#thread. antonia

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: ANTONIA VICKERS & OPEN ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, LOBBY BAR ᴡʜᴇɴ: SECOND DAY OF THE GAMES

For the most part, Antonia's job was over long before the games had commenced. Sure, she still had a few final touches to make on some of her creations ( there were some that she was particularly proud of this year ). And, sure, she could always be working on something new for next year, or the year after, or the year after that. She could be down in her dark, dingy lab, running experiments and taking samples and what have you – but, instead, we find Antonia in the tribute tower bar, taking what ( they believe to be, at least ) a very well-deserved break.

In one hand, she has a glass of white wine, in the other, a mouse. No reader, you have not interpreted this incorrectly. Here, we introduce Antonia Vickers, but we must also present Norman McMouse, former inhabitant of the tower laboratories, current inhabitant of Antonia's purse. Antonia sips at her wine and examines Norman for a few moments as he scuttles around on her palm, before releasing him onto the bar in front of her.

Antonia smiles to herself as she watches Norman skitters across the counter, pulling a handful of pumpkin seeds and feeding them to the mouse slowly. They pause only when they sense the presence of someone hovering over their shoulder. "You can sit down, you know. He doesn't bite." She says, popping one of the pumpkin seeds into her mouth as she speaks.

[thecountesstribe]

I always say I hate getting into a fandom because of the inevitable discourse. You shippers remain some of the absolute worst part of the fandom. I'm not saying all shippers btw. The shippers who draw art of their favorite couples and “ship” different characters but also respect other people's “ships” cause y'know it's fiction and stuff at the end of the day, y'all are cool people. Just wanna say I love your unproblematic asses. You see the others, please go bite the dust. Why the fuck are you so mean? These people are NOT REAL!!!! The new season of hotd hasn't even started and y'all are already back on your bullshit. Being racist and sending death threats towards the cast and other people in the fandom and just overall being fuckin vile human beings because “your ship doesn't make sense or have chemistry or yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah” STFU!. LEAVE THE ACTORS ALONE, LEAVE THE PRODUCERS AND THE SHOW STAFF ALONE. LEAVE OTHER PEOPLE ALONE!! GO OUTSIDE AND BREATHE THE FRESH AIR, THE SHIT IS NEVER THAT SERIOUS. SEVEN FUCKIN HELLS MAN. Let's use Beth and Harry for an example, the stuff that comes from some of your accounts are absolutely vile and I wish you the fuckin worst. Then y'all love quoting “but they're not following the source material” to justify y'all being racist and nasty towards them. I have some news for you. If you read the books and not just gloss over what you wanna read you'd know that their characters were inevitably endgame had everything went right, there was no such thing as “BROKEBACK WINTERFELL”, as fun as that plot would've been, Jace and Cregan had a brotherly relationship and “Sara Snow” was just Mushroom only account and he wasn't even near or in Winterfell, so it was probably just his “fevered musings” she probably 100% didn't even exist, it was a campaign to slander Rhaenyra and her children and that's canon. Calling Bethany all sorts of vile things cause you're not in the writers room and can't write your headcanons is sick. Sending death threats to Harry is absolutely mental. Seek professional help!! Not just them alone but you get the gist. Please just try to be decent people. You don't have to like something everybody else probably likes but you also don't have to be a CUNT for no apparent reason. IT'S JUST FICTION. LET'S JUST WATCH THE SHITSHOW AND HAVE FUN.

[flcralhaze]

𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 ›› antonia hatzfeld , @gxldxenstrxngth where: somewhere in the palace

❝ i  must  insist  you  give  me,  your favorite brother-in-law, a personal tour of your home. ❞   he made no attempt to hid his grin, flashing it proudly in antonia's direction. it wasn't his first time in spain; horse racing had brought him to many countries across europe, but his first since matrimony joined their families. surely there must be perks of being family - favorite or even hidden locations similar to his favored taverns back in germany, only found if one stepped off the main path, that wouldn't be made widely known possibly divulged rather than left for him to find.

[gvldntrbl]

Antonia + Olivier (ft. the Benoit Family) @theartofruling

Location: Benoit Estate in Northland Falls, Christmas

-⚜️-

The loud sounds of laughter and music made Olivier smile to himself. Per tradition, he and Toni were at his family's primary estate in Northland Falls to celebrate the winter holiday. Both of his grandparents was quite smitten with the young witch as she, Toni, tried to teach his grandmere a new dance. Thus the laughter from the pair and his grandpere in amused reaction as he cheered on, a glass of infused alcohol in hand and the nearby fireplace going. "So," Ollie's attention moved to his uncle Beau-Alexander, beside him, as he secured a noticeable, big red bow onto the hybrid's gift to his girlfriend. "You know after this, there's no going back, right?" It was asked with a warm look cast to Ollie. "How is there any going back?" He asked his uncle, brows lowering as his gaze returned to the thankfully silent gift. For now. Ollie wordlessly thanked Damien again, for his help due to casting the charm. Olivier, Beau-Alexander, and the unnamed gift were in one of the numerous bathrooms in the Benoit manor. "We live together. I've added her to my accounts. Hell, she's even been added to access my personal vault at Banque Royale du Northland. There's no going back for me, with her." He clarified. "I told you already, she's it for me." Beau-Alexander was beyond aware of the fact and not so secretly loved it. He supported their relationship. Hell, the vampire loved to remind Ollie of his changed ways whenever possible.

A shuffling noise emitted into the room between the two of them, drawing the older Benoit's attention again. The puppy then barked, the sound blocked by a temporary charm Damien cast, as if to remind the pair of their presence. "C'mon, let's have you finally meet your mom." Ollie murmured fondly, scratching behind the puppy's ears. "Now remember, you've got her scent. You're supposed to go straight to her. No one else, alright?" He instructed the creature as he gathered them in his arms from the bathtub, walking out of the bathroom after his uncle opened the door. Once Olivier reached the living room, glad that both his grandmere and Toni's backs were away from him, and he knelt down and released the puppy. Who sniffled around briefly before catching smell of Toni and made their way over, big red bow bouncing on the back of their neck with each step taken.

"Merry Christmas, Cherie." Ollie greeted with a smile and a bit of nerves in his voice when Toni noticed, fidgeting with one of his rings on his hand.

