#learning to touch grass again

[rovermcfly]

unironically tho, you need to fill your life with nature and exercise and reading and crafting and cooking and physically engaging with the world around you. the key to happiness is not in your computer screen, especially not if most of your time is spent looking at bad opinions and arguing with people. it sounds so stupid but you are an animal that needs enrichment. so take your meds, go outside or at least look outside and turn off the computer and phone more often. I promise you'll feel better.

[pinkyjulien]

Man am I glad I got all this modding background and vibes thanks to cyberpunk cause trying to get into DA/Frosty modding for the past. what, 2 days only? Already been unpleasant LMAO

And not because its not working or not possible to mod atm, but because of the frosty tool makers fhjdjg

No wonder people are scared to get into modding, you get mocked for not knowing how a tool work, you get turned down for asking questions or needing help?

It's bad and it happens in every modding scenes uh 💀

"Here's a wip tool that requires a key that nobody here will give you, also stop asking"

And this bonkass interaction I had with the developper

BONKER SHIT FJFJG

Literally got a DM later from someone who also wanted to use the tool but was too scared to ask

💀🤌 Nice job you guys!

[redrosydiaz]

really fucking sick and tired of people who really fucking love the eddie book jumping on people who don't like or are even remotely critical of it's posts and like crusading their opinions around from the top of their high horses and shoving it down our throats.

if you like the book, great! that's awesome! love that for you! i am genuinely glad that you were able to find good in it and enjoy it!!

but not everyone did, and not everyone is going to agree with you. so, instead of going on some grand crusade where you find every single post that includes anything even remotely negative or negative adjacent or even neutrally critical and spending ALL this time and effort trying to provide unwanted rebuttals to every single thing, maybe you should just stay in your lane and find people who DO like the book and chat about it with them.

because i can PROMISE YOU, none of us appreciate it when you come onto our posts and start accusing us of "hating on" the author or "being rude" about her and her work and RIDICULOUS shit like that.

being critical of something and pointing out it's flaws is NOT inherently hating on it. i, frankly, do not know where people got that notion, but it's not fucking true so can we fucking quit assuming it is? and, critiquing something is also NOT the same as saying this is shit and it sucks and the author is a piece of garbage. again, where the fuck that came from is beyond me. you can be critical of something and still enjoy it. as soooo many of you love to point out, it's not perfect, why should it be perfect? so D U H. of course that means criticism can and should arise???

also. hot take (by which i mean ice fucking cold because it's NOT a fucking hot take), but going around toting FALSE facts as part of your "defense" does not make you or your argument look good. you, like the author, should maybe do a basic fact check first. 🙃

tldr, if you like the book, that's genuinely great, but stay in your fucking lane and stop seeking out posts from people who didn't like it to start shit in the notes.

[buckevantommy]

imagine how miserable you must be to indulge in hatred as a hobby. hope y'all learn to simply enjoy what you love instead of hating on others for what they do. ✌️

[thequeerlibrarian]

pls don't tag your post with neil gaiman's name. his tag is being used to discuss his crimes against women

Oh my... That is not how tags work... If I post something that contains Neil Gaiman then I'm gonna tag it Neil Gaiman. Alone for the fact that maybe some people have him blacklisted for whatever reason, so they're not gonna see it. Normally that kind of discourse you're talking about should be tagged something like Neil Gaiman discourse. Gosh I miss old Tumblr before half of twitter came here. My reminder again why I wanted to be offline during my trip

[iniziare]

Consider Yelan's facial expression to be my own in reaction to opinions shared on both X and Tumblr, and I guess I'm in the minority of the 'loud ones', but I'm pretty excited for Natlan since that trailer, actually. The previous teasers left me a little 'eh', but this definitely got my hopes back up, and I'm back in the right spirits for it (and ready to catch some Pokémon.)

Now I wouldn't be me if I didn't touch on the salt that I've seen scattered across the dash, so here I go. Listen, I read people's objections and I see what you're all aiming at, but in that light want to note that it's often incredibly easy to point fingers (arguably too much so) at others while being, quite honestly, hopefully rather aware that many of our own countries, cultures, and its populations across the board (and no, I'm not excluding anyone here) would likely be just as easily guilty as MHY is with these things. And no, I'm not blindly defending them, but I also won't point fingers at only one without pointing them everywhere else as well, including those you might think would 'never do such things', because I'm absolutely certain that they would. /continues on in the tags.

[celestialserpentx]

At what point in the WHOLE PLANET AND EVERYTHING ON IT DYING do humans finally fucking stop and realize none of their drama and issues with each other matter at the end of the day? I mean NONE of it. When you've killed off every other species and the Earth is burning and drowning... do you really think that all your petty disagreements and differences and problems about each other will actually matter anymore?

[tactfullyinappropriate]

It's like we all collectively forgot as a society that friendship and just connection in general takes effort. Even if you meet someone you immediately click with, it takes hanging out about 20 times (!) to become friends. And guess what, some of those 20 meetings might be awkward or unimpressive.

We all want to reap the benefits (having a friend circle, having a partner, getting married) without doing the work (going to events, interacting with people, learning to handle conflict maturely, dating). Myself included. If I could, I'd never leave the house or go on another mediocre date again... except, that's part of the process.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, the cure to the loneliness epidemic is touching some grass and building tolerance for tedious in-person interactions.

[rovermcfly]

I literally CANNOT repeat enough how much you need to install an adblocker and stop using apps

like. genuinely. you shouldn't be seeing ads. philosophically speaking. aesthetically speaking. psychologically speaking. you MUST remove them from the spaces that you consider *yours*. imagine some dropshipping company came up to you and went "hey can we put these ads all over your home so everywhere you turn you'll be seeing an ad for us?" would you let them?? FUCK no you wouldn't.

so please god. install ublock origin or whatever works for you. delete the apps and use whatever website you can't live without through the browser. you are LITERALLY worth more as a human being, your TIME, your MIND is worth more than the ads they put on your feeds.

