s because I have other plans for them, but I just don’t see either of them as spies. Let’s be honest here—the only reason most people support the spy theory is because of Azriel, not because they genuinely think Elain and Gwyn are suited for the job.

- Azriel is far from being the best spymaster. I’d say he’s very bad at his job, and Rhys makes it worse. 😭🙏

- The High Lady title is overrated. The position of a ruler isn’t some internship that any 14-year-old can apply for. → Nesta or Elain as High Lady of Dusk? Elain as High Lady of Day or Spring? Gwyn as High Lady of Summer? Emerie as High Lady of Dawn? The only female characters I want to see rule are Viviane and Cresseida. Headcanons are cool and fun, but some of y’all treat them like facts.

- I’m not a big fan of High Lady Feyre anymore. I see her as more of a neutral party than a ruler of a specific court—or better said, a city.

- I love the Inner Circle, but I’d hate to be their friend, and I don’t think they’d enjoy being my friends either. I’d rather hang out with the Valkyries and Elain.

- I love the Valkyries, but I’m just annoyed that Nesta was given a sword and armor like most of SJM’s female characters. I fear that Elain might be the next target and I hate it.

- Nesta made the right decision in choosing her safety and comfort (sitting on that rock instead of training) over Cassian’s already-bad reputation. It wasn’t one of her prideful moments like people think so.

- Amren should’ve stayed dead. She contributes nothing to the story after ACOWAR. All she does is b*tch, whine, and moan.

- Vamren doesn’t really make sense. Amren doesn’t strike me as straight or as someone who would even pursues a relationship. It seems like Varian was just thrown at her.

- Justice for Jurian!

- Rhys does NOT need to be superior in every way. It’s okay for him to lack power in certain areas and actually be flawed. I came to that conclusion when I worked on Rhys’s character for my storytelling—it makes him a more compelling character. Tamlin also doesn’t need to suck in every way possible.

- I’m fairly confident that Gwynriel and Elucien are endgame, but I don’t care enough to try to convince people of it, nor will I be upset if they’re not endgame. SJM builds up great potential and then wastes it, so I’m not sure if an announced endgame is a good thing. You either write a good story or don’t bother at all. I won’t accept mediocrity anymore.

- Case in point: ACOSF Nessian sucked. Their love story consists of repeated sex and unnecessary arguments—bleh. Potential wasted.

- I feel nothing for Sarion or Elriel (though there’s one thing I don’t like about them, which is thankfully still just a headcanon), Emorie… and probably more ships that I can’t think of rn. I don’t like nor dislike them—they’re just there.

- I love Helion x LoA’s tragic love story, but I don’t want them together. At least, not so soon after Beron’s death. His existence isn’t the only obstacle between them. There are a lot of unresolved feelings, resentment, and trauma built up over the years. It’s really not that easy.

- Neither SJM nor the fans are aware of how long 500+ years truly is.

- Sarah’s right—Ruhn and Lidia’s wedding was corny and unnecessary.

- I loved Ruhnlidia in HOSAB. They were kind of boring in HOFAS. Then I realized that I just love DayNight more than Ruhnlidia.

- The only girl I like to see Tharion with is Hypaxia. I think their banter is cute. I know she’s a lesbian, but based on how boring SJM writes her queer ships, Hypaxia x Celestina was only bound to be unremarkable.

- Tharion was intriguing until he got his own POV. I really don’t want to feel the same about Azriel when his book comes out.

- Hunt deserves better, but he needs to give up that foot fetish.

- The only interesting bonus chapter that came with HOSAF was the Ember x Randall chapter. To be honest, a lot of bonus chapters SJM writes are so unnecessary and boring.

- The crossover should’ve never happened. It feels like a corny Marvel dream SJM had. The only good thing that came out of it was Ember being a mother hen to Nesta.

- I really don’t care about Bryce’s friendship with Nesta and Azriel.

- I’m not a fan of the headcanon that Bryce and the Valkyries would be friends, even though it makes sense.

- Bryciel gives me the ick. I saw a post that mentioned how it would be a one-night stand followed by no contact afterward, and I couldn’t agree more. I feel like they’d get annoyed with each other pretty fast. I’m sorry to anyone who ships it, but their personalities don’t mesh well...

- The torture Ruhn, Hunt, and Baxian suffered under those weirdo angels wasn’t even that bad. I shouldn’t have had high expectations.

- Baxian is a good boy, but I don’t like his mate.

- Cormac is cool. Rip.

- HOFAS was bad. I enjoyed it at first, especially the whole deal with the Viper Queen, but I got bored over time, and I couldn’t keep up with the plots anymore. HOEAB is the best book in the series. HOSAB was fine.

- All villains (except Maeve and Arobynn) are so cartoonish and corny.

I have more opinions, but that’s enough for today. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts on these books (and some theories/headcanons), and I’d love to hear your opinions!

I’ve also made the decision that I won’t read another SJM book ever again after ACOTAR ends. Until then, I’ll support my local library or download the upcoming ACOTAR books in PDF instead of giving her my money. That’s how you actually separate the art from the artist, rather than just saying it. 🥰

[shadowqueenjude]

Elide would hate Feyre

For the people who say Elide and Feyre would get along... Elide would NEVER understand why Feyre chose to marry somebody who constantly abuses her when Elide clearly said she only wanted a man who she trusted so deeply all the horrors of her past would go away, somebody she trusted to never lock her up or hurt her or leave her. And she would NEVER understand Feyre getting innocent people in the Spring Court killed for her own petty revenge when she gave Lorcan shit for killing one man for their survival. She would NEVER understand setting up her friend Lucien to fail/die while she gallivants around the world with Rice Cake. She would NEVER agree with the IC's decision to lock Nesta up in a house after she was locked in a tower for 10 years. Idk how Sarah will write it, but the Elide she wrote about in TOG would DESPISE Feyre. Matter of fact, Manon would kick Feyre's ass for what she let Rhysand do to Nesta. Aelin would start a fucking revolution. Lorcan would humble the shit out of all of them. The TOG gang would leave the IC in ruins and I'd be here for the show.