[mariocki]

All Passion Spent: Episode 1 (1.1, BBC, 1986)

"She's not one of those clever women, thank God. Mother has always allowed others to make decisions for her. And now that Father has gone..."

"I suppose, since I have always lived at home, that I should really bear the brunt."

"Brunt, Edith? I'm sure we shall all regard it as a privilege to look after Mother. Brunt is an entirely unsuitable expression."

"Oh dear, when you say it like that, Carrie, I'm not even sure what it means."

[thefvrious]

@lcveblossomed said -> ❝ you okay? ❞

The question pulls her directly out of her head, depositing Liyana right here, in the present. She's embarrassed, and she forces a smile after just a moment of bewilderment, "Oh... sorry, yes. Yes, I'm fine, daydreaming..."

[crawlingtonina]

um starter de symon e toni para @forcrawl

O olhar desafiador antes da corrida tinha se tornado uma súplica quando Carter conheceu a derrota. Antonia normalmente sentia pena quando isso acontecia, mas de si mesma, sabendo que teria que passar a noite inteira tentando fazer o rapaz se sentir melhor sobre ele mesmo. Talvez ele esperasse que a mesma coisa acontecesse naquela noite, eles iriam reatar pela centésima vez só para alguns dias mais tarde se destruírem em insultos. Toni não estava se sentindo animada para aquele jogo de sempre, ela tinha algo diferente em vista.

Quando percebeu que o rapaz estava se preparando para andar na sua direção, ela se virou para o lado oposto, buscando o carro que havia saído vitorioso naquela noite. Por mais que a máquina fosse impressionante, ela estava muito mais interessada no homem atrás do volante, e foi depois de avistá-lo entre o mar de pessoas ali que começou a andar na sua direção. Interrompeu um grupo de garotos mais novos que provavelmente se preparava para fazer perguntas sobre o carro, nem um pouco interessada em dividir a atenção com outra pessoa. "Nada mal, eu quase fiquei impressionada." Ela disse em um tom provocativo, sentindo o provável olhar confuso do seu irmão e o furioso do seu ex queimando as suas costas. Olhou o rapaz em sua frente de cima a baixo, como se estivesse lhe analisando, antes de piscar os olhos. "Vai deixar passar a chance de me convidar pra dar uma volta?"

[littledecth]

' QUERIDA MÃE - minutos atrás, minha irmã mais nova, apenas uma criança que não sabe dos seus pecados ou dos meus, veio até meu quarto em seu vestido amarelo e me leu um poema. ' não vai levantar da cama, bee ? ' , ela perguntou e quando falhei em sorrir, responder que logo estaria bem, levaram ela daqui , dizendo que estou doente por agora. mamãe, vou melhorar em breve ou este é o final do meu mundo, como foi o seu ? '

com um dos braços caindo da cama, a filha de fobos se deitava desajeitada, fumaça nublando a mente , uma expressão impassível no rosto - as pílulas se recusando a fazer efeito e a puxar para o sono. era apenas uma sombra de quem já tinha sido, e mesmo aquela pessoa - não conhecia muito bem. já teve pontos baixos, foi por isso que a tia começou a lhe encher de remédios , não ? aqueles momentos tinham passado, mas respiravam no seu pescoço com hálito gélido toda vez que enfrentava uma tragédia. as mortes que causou, aquelas que ficavam escondidas entre si, os deuses & uma das pessoas que já tinha amado, e as que pertenciam apenas a si, elas voltavam para lembrar que não havia começo ou final feliz. não para ela.

quando a porta do quarto se abriu de novo, bee pensou que podia estar alucinando a face familiar que viu - tony. teria finalmente perdido o juízo ? estaria vendo pessoas que já não podia encarar sem vergonha ? sem culpa ? ❛ você é real ? ❜ sussurrou, até mesmo isto parecendo alto demais no cômodo silencioso , mas não se moveu - provavelmente não seria.

@arktoib

[kinkiskarmas]

Raising her eyebrows, Eden looked at her with suspicion before parting her lips to speak — for a moment, they hung agape in silence until she finally pressed further. "Depends on the favor, and we'll see how weird I can make it," she joked, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "What's on your mind?"

OPEN STARTER: f/nb ; no t*boo ; age gaps are ok !! MUSE: antonia "tony" reilly ; twenty-six ; she/her ; lesbian ; singer/songwriter.

"hey — please don't make this weird, but i need a favour."

[porcelcinarchived]

“ tell me , what am i supposed to wear to that ‘wedding’ of yours ? ” she asked, delight wrapping her words as if she had been told a joke only she was aware of . amelie had always considered her sister to be adorable, so much so amelie didn’t mind antonia talking about that so called wedding . perhaps she was just dealing with their loss in a different manner and she wouldn’t interfere with that funny stage play of hers if it heloed antonia to process her grief . “ petra told me i can’t wear black but if i play the role of the pastor would you allow me to do that ? ”

@svnshone ( antonia )

[patientreflections]

The Failure of Manufactured Momentum

In 2025, can Hollywood continue with the same old party tricks and expect applause? It’s a question I found myself pondering after stumbling upon an onslaught of post BAFTA social media content where one continuous storyline piqued my interest…and not in a good way. 

I don’t usually wade into fandom conversations, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Bridgerton—and Colin and Penelope’s story was my favourite from the books. Beyond that, I’ve kept my distance. I don’t ship actors or keep up with stan drama. But something about this weekend’s BAFTAs, and the very deliberate press rollout that followed, caught my attention. Not just as a viewer, but as someone who’s worked in a corporate public relations adaject role for over a decade and finds the Hollywood machine endlessly fascinating (and completely outdated).

What we’re seeing right now with Luke Newton and Antonia Roumelioti is a textbook example of trying to manufacture momentum when there’s no organic traction to begin with. The cracks are showing. With every single post and article that popped up on my FYP and Instagram feed these past 48 hours, the more I felt like I had a bad case of deja vu. Did I just read the same headline over and over again? Yes…but from different outlets and yet it all felt the same. Interest piqued. Clearly the press kit made the following demands: 

Couple Focused; Antonia is to be treated in the headlines with the same level of celebrity as Luke

Curated Images - the same set of approved images over and over again

Approved language. We get it, Antonia is “glamorous” 

Ah, manufactured momentum, the Hollywood PR machines old faithful approach when you have nothing of substance. Let’s be honest: Antonia is being positioned as a public figure, but the foundation is incredibly thin. There’s no significant modeling campaign to anchor her in that world. Her dance history, beyond being a teenage contestant on Greece’s Got Talent, hasn’t evolved into any noteworthy professional credits. And as an “influencer,” an angle that feels unconvincing, the aesthetic is curated, sure, but there’s no substance—no strong personal voice, no visible passion, no cultural or philanthropic cause to connect with. The identity being presented is vague, and vague doesn’t hold attention for long. Did it ever?  