[todays-xkcd]

If only my ancestors had been fortunate enough to marry into the branch of the bacteria family that could photosynthesize, like all my little green cousins here.

Stromatolites [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Cueball and Beret Guy, seen from a far in silhouette are walking up a grassy hill.]

[They continue walking up the hill, reaching its grassy summit. Now with a standard white background. Beret Guy is a bit ahead of Cueball.] Beret Guy: I learned something today. Beret Guy: I went on one of those family tree sites and kept clicking back, and it turns out I'm related to stromatolites!

[Closeup on Cueball. Beret Guy's reply comes off-panel from a starburst on the right edge of the panel.] Cueball: The bacterial mats? Beret Guy [off-panel]: Yeah! A few billion years back, on my mitochondria's side.

[Cueball and Beret Guy standing on the top of the grassy hill facing each other. Berety Guy holding a hand out towards Cueball.] Beret Guy: My Archaean ancestors absorbed some bacteria that were cousins of stromatolites. That's how I got mitochondria. Beret Guy: Cell nuclei, too.

[Cueball is standing behind Beret Guy who is now sitting down in the grass leaning back on one arm with the other arm resting on his bend knee.] Cueball: I think there are still living stromatolites. You could get in touch. Beret Guy: Nah, they're probably busy. I don't want to bother them.

[Cueball is sitting behind Beret Guy who is now lying down, both again shown in silhouette from a far, revealing they are on the top of the grassy hill.] Cueball: So what are you going to do with this knowledge? Nothing? Beret Guy: Lying on a hill in the warm sun is an old family tradition.

[bluecookies02]

Viktor x Reader

tags: nsfw, suggestive but on a spiritual lvl 🤌 hurt/comfort. robo viktor and intimacy basically.

[established relationship]

Viktor's new body doesn't feel physical pleasure. Doesn't feel friction or warmth to any extensive degree.

But you'll often find yourself placed on his lap, with him guiding your hips to grind against his own. His arms guiding yours around his shoulder, neck, back...wherever your heart desires to leave a ghost of an imprint. He traces your skin with fingertips that don't really feel any pressure whatsoever, but his soul yearns to touch you like he used to.

And he does. It makes him desperate at first...lost and heartbroken. He has to learn to calculate better, in fear of not giving you a good enough illusion that he is still as human as he was, still an attentive lover that he used to be.

The kind that would spend hours making you feel good, loved and precious. He used to push himself to exhaustion just because he needed to show you his affections thoroughly.

He still would. He still does. Every little speck of him that is left within this new vessel, he selflessly gives to you. The shudders that he lets out when you whine and moan are raw and real, the adoration in his eyes when he does something right and you gasp...it's for you only.

He can feel your emotions and hear your thoughts when the connection between you is at its peak. Once you place your forehead against his and you fall apart under his skilled hands, he can experience the ecstasy similar to the one he used to when he was mortal.

It's yours. It's borrowed. But it gets him high. The fraction of your pleasure that he can feel through your bond makes him addicted, insatiable. It can be considered selfish when he thinks about it more in depth, however it isn't.

Because he would do it all just for you...even if he couldn't feel a single thing, he knows he would always feel utter love and devotion towards everything that makes you. Your plump lips, your eager hands, your honey coated words, your mind and intelligence, your familiarity.

He'd rip himself apart and turn to nothing if it made you happy.

So he's quick to learn. He learns how to press his cold lips against yours just right...all over again. Relearns how to touch you in ways he used to know by heart. The instincts that seemed to die with his body, he has to fabricate.

There's beauty in those calculations. It comforts him. Because those seemingly "robotic" efforts are naked proof that his love for you will never falter, no matter the form he takes on.

He knows that you see his struggles, notice the smaller errors he makes in rhythm, in the gentleness or the roughness of his movements. But as always, you understand him and his body, the state of it, the "faults" as he used to call them, which you always said you'd love, no matter what they were.

This stayed constant in your relationship from before and now. Your stubbornness to love him through everything , even this, and he'd be a fool to not repay you.

So he makes love to you, under the glossy, shiny stars and then under the morning sunrise, on the wet grass or the cloudy floor of his hidden universe. You'll feel him molding his body for you and pouring his soul into you until you're crying, panting and shaking underneath him.

He'll swallow the screams from your lips as you crumble for him, and he'll engrave them so deep within himself so that nothing could rip them away.

Noone can ever love me like the fictional men in my head and I'll have to accept that eventually . Anyways I hope you enjoyed this blurb, if you did, stay tuned bc this blog is slowly turning into a Viktor shrine.

requests are set to open while this season's high fuels me, so feel free to drop by🩵

[lobo-inu]

know that any of my past associations with folk in 2023 are mostly all severed. anybody who turned out toxic or had an appetite for drama has been removed. i was and am still too busy handling my severe health issues and disabilities to engage in stupid shit that can be solved via communication.

i stood by it then, and i still do now - if you have an issue, just fucking talk to others like adults, or block them and leave it be. i swear it’s not that hard.

do you guys remember the post i made awhile back? about how nasty the tesblr community is, my experience with hate anons and false rumors? well i got some updates, and god i’m upset. and it’s not even about me.

turns out the mods in my past server not only harassed me, but others via anon hate. i’m not sure about rumors, though. they directed it towards someone who was nasty to me, but goddamn dude. i HATE that these people are still (maybe?) active in this fandom. i don’t care how much i dislike the person they targeted - you are no better than them if you go out if your way to send anon hate to people you dislike. and since they know i was associated with these awful people, i fear that i am grouped in with their behavior.

i won’t call out names. i have them all blocked. but jesus christ, do better. grow the fuck up and stop being a bully.

it gave me a lot of closure learning that this is a pattern with them versus anything to do with me.

[xoxolaw]

if you would be so kind…. seongje x reader but she’s insanely dense??? like very nice and kind sorta dense. “aw you were watching me? good to know u care so much” and he’s lowkey tweakin out. she just thinks they friends for all of the time he spends around her until maybe he just has to get over his avoidance issues or something. anyways feel free to twist this however you want, thank you !!!

+ YOU CARE SO MUCH

in which seong-je can't help but feel frustrated due to how oblivious the sweet, dense girl he's hopelessly into is.

Geum Seong-je x reader

fluff

Seong-je had a rule. Three seconds.

If someone pissed him off for more than three seconds, they got dropped.

No hesitation. No exceptions.

People learned fast. Keep your eyes down. Don’t talk to him unless spoken to. Never test his patience.

And yet, here you were. Walking, talking, smiling proof that his rule had its limits.

“Seong-je!” you called from across the hallway, waving at him like he hadn’t just finished beating some second-year half to death behind the gym.

You didn’t even flinch when you saw the blood still on his knuckles.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, pulling a napkin from your bag.

“I know I’m bleeding.” He sneered, but his voice didn’t have its usual bite. “I like it that way.”

You just tilted your head, eyes soft. “Still, you’ll get it on your uniform.”

And then you were dabbing at his hand. Touching him.

He could’ve killed you for that.

He didn’t.

---

You weren’t like the people he surrounded himself with. You weren’t strong. Not by his standards. Not violent. Not cunning. Just stupidly kind.

And dense.

God, so dense.

When he made fun of you, you laughed.

When he skipped class to sit on the rooftop, you brought him snacks.

When he stared at you too long, too hard, too obviously—you’d just smile and say, “Good to know you care so much.”

Care?

He should’ve punched a wall.

He almost did.

Instead, he smoked. He watched. He loomed.

And you kept letting him.

---

The tipping point came on a Thursday.

You were in the courtyard, sitting on the grass with your legs tucked under you, reading something stupid—he could tell it was stupid by the way your face lit up at every page.

“Why do you always look so damn happy?” he said, dropping into the grass beside you without asking.

You blinked, surprised. “Am I not allowed?”

He smirked. “Most people have the decency to be miserable around me.”

You just shrugged. “You’re not that scary, Seong-je.”

He barked out a laugh. “Says the girl who saw me break a guy’s nose last week.”

“You were grinning like a maniac,” you said. “So I figured you were having fun.”

He stared at you. “You think this is a game to me?”

You tilted your head. “No. I think you like being strong. And I think you don’t know what to do when people aren’t scared.”

He blinked. For once, words failed him.

You smiled again, so gently, and went back to your book like you hadn’t just dismantled his entire persona with a casual sentence.

Seong-je lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

Three seconds.

Three seconds.

Three fucking seconds.

---

He started seeing you everywhere.

Not on purpose. He wasn’t following you.

(He was.)

You asked him to walk you to the bus stop once.

He said no.

Then did it anyway.

You offered to share your drink.

He said it was gross.

Then drank from the same straw.

He didn’t get it. You weren’t strong. You weren’t even interesting. But you made his chest feel like it was on fire every time you called his name like it meant something.

Like he was someone good.

And that pissed him off.

---

“You have no self-preservation,” he growled one afternoon, pinning some third-year to the wall after they grabbed your arm in the hallway.

You blinked up at him. “He just wanted help finding the music room.”

“He touched you.”

“So?”

“So I broke his nose.”

You knelt beside the bleeding guy, already pulling out tissues. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Then stop letting people near you,” he snapped.

You looked up at him, confused. “But why?”

And that was it.

That was when something cracked.

He hauled you up by your wrist and dragged you into the empty stairwell. The door slammed behind you, echoing like gunfire.

“Are you stupid?” he snapped. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?” you asked, honestly bewildered.

He laughed—mean and bitter. “Acting like I’m just some school friend. Like I’m some loyal dog who follows you around because I’ve got nothing better to do.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer, voice low, dangerous. “You think I do all this—pick fights, skip class, smoke my nerves out, bleed for you—because I like being your emotional punching bag?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You’ve got three seconds,” he hissed.

“Three seconds for what?”

“To tell me you know.”

You swallowed. “Know… what?”

He stared at you like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.

“I want you,” he said, voice sharp as a blade. “And I don’t mean your sweet little friendship. I mean your time. Your body. Your attention. I want you, and I’m two seconds away from going insane if you keep pretending you don’t see it.”

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t do kindness,” he continued, almost panting now. “I don’t do softness. I break things. I like breaking things. But when you smile at me, I—”

He cut himself off.

Ran a hand through his hair. Laughed bitterly.

“And you’re still just staring.”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I really didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, backing off. “You do now.”

Silence.

Then you said, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Seong-je’s jaw clenched.

He turned away, bracing a hand against the wall like it might keep him from doing something stupid—like yelling, or kissing you, or punching through the drywall.

“Then forget it,” he said, biting the words out like glass. “Pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to pretend.”

His head snapped toward you.

You were still staring at him—eyes wide, voice soft, hands balled in the hem of your shirt like you didn’t know where else to put them.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you repeated. “But I don’t want to ignore it either.”

He stared.

Waited.

Waited for the punchline.

Waited for you to laugh it off, the way you always did, like everything he did was just another joke in your day.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stepped closer.