This isn’t a case of the public being harsh. It’s that there’s nothing anchoring her presence outside of proximity to Luke. And for a rollout to work, there has to be something to build from—an existing spark of interest, a story, something people can latch onto. Right now, that just isn’t there. In PR terms, it’s a classic case of a lack of narrative coherence. 

It’s also not helping that the timing feels off. One year out from Bridgerton S3, and Luke’s visibility has been notably muted.  While Nicola Coughlan has gone from strength to strength since then, Luke’s career has remained.... steady at best. He’s the only Bridgerton lead with a season of the show not signed to one of the major agencies, and despite being positioned as a romantic lead, his trajectory feels… stalled.  So this moment, framed as a kind of visibility push, doesn’t feel rooted in authentic career growth. Instead, it reads as strategy: tie this reveal to a known milestone, hope for carryover attention. The fact that Nicola’s name had to be threaded into nearly every headline surrounding this weekend’s appearance says a lot - borrowed equity. It suggests his team knows he doesn’t generate enough coverage on his own—and that’s a hard truth, but it’s one the public is picking up on.

Unsurprisingly, the reaction has been indifferent at best. Well until it took a turn for the worse. Take the Entertainment Tonight instagram post. When a media push goes a bit too far, it can lead to consequences. Using Nicola’s name here and sidelining her accomplishments to push a couple narrative, well, it was a choice someone made. A bad one at that. Viewers are seeing through the strategy, and instead of buying in, they’re disengaging. That’s the risk when you try to force relevance without real public demand. If anything, this rollout has highlighted just how little genuine excitement there is around either of them right now.

So the question is: where does this go from here? Because from a PR perspective, you can’t build long-term interest on shallow foundations. At some point, there needs to be actual growth—either from Antonia showing a clearer sense of self, or from Luke stepping into a stronger career phase that doesn’t rely on nostalgia or association.

Until then, this push will likely keep feeling exactly as it does now: calculated, hollow, and a little too late.

[fiamat12]

Re: They *Really* Lost the Plot!

... but did they mean to?

There have been lots of questions swirling around today - everything from do Nic & Luke really hate us to don't you think there *has* to be more going on than legal obligations? Then @frantastical posed a question that gets right to the root of it as only an OG can:

I'll answer the 1st two questions, then get to Fran's argument. 1- No, Lukola loves their fans and if you think they'd purposely try to alienate or manipulate them while simultaneously trashing their own images, I don't what to tell you. 2- No. As protracted as the legal obligations have become, the alternative was worse. Now, onto Fran's theory...

Shippers are struggling w/ the contradictions that we're trying to reconcile. A smattering of comments taken from the threads today:

• "I am really torn as to whether this is an obligation. I think this post is an image nightmare, so would they actually agree to it?"

• "It seems coordinated w/ Lauren and the Dad follows. It also then continues the Roumeloti business promotion checklist; promote Dads restaurant ✅, DJ business ✅ and now Antonia’s employer ✅ (who is probably family or friend of family)"

• "I’ve been vacillating between obligations and A going rogue to humiliate Luke and Nic all day. I can’t imagine today was about obligations and yet it’s the Lauren TT and his dad following A’s dad of it all. Was today part of the obligation fulfillment or did what was storied by Nic last night piss her off?"

• "They don’t even need Savage anymore if his team are involved in this... A man who has been widely criticised for his hot boy summer antics posing with these dancers 🥴😳🤦🏼‍♀️. Then we get a caption that must be mocking him because that man is not Bond material... even those who like him will say that."

(Fans did want L as Bond for a hot sec.: https://www.mylondon.news/news/celebs/bridgerton-james-bond-luke-newton-25619695)

Sunny, @jmuz09's AI Robot helped work through it ⬇️⬇️⬇️

1) A LEGAL LOOPHOLE

Fran's assertion fits more into it NOT being an obligation. I asked Sunny about this but added a legal loophole; he laid it out to where it could makes sense w/ what's been happening w/ A all along...

2) THE CHICKEN AND THE EGG

Here's another Sunny response which makes what happened BOTH, and could also be plausible.

I asked: What came first the chicken or the egg? Meaning did N give us those stories as a preemptive measure knowing that L's pic w/ the Cyprus dancers was about to surface? OR did A have her camp post it as a reaction to N's Lukola coded posts?

Lastly, ignore ignore ignore adjacent nonsense! Lukola has been trying to keep a plot on track that keeps getting derailed. We know the truth, and nothing you've seen should change that - except it can cause further (understandable) frustration.

As others have said - we got N w/ a stroller!!! That's far more interesting! 👀

And so are you. YOU are important to this ship but more importantly to your friends, family, colleagues, pets, and greater community. So take care of yourself and don't let this whiplash cause you unnecessary stress. Protect your peace and enjoy your weekend! ✌️🕊☮️

[chancemonroe]

He was for the first time in forever really, letting Antonia do her work while he stood aside and watched it. There was already a bouquet of colors and different flowers in a matter of minutes, while he'd been there for too long just staring at everything. Maybe he needed to take a lesson from her so that he didn't have to play up the forgiveness angle all the time. "I mean, I'm in awe of what you were able to do in a matter of minutes where I had next to nothing done in all the time I was standing here." He grinned a bit more when he saw what she'd made. "You are a superhero, for real."

“Today is your lucky day, then. I happen to have a lifetime degree in pleasing mothers. Or trying to, at least.” As he spoke, she glanced at the flowers on display, trying to visualize the perfect mix in her head. “Okay, I think these make a good base colour and then…” she trailed off, more so talking to herself as she added more to the mix. Antonia made a few adjustments as she went, until she was eventually happy with the display. Holding it up in front of him, she smiled wide. “What do you think ? Personally I think it’s my best work yet.”

[gvldntrbl]

Olivier + Antonia @theartofruling

Location: Flashback, Reception at Michaels' Wedding

-⚜️-

The reception at Toni's sister's wedding was in full swing. The daughters of the happy couple bounced about, giggling and running, as best and excited as kids could be at their parents' wedding reception. He sent one, the youngest, a bit of an awkward wave as he waited for Toni to return to their table. Children, especially happy ones, were still a sore spot for him. At times. Although, he hoped that it wasn't painfully obvious to his girlfriend as he was trying to be better. It wasn't other children's fault for Olivier's own childhood, that he knew.

Ollie unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, draping it across the back of his seat, before he focused on removing the cuff links from his dress shirt. The hybrid tucked them into a pocket of his dress pants for safe keeping and began rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. At least his forearms would be on better display, the minor lord mused seconds before noticing Toni's return. Olivier stood up, meeting her as she stood, dress clinging to her curves and a distracting vision at his side. Of course Antonia had a chair near him but she never chose real chairs when his lap was always ready for her. "My Lady," Olivier greeted her, a smirk on his mouth and his hand out for hers to take ahold. "Sorry to say but I hope your feet aren't tired. I wanted to have this dance," He said, smirking easing into a confident smile when, lucky for him, a new song started to play.

[wakandamama]

Wading Towards Shore Pt. 2

A/n!: Quick updates for a lil bit because I wrote quick a bit! I need to slow roast yall so this is more Angst, Lil Hurt/Comfort!

Smoke and Annie settle back into life with one another once again. However, Annie can't help but let her insecurities of being left being creep into her mind at same time she is plague with bizarre dreams of grief and fish.

Annie wakes from her spell in the yard and a conversation is had Wife to Husband

Trigger Warnings: grief, dream sequences, mentions of child loss, delusional denial

WTS Part One

It is two in the afternoon when Annie wakes up again. She is sweaty, placed on to rest on the daybed in the living room due to being covered in the rusty delta dirt from trying to bury into Mariah’s grave and her throat feels torn to shreds. 

Annie kicks off the sheet Smoke has laid over her and wearily props up on her arm, she finds her man sitting in front of their coffee table with his back to her. Smoke uses his left to press his right hand steadier as he drafts a note of some kind on a thin strip of paper in pencil. Annie sees about seven of the thin strips rolled and bound with purple threads tied into dainty bows (a task nearly impossible for Smoke most of the time) set to the side on a small neat pile. 

Annie reaches over, pouting to see her hand trembling; she curls it back around to rest on her middle. “ ‘Lijah?” Annie croaks with a wince. 

Smoke sets his pencil down, massaging his palm as he turns to her, Smoke then scoots closer until his knees touch the front of the daybed and grasps her dirty hand resting on the cushion. 

“You a��� right now?” Smoke asks her and Annie feels the urge to sob again but feels no tears well in her dehydration.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t believe this day snuck up on me like this. Now it’s so late in the day an-” Annie fades off with a dry cough. 

“Hol’ on.” Smoke mutters with a kiss to the top of her head before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Annie can’t help but hold her breath as she watches his back walk from her, anxiety spikes into nausea when he disappears around the corner. Annie forces herself to lay back down and stare into the ceiling, she stares and stares, before closing her eyes tightly. 

“He’s just in the kitchen getting a glass of water, Antonia. Listen to the water running. He’ll be back in a minute. I need that water” Annie prays in her mind, forcing her thoughts to be rational. She swallows a dry lump in her throat to remind her body that she needs water and that Elijah had only left to provide just that. 

Smoke left to provide before and then he was gone fo-

Annie turns her head into the back cushion so she can listen to the sink run, to the cabinet doors thump, to Smoke’s steps on the tiles, to the birds chirping outside, to the drops of falling water splas-

Falling water?

Annie shakes her head as another drop of water falls and she feels it land on her cheek. The next drop of water falls into her ear. Annie jerks her head straight and opens her eyes, gasping at what she finds. There floating above her head seemed to be the entire sea, mossy blue water with lapping waves engulfed her ceiling and spilled itself to her floor, slowly flooding from the bottom and top of the room. 

Annie reaches a hand up to it, in awe as a huge orb of water descends down to meet her finger tips. Shiny golden scaled minnows dance and dart within the rippling navy water, she reaches her hand fully in and sighs at the sweet coolness of the water on the warm skin. 

“Annie?”

A fish kisses her pointer finger, she gasp at the touch.

“Annie?” 

Another fish kisses her palm, she hums at the feeling.

“Annie?”

Annie turns towards Smoke’s voice, it sounds distant and underwater, pitching her name in time with the lapping waves. 

“Huh?” Annie answers back dumbly.

Smoke appears, his body gliding through the churring waves flooding the floor. As steps, the water calms and deepens. Finally, Smoke comes to her side and sits in the space next to her hip, tranquil waters behind him. Annie’s breath hitches as Smoke’s hand bursts through her bubble of water, grabbing her hand. Globs of water and squirming golden minnows rain over Annie as Smoke brings her hand down to rest on her middle. 

“C’mon baby, sit up for me.” Smoke instructs his voice clearing up as Annie's ears pop.

Annie blinks hard and just like that all the water is gone besides that in the mug in Smoke’s hand. The only shine of gold is the sun filtered through the window behind her reflecting off her sweat-damp skin. Annie grunts sit up in the daybed, then lets Smoke ease her back to rest against the arm.

Smoke hands the mug to her, waving for her to drink up as his other hand rests on top of hers on her middle. Annie gulps down the cool drink in quick shallow swallows as, for the first time since she was 15 at their first dance, Annie feels a sick urge to suck her belly in at Smoke’s presence.

She suddenly felt too big and too full, Annie had a deep need to put a part of herself away from him. Smoke’s hand just laying on her, with not a comment or a flicker of disgust on his face, made Annie want to melt down to nothing and run away. 

“Finish that whole cup, you need to get ya fluids back up. Ya had me worried, passing out like that.”

Annie swallows a big gulp harshly at his statement.

“Passed out?” she whispers and Smoke nods, running his thumb over the top of her wrist. She hasn't passed out in eight years.

“Yeah, you was crying, then you was slurrin’, and then you was all limp in my lap, Talk to me woman, tell me how you feelin?” Smoke asks of her and Annie sighs around the rim of her cup.

How dare he.

He didn’t ask this of her when he kissed her goodbye eight years ago. 