“Seong-je,” you said, carefully, “I’m… not good at this.”

“No shit.”

“But I don’t think you’re just some friend.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then what the hell am I?”

You hesitated, cheeks coloring, fingers twitching at your sides. “Something… important?”

“Something important?” he echoed flatly.

You nodded.

His mouth twisted. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re terrifying,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I still sit with you. Still talk to you. Still bring you snacks.”

“I thought you were just stupid,” he muttered.

“Maybe I am.” You took another step forward. “But if you want me, and you’re not just messing with me, then maybe you should do something about it.”

His breath caught.

Then he laughed. Low. Dangerous.

“You think I haven’t been doing something about it?” he said, stepping into your space. “I’ve been holding myself back. Every damn day. You think restraint comes naturally to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because suddenly his hand was on your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

And for a second—just a second—the world froze.

Then he kissed you.

Not gently.

Not sweetly.

It was rough, like a warning, like he was staking a claim. Like he’d been starving and just found his first meal.

You gasped into it, hands flying to his jacket, unsure whether to push or pull, but he was already gripping your waist, dragging you closer until there was nothing between you but heat and breath and every unspoken thing.

When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, expression wild.

You were flushed, dazed, your fingers still curled in his shirt.

He smirked.

“There,” he said, voice hoarse. “That clear enough for you?”

You nodded, speechless.

But then, like always, you tilted your head and smiled.

“I still think you’re not that scary.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Too late,” you whispered.

And he laughed—actually laughed—before kissing you again, slower this time, like maybe three seconds would never be enough.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

Really enjoyed writing this request!!! I hope you enjoyed reading it as well!!

[shaiyasstuff]

evermore | zayne

synopsis : Bound by lifetimes, you loved him in silence—ever unseen, ever aching—while he chases a destiny that isn’t yours and never will be. content : angst, references to both of zayne’s myth cards, non-mc!reader w/n : this was originally a request but I decided to write this a little differently. hope you still enjoy :D

You had always been there.

Not just beside him. With him.

Bound not by chance, but by something older.

Deeper. Crueler.

You were his confidante. His companion. The shadow that stitched his jagged edges back together when the world carved him into pieces.

You loved him in ways that rewrote you.

Bent for him. Broke for him.

Sacrificed yourself at the altar of his happiness, even when it meant bleeding from wounds he never saw.

Because every time the ache grew too loud, every time doubt clawed at your throat—

All it took was a look.

Those dark locks falling over his brow like spilled ink.

And his eyes—hazel, burning like dying embers at dusk—

God, they undid you.

You tried.

Tried to love him in silence. Tried to convince yourself that was enough.

But at some point, you found yourself on your knees, fists clenched, cursing the stars for tying you to a man who was never meant to be yours.

No matter how hard you loved.

No matter how long you waited.

Still—you stayed.

You weathered the lifetimes.

You sewed together the shattered pieces of him, even when he looked through you like you were nothing but a whisper from another world.

You learned to live with that pain.

To carry it quietly.

To love him without hope.

You remembered them all—not because you were chosen, but because you were cursed to.

“Zayne…” you whispered now, reaching out to touch his crystallized hand, fingers trembling. A shimmer of warmth passed from your skin to his, softening the frost that coated him.

His Evol always surged like this when the memories overwhelmed him—especially when it was about her.

Your eyes climbed to his face.

Still, frozen in grief.

Then, slowly, his lashes fluttered. He stirred. His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“I’m okay… I just… needed to see her again.”

You nodded. Sat beside him without a word.

Above you, the tree branches swayed in the wind, leaves rustling like the whisper of time passing.

You didn’t want to ask.

But you needed to.

For your own heart’s sake.

“Is she worth it?”

The silence stretched.

And when he finally met your eyes—those same eyes you loved like a prayer—

You already knew.

“I would give up forever,” he said, voice quiet and sure, “just to hold her.”

Something in you cracked, then.

But you still smiled. Small. Gentle.

Even as your heart shattered like glass beneath your ribs.

The door clicked shut behind you, the familiar chime of the automatic lock humming through the quiet. You kicked off your shoes with a tired sigh.

From the hallway, a soft mewl greeted you.

Astra.

She brushed against your legs, weaving figure-eights as you bent down, your fingers carding gently through her fur. “Missed me?” you whispered.

She purred in reply, trailing after you as you trudged to the couch. You collapsed into it, limbs heavy from the day, exhaustion pooling beneath your eyes.

Your hand continued its slow rhythm across her back, and she curled beside you, content.

But your mind was far from present.

It drifted—back to the dream.

Or memory. Or something in between.

You remembered the way the cool wind felt against your body, the way the sky stretched in endless blue above the grass-covered mountain.

And the ring.

Slipping cool and weightless onto your finger.

You had looked at it—then at him.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

And Zayne…

He smiled down at you, eyes warm, hand reaching up to pat your head with a fondness that made your chest ache even now.

“Only you,” he said, “can be up in these mountains with me.”

You grinned at him. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he replied.

But promises—promises were fragile things.

You blinked back into the present and stood slowly, making your way to the bedroom. Your doctor’s coat slipped from your shoulders and landed carelessly on the floor as you passed by the framed photos—snapshots from med school.

You and Zayne, younger then, smiling over textbooks and scrubs.

Your eyes caught on the certificate on the wall.

Surgeon.

A title you earned with blood and sleepless nights.

But none of it mattered in the dream.

Not when you saw her.

“Zayne, she’s…?” you had asked, pointing toward the girl behind him.

He followed your gaze and nodded. “I found her at the bottom of the mountain,” he said simply. “She helped heal Bai Ze.”

Only then had you noticed the limp in the white sheep trailing behind them. You knelt, brushing its soft wool as it nudged your hand.

And then—

You looked up.

And everything shifted.

He wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at her.

And in that fleeting silence, in the way their eyes met—

You realized something you had never wanted to.

You didn’t belong.

Not anymore.

The next part came in fragments.

“Doing this will end your life,” you hissed, your voice trembling as you stood behind him.

He turned slowly. His face was unreadable.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s the only way she lives.”

You stared at him.

“What about me?”

Your voice cracked with it. The pain. The betrayal.

He looked down.

And said nothing.

That was all the answer you needed.

You nodded once, quietly. “I see.”

And you turned away.

You never looked back.

The last time you saw him—your beloved, your husband—he wasn’t flesh and blood anymore.

Only light.

A single radiant beam disappearing into the mountains.

Your breath caught in your throat as the memory shattered.

Steam clung thickly to your skin, fogging up the bathroom mirror. The shower still ran behind you, its hiss dull and distant.

You stood there, motionless.

Trying to remember what it felt like to be loved.

And what it meant to let go.

—•

Sunlight filtered in through the half-closed blinds of your office, casting slanted lines across the clutter of reports and confirmation slips strewn haphazardly over your desk.

You let out a quiet sigh, setting your pen down and pressing your hands against your face, exhaustion pooling behind your eyes.

You didn’t hear the knock.

Didn’t register the soft footsteps until a quiet voice pulled you from your haze.

“I brought cake.”

Your head snapped up.

Zayne stood at the doorway, eyes calm, a faint crease of concern between his brows. In one hand, a plastic bag rustled faintly with the promise of sweetness. In the other—your usual coffee, and a milk tea.

Your gaze lingered on the drinks before returning to his.

“Zayne,” you breathed, rising from your chair as you began tidying the papers on your desk, trying not to look too flustered by his sudden presence.

He stepped forward, wordlessly setting the drinks down with practiced ease, the plastic bag rustling softly in the quiet room.

“How’s the patient in the west wing?” he asked, voice low as he leaned slightly against the edge of your desk.

You opened the cake box with childlike eagerness, the sweet scent instantly lifting the weight from your shoulders. “She’s okay,” you replied, picking up a fork. “Her MRI came back clean, but I’m keeping her in for observation. Just to be sure.”

He nodded, humming thoughtfully as he took a sip of his milk tea.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was familiar. Comfortable.

Like the two of you had always spoken more through glances and gestures than words.

But the feeling returned—quiet, gnawing, familiar.

That dull ache in your chest, like fate was whispering—no, screaming—that he was never meant to be yours.

You bit your lip, the taste of sugar still lingering on your tongue.

“How is she?”

Your voice came out softer than intended, but steady. Controlled.

She—the girl who stirred something in him.

The one who made his Evol flicker without warning.

The one who belonged in the spaces you so carefully carved yourself into.

Zayne glanced up at you, his expression unreadable.

You kept your gaze on the cake, pretending to be occupied, but your fingers had gone still.

“How is she?” you asked again, more firmly this time—because you needed to hear it, even if it shattered you.

Zayne cleared his throat, standing a little straighter. “She’s away for a mission,” he said, then took another sip of his drink as if the answer meant nothing. As if it didn’t cleave something open in you.

You nodded, eyes flicking away.

And suddenly, the room felt too still. Too quiet.

The air thickened with everything unspoken.

You finished your cake in rushed bites, barely tasting it. “I need to do my rounds,” you said, voice far too bright, smile pulled a little too fast across your lips.

He didn’t stop you.

Just watched as you grabbed your coffee and turned on your heel.

The hallway outside was cooler, but it did nothing to ease the nausea coiling in your stomach.

You felt sick.

Because no matter how hard you tried,

you would never be her.

Your hand braced against the cold wall, trying to steady yourself as your breath came in shallow waves.

“He is not meant to be yours.”

The voice echoed—low, knowing. Maybe it was just the part of you that finally stopped pretending.

“Stop,” you whispered, shutting your eyes tightly, as if the darkness behind your lids could muffle the sound.

But it didn’t.

“He will never be yours.”

Your chest ached. Your fingers curled into a fist against the wall.

Then why am I always here?

But the silence that followed had no answer.

—•

You lay still in bed, cocooned beneath your blanket, as moonlight spilled through the slats of your blinds, painting quiet silver patterns across your room.

Astra perched atop the cabinet, her gaze steady—silent and ever watchful.

You turned your head toward her, then away, because you knew that look. The kind that saw through everything, even the things you refused to name.

You had watched him pine for her in every life.

Why should this one be any different?

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket as your thoughts drifted—slipping through cracks in time.

You remembered a coffee shop in another universe.

Where laughter smelled like cinnamon and hope tasted like burnt espresso.

Where he sat across from you, eyes too gentle, heart too torn.

And you—foolish and aching—had pushed him toward her.

You remembered another life.

The one where she died in his arms—again and again. And you were always there, the ghost in the background, stitching him back together each time.

You remembered that tower.

The one where you stood beside him at the edge of it all, the sky ablaze and the world crumbling beneath your feet.

You had held his hand as he bled out the last of his strength for her sake.

And even then—

Even then, his eyes searched for her.

Not you.

Never you.

And still, you died with him.

Because you didn’t know how not to.

The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the stillness like a blade, jolting you upright from your bed. You clutched your blanket, heart thudding, instinct already propelling you forward.

You didn’t need to check.

You knew it was him.

Your footsteps were quick, uneven against the floor as you rushed to the door. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the handle, breath catching in your throat.

And then—

You opened it.

Zayne stood there.

Barely.