He didn’t ask how she felt about being left behind and alone. 

He didn’t ask about how desperate she got for just a kiss on the hand let alone his body back to her. 

He didn’t ask about how she felt in the times where it was just Annie and Mariah’s grave all summer day. Hot day after hot day, yet Annie’s chest was ice block cold in grieving fury. 

Now he dares to ask, how do you feel?

Annie busies herself with finishing her water, she smacks her lips as she tunes into the taste of crushed mint steep into it.

(When she was first pregnant, she couldn’t stand the taste of tea. So to battle the nausea Elijah crushed mint into water to steep all morning. When the hell he had time to make this? She was only down for four hours)

Annie looks over at the rolled and tied notes again, then blinks in surprise at the flinch that ruffles her man when Smokes notices her observations.

“It’s a sill- no, no it ain’t silly I guess. It’s what I did when I was in Chicago on this day. Just something I thought would be fitting to honor her.” Smoke tries to explain through his stammer of nerves. 

Annie brows furrow, “Ya ritual?”, she asks. 

“Nawh…. Nawh you do that ritual stuff. You know the proper rules and ways and whatnot. This here,” Smoke snags the note he was still drafting earlier and waves it “,this here is…. Just me tryin’ sumthin’ cause it felt right for me to try and talk to Mar- to talk to Ma-.... for me to try and talk to our babygirl again. Even with me being such a coward and could only do it once a year.”

Smoke settles the note on his knee then leans down and grabs a box from under the coffee table. He unearths a pearl white cigar box with two purple M’s painted on the face of it. Annie recognizes Stack’s loopy font from when he’d write Smoke’s letters for him their second year into the Great War. Tears start to in Annie’s eyes at how carefully her husband holds the box, like it was sacred and pure.

Smoke held few things like that. He always needs a deeply firm grip on things and Annie could list on one hand the few things he handled with such soft reverence.

Herself

 Stack, when the brother needed it

 A trigger

Fish hooks

 . . . and their baby.

Annie sniffles when Smoke holds that cigar box out to her as he would their first baby. 

She takes it from him just as gentle, and carefully opens it. 

The box is halfway full with those same notes all neatly rolled and sweetly tied with purple thread bows. Some are a little burnt on the edge, or wrinkled or slightly water damaged. Dried and faded flower petals are sprinkled among the notes and the whole box smells like,

“Carnations?” Annie hums and Smoke swallows but nods. 

“Yeah. The pink and white ones from ‘er funeral with those… uhm what's it called…baby breaths? I’d saved some of them in my pocket and it just felt right to put ‘em with her little letters.”  Smoke explains shyly. He wipes his eyes as Annie takes a deep smell of the box, that sweet and soft smell makes her bosom ache. 

Her baby needs milk soon, Annie can feel it.

“Little letters?” Annie asks and she’s glad Elijah is so richly brown, with how flustered he became at the question that man may as well be bubble gum pink. Smoke stares down at the box as he speaks to her, a croak promising tears in the back of his throat.

“I would write to her all day on all them July firsts back in Chicago. Every time I got the alone time to sit and do it, I’d write to M-her. Stack ain’t even know! I always seem’ d to catch a not real busy day from them Irish boys while Stack was busy to his ears. So I’d spend all day trying to keep steady and make them letters neat as I could so babygirl could read ‘em from heaven. I got seven of em done today, working on the eighth when ya woke up.” Smoke explains. He finally wipes his eyes and looks at Annie.

“Pretty foolish, huh?” he tries to joke with a sad smile.

Annie surges forward and kisses him.

Damn him. How dare Elijah light her fire just to douse it cold with sorrow. 

She thinks deeply of his bravery. His love. His strength. His protectiveness. And finally her appreciation (and longing desperation) for his conviction in caring for his family. Annie prays he feels that in her kiss. 

The intention must hit him because when they break apart Smoke’s frame relaxes in that special way that only Annie can bring him to do. There was no need for his nerves to tremble when it came to his woman and her ways.

“I think that’s just right.” Annie starts.

“It sounds right that a Poppa wants his babygirl to know what’s best. Mariah needs to know her Poppa loves her. Love like that is never foolish, Elijah. Please believe me when I say that.”

“You are my trust, Annie. So can you please… trust back in me.”

“I-I-”

“Please trust in me baby. Tell me what's wrong witcha, please let me fix it.”

Annie swallows, pulling back from him and looking at lap. His hand had found home on her thigh, fingertips brushing her belly. 

Annie wishes she was underwater right now.

Smoke’s head dips and they lock eyes again. 

Annie thinks she found part of the truth, gripping his hand as she speaks.

“I… I think I’m mad at you?” Annie starts. Smoke hums deeply in his chest, nodding his head in acceptance of it. He can understand that.

“I… I had to spend six July firsts alone, Elijah. Just me, this house, and her grave. And you just left me like that.”

Smokes face crumbles at her truth but he doesn’t cry or shake just keeps holding her hand. He licks his lips and starts to speak-

“ Stack had-”

“Dontcha bring little brother into this Elijah! You left me… you needed to run away and Stack just gave you the excuse. Elias done ran scams and schemes in right here in Mississippi a hundred times and he’d have found a thousand more. You told him you had to get out and he found y'all's way.” Annie revels bitterly, she grips his hands so hard her fingernails leave crest of pain on his skin. Yet, he kept holding her back just as steady as he was. 

“... I never ran to another woman.” Smoke starts and Annie kissed her teeth at the statement.

“I know. I ain’t feel no hussy break my tie on ya.”

“I didn’t run to a bottle or putta belt on my arm”

“You were tempted.”

“Plenty. Ya tab at Bo’s was paid every week.”

“I’d buy out the whole candy aisle and the rest of the cakes on Sundays and hand it to the kids outside, just so you’d feel me.”

“And I deserved to go hungry all that day from it. Every man I beat, I made sure he had bills for a doc. Evertime I wanted to die, I held that mojo to my chest.”

“I felt you repent.”

“So what I gotta do Ann? What I gotta do to prove to you I’m home to stay?  What I gotta do for you to not be so scared that imma go?”

Annie looks up sharply, snatching her hands out of his and fighting to stand. Smoke lets her do as such, closing his eyes in weary submission once Annie is on her feet, with hands on hips and fury burning in her eyes as she gazes down on him.

“Annie Moore ain’t ever scared!”

__________________________

Annie sits on the edge of the tub, shaking a jar of dried magnolia petals, dried orange skin and star anise into her warm bath. As Annie lights her candles she can't help but tick the nights off in her brain.

It had been a moon's month since she last took a proper charged bath in the moonlight.

That means a month and a half since her monthly.

"Shit." Annie curses under her breath as her finger tips burn on the hot wax trying to escape the matches' flame. Annie quickly sets the last candle down and peels out of her dirty dress, she glances through the thin curtain over the bathroom window. She huffs to see Smoke's silhouette in the moonlight.

Damn him.

Annie makes point to prick her finger on the clothing pin from the back of her dress. She watches as the drops of blood sluggishly fall to her thighs.

drop, drop, drop

She smears it into her skin with a triumphant nod before slipping into the water, sinking in until just her face and the top of her knees are exposed to the cool air.

There, she bled.

Ain't no way she pregnant. No need to get her hopes up. No need to be taken care of. Ain't no way she's going to have another child to lose. No need to for Smoke to do anything more than just be her man.

No need for Annie to worry about a thing. Ain't no need to fear being left so vulnerable again.

_____

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[meazalykov]

the target

lynn wilms x reader

summary: lynn gets revenge for you

warnings: angst?, injury, swearing

it’s game day. 

the quarterfinals of the champions league. real madrid. the first leg. it’s the kind of match you’ve dreamed about since you were a kid. well, as a kid you thought you would be playing for your childhood club back in england, but that is besides the point.

you’re starting in midfield with wolfsburg, and lynn will be out there too, holding down the right-back position. the thought of sharing the pitch with her always brings a certain calmness, even when the stakes are this high.

the walkout onto the field is exciting. the screams of the fans, the wolfsburg green against the madrid white—you’re excited. 

you catch lynn’s eye during lineup panel, and she sends you a small smile. it’s grounding.

as soon as the whistle blows, madrid makes their intentions clear. they press hard, quick to close down any space, and their midfielders seem to be everywhere at once. 

your first few touches are rushed, pressured by their relentless energy. 

you catch glimpses of lynn darting up the right flank, always ready to support the attack or track back defensively. 

the first twenty minutes fly by, a blur of challenges, quick passes, and constant movement. 

madrid isn’t giving an inch, and neither are you.

lynn spots athenea darting down the wing, her control precise as she angles to cut inside. athenea believes that she is clean, but lynn stops her. she steps in with flawless timing, extending her leg to cleanly take the ball away just as athenea tries to make her next move. 

the crowd erupts in appreciation as lynn doesn’t just win possession... she transitions it forward instantly. the blonde head lifts, scanning the field before threading a perfectly weighted pass up to jule, who’s already running to an open space.

jule collects the ball smoothly, her pace causing madrid’s defenders to scramble. she draws two players toward her.

you, ever the playmaker, timed your next move perfectly, running on the right as the ball slipped into your path. it’s quick and seamless, giving you the chance to turn toward the goal with space ahead of you.

you take your first touch, the ball right at your feet as you eye the madrid backline. there’s no easy route through, but that’s never stopped you before. 

antonia lunges in, and with a flick to your right followed by a sharp cut to your left, you leave her behind, her balance thrown off entirely. 

adrenaline courses through you as you move toward the next challenge.

before you can make your next move, olga comes crashing in, her body slamming into yours with a brutal force that has nothing to do with getting the ball.

the woman’s left shoulder hits your side hard, knocking the air from your lungs as your momentum is thrown off. 

your feet lose contact with the ground, and just as you’re falling forward, oihane adds insult to injury with a shove to your back, propelling you further into the grass. the crowd’s collective gasp rings out as your body hits the ground hard, your palms scraping against the rough surface of grass.

the whistle cuts through the chaos, sharp and clear. the referee’s arm is up, signaling the foul, but that doesn’t immediately soothe the tension that erupts around you. 

you hear svenja’s voice almost immediately, protesting in both german and english, firm and unwavering as she marches toward the ref. your mentor’s protective instincts kicking in. she’s quick to defend you. 

you push yourself up from the ground, brushing bits of grass from your raw hands and knees as you catch your breath. your body aches from the collision, but you’re fine—nothing you can’t handle. 

looking up, you see lynn already moving toward olga, her expression a mixture of frustration and determination. the dutch's movements are purposeful, her jaw clenched, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

before she can close the distance, you step into her path, reaching out to place a gentle but firm hand on her arm. 

“hey, its fine,” you say softly, meeting her eyes. the tension in her posture eases just slightly as you shake your head, your silent way of telling her to let it go. it’s not worth it. she hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering between you and olga, but you nudge her back gently, guiding her away with you. 

lynn exhales deeply, and the two of you retreat together, leaving svenja to handle the situation as the referee moves in.

“are you fine?” she mumbles. 

“yes.” you mumble back. 

the game ticks into the 40th minute, ten minutes after the crash between olga, oihane, and you. you find yourself in a pocket of space near the edge of the box, the ball at your feet. your instincts kick in as you glance up, scanning the field. 

alex makes her run, her timing perfect as she slips between two defenders. without hesitation, you whip in a cross—a perfect arc curling toward the center of the goal. alex rises above the crowd, her header powerful and precise, sending the ball soaring past misa and into the back of the net.

the stadium erupts in cheers, a sea of green celebrating as alex takes off toward the corner flag, pumping her fist in the air. your excitement overtakes you as you sprint toward her, jumping onto her back as the rest of the team rushes in to join the celebration. 