His Evol had flared again—ice creeping violently from his fingertips up to his neck, frost tracing sharp veins along his jaw. He looked as if the cold had consumed him from the inside out.

“Zayne!”

You caught him as he collapsed forward, his weight folding into your arms like a crumpled page. Your knees nearly buckled, but you held firm.

Your hands flew to his neck, cradling the frozen skin there, pouring the warmth of your Evol into him in desperate waves. “What happened?” you asked, voice taut with panic.

But you already knew.

It was her.

It was always her.

And still, you pressed closer, anchoring him with your touch, ignoring the way your chest ached—splintered open like it always did when he came to you like this.

Not as a lover.

Not even as a friend.

But as a ghost chasing the shadow of someone else.

Your thumbs brushed his icy skin, the pain on his face so familiar it made your throat close.

You hated this part of yourself.

The part that would still set herself on fire just to thaw him out.

Even knowing—

He would never look at you the way he looked at her.

Not in this life.

Not in the last.

Not in any of them.

And still—you held him.

Because it was the only way he ever let you close.

You pulled him inside, the cold from his body seeping into your own as you struggled to keep him upright. The door clicked shut behind you with a hollow finality.

Astra emerged from the hallway, her paws pattering softly against the floor. She mewled, distressed, circling your feet as you guided Zayne to the couch.

You cradled him gently, your Evol still working to warm his frozen skin, but your patience had long begun to fray.

“You need to stop this,” you hissed, your voice sharp, low, breaking at the edges.

He didn’t respond.

Just looked away, eyes heavy with guilt—or worse, with nothing at all.

Like he couldn’t bear to face you.

Or simply didn’t care to.

And that hurt more than you wanted it to.

Because you were always the aftermath.

The one to pick him up when the cold became too much.

The one who held him while he grieved her, again and again, until his Evol nearly killed him for wanting something he could never keep.

Your fingers trembled against his jaw, still pouring heat into his veins even as your own heart chilled.

How many more times would you do this?

How many more times would you save him—

Just for him to return to someone else?

“God damnit, you can’t be with her—can’t you see?”

Your voice cracked, trembling on the edge of a scream as your hands pressed against his skin, Evol flaring. Heat surged from your palms, melting the ice that clung to his body like a second skin.

The frost hissed as it gave way, turning to droplets that clung to his collarbone and slid down, but he still didn’t speak.

His gaze shifted—hardened.

But silence was his answer.

It always was.

And that silence was louder than any confession.

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face, because you knew—God, you knew.

It wasn’t his fault.

None of it ever was.

He was shaped—for her.

Molded by the stars, stitched into fate’s design, every fragment of his soul angled toward hers.

And he didn’t even know.

But you did.

You were the one who remembered.

Who carried the burden of memory through every life.

The one who watched, always from the outside, always the afterthought—

As he searched for her, found her, lost her, broke for her.

And you—

You were the one who stayed.

The one who died with him in towers, bled beside him in war, cradled the pieces he left behind when she was gone.

You sacrificed yourself over and over—

Just to keep them together.

And now, in this life, you still reached for him.

Still begged for a sliver of something he was never meant to give.

The ice cracked beneath your touch, but the ache in your chest only deepened.

Because no matter how fiercely you burned, he would always chase the one who lit the match.

After a while, the storm passed into stillness.

Neither of you spoke.

He lay on the couch, his breathing steady now, though the tension never left his shoulders. You sat curled on the floor beside him, cradling your scarf against your chest like it could somehow hold you together.

Moonlight spilled across the room, casting him in soft, ghostly hues. You looked at him—his face drawn in weariness, in silence, in a thousand unspoken things.

Your voice broke through the quiet.

“What’s going to happen when I’m not there to help you?”

It was barely a whisper, but it echoed loud in the stillness.

He turned his head slowly to look at you, expression unreadable, the shadows swallowing whatever emotion lingered in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said simply.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You sighed, gaze dropping to your hands, then to the floor.

Because he didn’t know.

Because he never thought about a life without you—

While all you ever did was imagine his without her.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, blurring the edges of his face as you turned toward him once more.

“Zayne.”

His name trembled on your lips.

Your voice cracked, raw from everything you’ve swallowed down across lifetimes.

“I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

For a second, something shifted in his eyes—concern replacing the indifference, like he’d finally heard the weight beneath your words.

He sat up slightly, brows furrowed, the beginnings of panic flickering in his expression.

“What do you mean?”

But you couldn’t look at him.

Because if you did, you knew you’d shatter.

You had carried him through frost and fire.

Loved him quietly in the background of someone else’s story.

And now your heart—

It was tired.

So very, unbearably tired.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered, and your knees buckled beneath the weight of it.

The truth, unspoken for so many lives, finally spilled from your lips like a confession too long buried.

Zayne’s eyes widened—just a fraction—as he shot up from the couch to catch you, his arms steadying you before you could fall. His hands were warm now, thawed by your touch, but yours trembled beneath the pain.

“But all you ever think about is her,” you choked, the words clawing their way out of you. “All you ever do is rush into danger, even when it’s killing you.”

Your eyes, rimmed red with unshed tears, locked onto his.

“I’ve always been here,” you said, voice breaking.

“Can’t you see me?”

And the silence that followed felt unbearable—

Because you already knew the answer.

He could hold you.

He could worry for you.

But love—

Love was something he’d already given away.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

No spell, no plea, no lifetime strong enough to rewrite the way the stars had carved your fate.

Because even if you tried—

Even if you screamed loud enough to shake the heavens,

In the next life, and the one after that,

Perhaps until the end of time—

You would still love him.

Still chase after the echo of a man who would never turn around.