1-0. it’s a massive moment. 

however, that solidified madrid’s stance on you being a threat. 

as the game resumes, it’s clear that madrid has shifted their focus entirely onto you. every time you touch the ball, their players close in aggressively. you can feel their frustration; they can’t stop you, so they’ve resorted to trying to break you. 

your reputation precedes you. you’re known for your pinpoint assists and thunderous goals from a distance outside of the box. 

you’re their biggest threat, and they know it.

the final five minutes of the first half feel like they stretch into eternity. madrid’s pressure is relentless, their challenges growing rougher with each passing moment. you’re dribbling upfield, looking for an opening to pass to svenja, when teresa closes in. 

before you can react, her cleat comes down hard on your foot, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg. you cringe, instinctively bending down to rub your foot as you try to shake off the pain. 

the referee doesn’t blow the whistle, and the game continues around you as if nothing happened.

svenja sees it all. she immediately stops play, her voice sharp as she confronts the referee. frustration is etched across her face, her gestures animated as she demands to know why no foul was called. 

you straighten up, still wincing as you test your foot, and glance toward the bench where your coach looks equally concerned.

the lack of calls has the entire wolfsburg team irritable. madrid’s strategy is clear—they’re targeting you, and the referee’s inaction only fuels their boldness. even the fans are voicing their anger, their boos ringing out as the replay of the stomp flashes across the stadium’s screens. lynn is pacing on the right flank, visibly holding herself back. her hands are clenched into fists, her jaw tight as she tries to restrain herself. 

you catch her eye briefly, and the frustration in her gaze is almost palpable. she’s respecting your choice, not wanting to escalate things, but it’s killing her to see you take hit after hit.

as the whistle finally signals halftime, you walk off the field with your teammates, your foot still throbbing. the coach pulls you aside in the tunnel, his tone serious. 

“y/n, you’ve got to avoid getting injured. we need you for the second leg, not just tonight.”

before you can respond, alex speaks up, her voice filled with annoyance. 

“they’re targeting her because they can’t stop her. it’s obvious! the ref’s letting them get away with it.” she’s practically seething in german, her protective nature mirroring the team’s collective frustration.

he second half starts with wolfsburg adjusting to the madness of the first. the coach’s strategy is clear: keep the ball moving quickly and limit your full possession to specific plays. 

the focus shifts to jule, who takes on more of the ball-handling responsibilities in the midfield since the madrid players are slightly less aggressive with her, and everyone else who isn’t you. 

your coach is making a tactical move meant to shield you from the worst of madrid’s aggressive targeting, but it leaves you lingering in pockets of space, watching and waiting for an opening. this is what you hate, you love a challenger. you need to have contact, but being injured would ruin all of that.

the clock ticks into the 49th minute when svenja, ever-reliable, sends a sharp pass your way. the ball zips across the field, and you’re quick to collect it, already scanning for options. you can feel the madrid players closing in, but you’re hoping, just hoping, they won’t try anything this time.

of course, they do.

as you push up the pitch, caroline suddenly grabs a fistful of your jersey, tugging hard enough to pull you off balance. the fabric stretches uncomfortably against your chest, and your frustration bubbles to the surface at the same time. 

you reach behind you, your fingers finding hers, and pry her grip loose. it’s not a hard motion, but it’s deliberate. the ball rolls slightly ahead of you as you let it go, passing it cleanly to svedinis before turning back to face caroline.

you don’t hide your irritation as you step toward her, your voice steady but edged with anger. 

“is there a problem?” the question hangs in the air, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the game. caroline’s hands shoot up defensively, palms out, as if to say she doesn’t want any trouble. 

the scottish woman’s expression is neutral, almost dismissive, but she doesn’t say a word.

you back away slowly, your eyes still locked on hers for a moment longer before you turn. alex is there, her reassuring presence a balm against the frustration threatening to consume you. she pats your back firmly, her touch grounding you as she says something you can’t quite hear over the loudness of the german crowd ready to defend you. 

the look in alex’s eyes is encouraging, a silent acknowledgment that you’ve done well to stand your ground.

across the pitch, lynn watches the entire interaction, her posture is tense, her hands clenching briefly before she forces them to relax. 

you’re doing everything right, standing up for yourself with composure, but it’s clear to her how much it’s wearing on you. as much as she respects your wish for her to stay out of it, the sight of you being targeted again and again makes it almost unbearable for her to stay put. 

still, she forces herself to remain where she is, her focus trained on the game, even though her heart aches for you.

the next play will change lynn’s mindset..

..it all happens too fast.

the ball is thrown in from minge and you get the ball. you run just outside the box, lining up the perfect shot. 

suddenly, a sharp, searing pain explodes in your ankle. antonia’s boot, studs up, slams directly into you with brutal force. she misses the ball entirely, and the impact sends you sprawling to the ground. 

the ball goes away from the goal, forgotten as your scream pierces through the stadium noise.

you clutch your ankle instinctively, the pain so intense it feels like your entire leg is on fire. the blood pools quickly, soaking into your green socks, the vibrant red stark against the fabric. the agony grips you, but so does the shock. 

your breath comes in short, ragged bursts as your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your chest. you want to cry, to let the pain out somehow, but the tears won’t come. something inside of you did not want to give madrid players and fans the satisfaction of seeing your tears. 

instead, you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the shaking in your hands as they press tightly against your throbbing ankle.

“y/n love, it’s okay, we’re here,” jule’s voice breaks through the haze, soft but urgent. she’s kneeling next to you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. svedinis is beside her, her eyes filled with concern as she crouches down, holding your other hand that is not on your ankle. 

your bestfriend’s words are comforting, grounding, even as the medics rush onto the pitch, their bags clutched tightly as they prepare to assess the damage. 

the pain doesn’t lessen, but their closeness makes the swollen and bleeding ankle more bearable.

while you’re surrounded by support and calmness by the outside of the box, the rest of the pitch is erupting into chaos towards the goalpost.

lynn saw you on the ground, the blood, the pain etched across your face, and something inside her snaps. the calm restraint from earlier is gone. she storms toward antonia with a ferocity that makes her teammates hesitate to step in. 

“are you stupid?!” lynn yells, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. her words ring out clearly, laced with anger and disbelief. antonia tries to wave it off, muttering, 

“i didn’t do anything,” but lynn isn’t having it.

“shut up!” she yells again, pointing directly at antonia.

the madrid players begin to swarm, misa stepping in to try to break things apart. olga joins the fray, her posture defensive as she moves toward lynn, but wolfsburg’s players aren’t letting lynn getting jumped by the spanish team. 

svenja, ever the captain, runs forward. marina and lineth flank her while alex positions herself near lynn, ready to intervene if things go too far. 

lynn is beyond reason, her finger still jabbing in antonia’s direction as she yells, 

“seriously though, what’s wrong with you guys? stop being so stupid!”

the medics finally reach you, but even their presence doesn’t fully distract you from the chaos unraveling around you. lynn keeps going, before minge wraps her arms around lynn, trying to pull her back. 