And you would still be destined to hurt.

For him.

You sank to the floor, your legs giving out beneath the weight of everything you had carried for lifetimes. The confession hung in the air like smoke—something scorched and lingering.

Zayne knelt with you, his hands hesitating before they found your shoulders, tentative and unsure.

You could feel the warmth in them now, finally, but it didn’t reach the part of you that had always longed for something deeper.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And you hated how much it still meant to hear it from him.

How even now, that single word could crack something open in you.

You looked up at him, tears clinging to your lashes. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “You never have.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just sat there, silent.

And that silence broke you more than any rejection ever could.

He swallowed hard, eyes dark and unreadable.

“I was always there,” you said. “Even when she wasn’t. Even when you forgot my face. I chose you.”

His brows furrowed, his expression shifting—pain, guilt, something almost like grief flickering across his features.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured.

“I know you didn’t,” you said bitterly, a tear sliding down your cheek. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

He reached for you again. This time, you didn’t pull away.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.

You leaned into him despite everything, because you didn’t know how not to. Because some part of you still ached for the comfort of him, even if it wasn’t love. Even if it was just this.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back to her,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s something broken in me.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “But I know I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you.”

You closed your eyes at his words, tears slipping free as he pressed his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

It wasn’t love—not in the way you needed it.

But it was something.

A thread in the unraveling. A hand in the dark.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I need to let go,” you said softly.

“I know,” he replied, just as softly.

And still, he held you.

Not as the one he was fated for.

But as the one who had always stayed.

And maybe that was enough—

Just for this moment.

Bittersweet. Quiet.

A love that would never be,

But would always remain.

masterlist

[xo100]

Golf - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: In Portugal, Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell, and Max’s girlfriend Pietra go golfing, with Pietra’s single friend (you) tagging along. You struggle with the game, prompting Lando to offer hands-on lessons.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1298

୨ৎ

The warm Portuguese sun bathed the lush green golf course, casting soft shadows over the rolling hills. The faint scent of freshly cut grass filled the air as the group of four made their way towards the first hole. Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell, his girlfriend Pietra, and Pietra’s friend—a single woman, fresh-faced and smiling despite her clear inexperience with golf—walked together, laughter bubbling up between them as they teased one another.

Pietra nudged Max playfully as he adjusted his glove, “You know you're only here to look pretty while you lose, right?”

Max scoffed. “We’ll see who loses when I sink this birdie.”

Lando laughed, shaking his head as he carried his golf bag. His eyes, however, kept straying to the woman walking beside Pietra—you. You had been quiet at first, observing the banter between the group, but it didn’t take long for you to find your rhythm. Your natural charm had won the guys over quickly, but it was Lando who seemed most intrigued by you.

You were unsure about this whole golfing thing; you’d never played a round in your life. But when Pietra had invited you to join them on this trip, the allure of sunny Portugal and new adventures was impossible to resist. Plus, you weren’t going to lie—spending time around Lando was hardly a bad thing.

After the first few holes, it became obvious that you were, well, not the best golfer. You swung the club a few times, and while your effort was there, the technique... not so much. Your ball either went nowhere, or far off course. Each miss was followed by giggles from Pietra and lighthearted teasing from Max.

“You’ve got this,” Pietra grinned, leaning on Max’s arm, as you tried yet again.

Your swing was way off. The ball barely moved. You cringed, immediately breaking into laughter.

“That’s it,” Lando said with a mischievous smile, stepping forward. “Time for a lesson.” His eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement, his dimpled grin sending a flutter through your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t stop the smile pulling at your lips. “Oh? You’re going to teach me how to golf?”

“Well, someone’s got to save you from yourself.” He gave you a teasing wink, his accent rolling off his words in a way that made your heart skip. “Max certainly won’t.”

Max snorted, raising his hands. “I’m no teacher. Good luck, mate.”

You shook your head, amused, but when Lando stood next to you, a little closer than necessary, you felt a warmth rise in your cheeks. He placed his hands over yours, adjusting your grip on the club. His touch was firm, but not forceful, guiding rather than instructing.

“First, you need to relax,” Lando said softly, his voice close to your ear. “You’re too tense.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken at the proximity. His body was warm, his presence so magnetic that you were barely able to focus on his words. You could feel his breath against your skin as he adjusted your arms, moving them into position. He leaned in a little more, close enough that the scent of his cologne filled your senses.

“Like this,” Lando murmured, his hands guiding the motion. He stood behind you, his chest lightly brushing your back, and for a moment, you forgot you were supposed to be learning how to golf.

The rest of the group had quieted, either lost in their own conversation or deliberately giving the two of you space. Pietra, ever the romantic, watched with a knowing smile.

“Okay,” Lando continued, still guiding your movements. “Now, on three, swing. One… two… three.”

Together, you swung, and to your surprise, the ball sailed smoothly across the grass, not far, but far better than any of your previous attempts.

You turned, eyes wide. “I did it!”

Lando grinned down at you, pride in his expression. “See? It’s all in the technique.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed but mostly happy. “I guess I just needed the right teacher.”

He gave you a playful nudge with his elbow. “Or maybe I’m just that good.”

The flirting between you and Lando was subtle, woven into each shared glance and teasing comment. It wasn’t overt, but the tension between you was undeniable. Every time his hand brushed yours as he handed you the club, or when his fingers lingered on your back as he showed you the proper stance, it sent little sparks through your skin.

“Okay, let’s try again,” Lando said, stepping back into position behind you. This time, his touch was more casual, but it still held that underlying tension that made your pulse race.

You swung again, and though the ball didn’t fly as far, it still went in the right direction.