“let it go,” minge pleads.

you’re lying there, your hands trembling as the medics begin their work, but your eyes flicker toward lynn. even through the chaos, you can feel her anger burning for you.

the ref finally raises the red card, pointing directly at antonia, who looks stunned for a moment before reluctantly walking off the pitch. it’s the right call.. her studs-up tackle was reckless and dangerous. 

your teammates exchange frustrated glances, and you can see it in their faces: this never should have gotten to this point. if the referee had been stricter earlier, if fouls had been called, warnings given, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

you’re helped off the pitch, each step sending jolts of pain up your leg, and ariana comes on as your replacement. you watch her jog into position, her face set with determination, but your focus quickly shifts to your ankle. 

minutes later seated in the medic room, you can’t help but cringe when you finally look down. your sock, once a pristine green, is stained with blood, and your ankle is swollen, an angry blue hue spreading up your skin. 

it looks worse than it feels, though the pain is still there.

the team’s doctor, a kind woman you’ve rarely interacted with since you’re not one to often get injured, works quickly and efficiently. the touch is gentle, but you still wince as she cleans the wound and begins wrapping your ankle in layers of bandages. 

“you might be out for a couple of weeks,” she says softly, her tone sympathetic but professional. 

“we’ll need to do a deeper analysis tomorrow after the swelling goes down.”

you nod, accepting her words with a mix of disappointment and resignation. injuries are part of the sport but it doesn’t make it any easier to process. 

you force yourself to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that your recovery is now the priority.

after she finishes wrapping your ankle, the doctor hands you a pair of crutches. using them feels awkward at first, but you manage as you make your way back toward the field. 

the game is still 1-0, thanks to you and alex. you find a seat on the bench next to lineth, who is now also off the pitch. she gives you a sympathetic smile, her hand briefly resting on your shoulder. 

“you okay?” she asks, her voice low enough not to draw attention.

“i’ll survive,” you reply, though your gaze drifts back to the game. 

you sit on the bench trying to distract yourself from the dull ache in your ankle. your eyes naturally find lynn on the pitch, and for the first time in a long while, you’re watching her play from the sidelines instead of alongside her. 

it’s strange, this perspective, but it gives you a chance to really notice her playing.

the way she moves is effortless—calculated yet fluid, her body a perfect balance of power and precision. lynn’s posture is strong despite the obvious frustration lingering from what happened to you. the dutch’s lips are pressed into a thin line, her usual calm replaced by a quiet intensity.

you can’t help but think about how hot she looks out there. the wanted distraction is welcome, pulling your attention away from the throbbing in your ankle. she’s a force to be reckoned with, and even though you already know that, seeing her from this angle makes you appreciate it even more.

in the 86th minute, lynn takes the ball up the right. you can see her eyes scan the field as she gauges her options. 

lynn takes a perfect shot with the ball and at first, it looks like she’s targeting ariana, hoping for a header to mirror alex’s earlier goal. 

however, the ball keeps going, and going. misa stretches out her fingers, desperate to make the save, but it’s too late—the ball flies just out of reach and into the back of the net.

the crowd erupts in cheers, the noise shaking the entire stadium. your heart leaps with excitement, and before you realize it, you’re on your feet, clapping and cheering as loudly as the rest of the bench. 

you can’t help yourself—you’re so proud of her. 

through the chaos, lynn’s eyes immediately find yours. it’s as if she’s tuning out everything else, seeking your validation first, as always. when she spots you, her expression softens for a moment, and she raises her hands, forming a heart in your direction.

your chest tightens at the sweet gesture, your cheeks heating up as you smile at her. lynn’s celebrations are never over the top, her focus always on the team rather than personal glory, but this small moment of acknowledgment is everything to you. 

beside you, lineth snorts, leaning closer to mutter, “you two need to get a room.”

“shut up,” you shoot back, grinning despite yourself. lineth just laughs, shaking her head as she joins in the applause.

as the game winds down, you notice something curious: madrid’s aggression has noticeably cooled. they’re still pressing and defending, but the dirty fouls and unnecessary physicality have all but disappeared. 

it hits you like a sudden realization. they weren’t playing rough because of wolfsburg—they were playing rough because of you. 

i mean, you did play for barcelona before wolfsburg. however, that was four years ago. those heated el clasico matches were in your past. you shake your head, ignoring all of those possibilities.

the final whistle blows, and all of the wolfsburg players gather on the field, exchanging hugs and high-fives after the 2-0 victory. you remain seated on the bench, a quiet observer as the celebration unfolds. 

the doctor’s words echo in your mind, reminding you to avoid walking on your ankle too much until your ankle can be properly assessed and placed in a boot tomorrow. the dull throb in your ankle keeps you grounded, but watching your team revel in their success brings a sense of satisfaction despite the earlier chaos.

lynn is still on the pitch, talking with svedinis near the sideline. though she’s engaged in conversation, you can tell her attention keeps flickering back to you. she’s rushing—her words quick, her movements slightly impatient. svedinis starts to notice and giggles, pushing lynn towards you as she goes to talk to alex. 

the dutch jogs over to you, her green kit streaked with dirt and sweat. 

she doesn’t hesitate, practically throwing herself onto you, careful to avoid your injured ankle. the tattooed arms wrap around you tightly, her weight a comforting presence as you let out a laugh. 

“easy there, mvp,” you tease, your voice light for the first time since the injury.

lynn leans back slightly, a grin tugging at her lips. 

“it’s just good to see you not looking so pissed off after everything that happened.”

you chuckle, tilting your head at her. 

“yeah, but i wish i could say the same about you.”

she narrows her eyes playfully, a mock glare forming. 

“can you blame me? watching you get beat up out there and not being able to do anything about it? i was ready to beat someone up myself.”

you nod, your tone softening. “true. but, for the record…” you pause, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. 

“i thought it was kind of hot, seeing you all protective and storming the pitch.”

lynn groans, rolling her eyes dramatically, though the faint blush creeping up her cheeks gives her away. 

“you’re insane, do you know that?” she mutters, but there’s no heat in her words.

you laugh again, reaching out to pull her into a proper hug. lynn’s body relaxes against yours, the stadium around you begins to empty, everyone into the cool night air as the crowd disperses. 

it’s just the two of you now, in the quiet glow of the emptying arena. 

“thanks for having my back out there,” you whisper, your voice sincere. 

lynn presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice equally soft. 

“always.”

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