Lando gave a mock sigh. “Guess I’ll have to stick with you for the rest of the day. You’re not ready to be let loose just yet.”

“Is that so?” You shot him a playful look, fully aware of how close he was standing to you. “And here I thought I was getting better.”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “You’re just not ready to leave the pro yet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his confidence, but something about the way he looked at you made the laughter die on your lips, replaced by a different kind of awareness.

-

The day went on like that, filled with stolen glances, light touches, and gentle teasing. The others gave you space, Max and Pietra happily absorbed in their own world, but there was a sense that everyone knew something was happening between you and Lando.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the course, the group decided to call it a day. Max and Pietra walked ahead, leaving you and Lando lingering behind, still chatting quietly.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lando asked, his eyes catching yours as you strolled beside him, golf clubs slung over your shoulders.

You shrugged, smiling. “Not bad at all. But I don’t think I’ll be challenging you to a game anytime soon.”

“Maybe we could practice again,” he suggested, his tone light, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I could give you some more lessons.”

There it was again—the tension, the unspoken something that had been building all day. You felt your heart race, your stomach doing little flips at the idea of spending more time with him. Alone.

“I think I’d like that,” you said, your voice soft as you looked up at him.

Lando’s smile widened, his dimple showing once again. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the world around you seeming to fade as the connection between you intensified. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were standing even closer, the air between you charged with possibility.

“Lando,” you whispered, unsure of what to say next, your heart beating fast in your chest.

But before you could say more, Max’s voice rang out from ahead. “Oi! You two lovebirds coming or what?”

You both jumped back, laughing at the interruption, though the moment wasn’t lost. Lando’s hand found yours for a brief second, giving it a gentle squeeze before he let go, his eyes promising that this wasn’t the end of whatever was brewing between you.

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Lando called back, a grin on his face.

As you made your way back to the group, your heart felt light, your cheeks warm from more than just the sun. Golf might not have been your game, but Lando—Lando was a whole different story.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, I hope y’all enjoyed! Also a BIG thank you for all the love on one of my last story; Lazy mornings!

[kxsagi]

can u do one where the blue lock boys try teaching u how to play soccer but they get too concentrated and score a point against u / make u fall LMFAO

"𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲"

a/n: YES THIS WOULD BE ME

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, otoya eita, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he tries to be gentle. he really does. but the moment he sees an opening? muscle memory kicks in. 

"okay, just block me when i try to dribble –" 

ankle broken (not actually but nearly). you're on the ground. 

he gasps and runs to you like 😰 “waitwaitwait are you okay?! i didn’t mean to!!” 

you glare up at him. "you said this was a light lesson." 

"i blacked out," he says, genuinely remorseful. 

buys you snacks and offers to carry you for the rest of the day. 

itoshi rin

doesn't even register that you're a beginner. starts demo-ing a drill and asks you to copy it. 

you: tries and trips over the ball 

rin: "... are you doing that on purpose?" 

you: "no?!" 

ten minutes in, he accidentally sends a bullet of a pass straight into your stomach. 

you're folded over. he's staring. 

“… you said you wanted to learn,” he says, like that justifies it.

nagi seishiro

he means well. he even tries to make it fun. like, “here, try to get the ball from me.” 

you do. 

he doesn’t let you. 

he’s barely moving and you still can’t catch him. 

he yawns, juggles it over your head, and scores while scratching the back of his neck. 

you just stand there, blinking. 

“… was i not supposed to do that?” 

no, nagi. no you were not. 

mikage reo

is so excited to teach you. gives you a whole rundown. drills. stretches. strategies. 

then he forgets to dial it down and tackles you like it’s the world cup. 

you hit the grass and stare at the sky. 

reo’s above you like 😨 “OH MY GOSH I’M SO SORRY, ARE YOU OKAY??? YOU CAN HIT ME– WAIT NO DON'T ACTUALLY–" 

buys you an iced drink and carries you around all day to make it up to you. 

bachira meguru

turns it into a game. full of giggles and “try to catch meee~” 

you’re actually having fun until he does one spin move too many. 

you reach for the ball… 

slip… 

and face plant. 

bachira runs over like “you okay?? that was a sick fall tho!! wanna see it in slow-mo?” 

you consider using him as a goalpost. 

chigiri hyoma

says he'll go easy. he says that. 

but then he does one little sprint and forgets you’re not a track star. 

he’s halfway down the field when he turns around and realizes you’re on your knees, gasping. 

"oh… whoops." 

he jogs back with a sheepish grin. 

offers you water and piggybacks you home like “i’ll just be your personal uber from now on.” 

kunigami rensuke (pre-wild card)

really tries to be gentle. like he even speaks softer. explains things carefully. 

but the moment he takes a shot to demo proper form? 

it tears through the net. 

you just turn and look at him like: 👁️👄👁️ 

“… i'll, uh… use less strength next time,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

he does not use less strength next time. 

otoya eita

flirty coach energy. keeps touching your shoulders like “relax, baby ~ soccer’s all about the hips.” 

then immediately forgets himself and goes full striker mode the second you try to take the ball. 

you fall. again. 

he drops to the grass next to you like, “you okay? want mouth-to-mouth?” 

you smack his arm. 

he grins. “so you're not that injured.” 

itoshi sae 

you said you wanted to learn. he showed up in full gear. 

he watches you dribble once, tilts his head, and says, “that’s cute.” 

next thing you know, he casually flicks the ball past you, nutmegs you, and scores without blinking. 

you stare. 

he just shrugs. “maybe soccer’s not for you.” 

he does buy you lunch afterward, though. that’s his version of affection. 

shidou ryusei

you expected guidance. support. maybe a little flirting. 

“okay, stand there. try to block me,” he says, grinning. 

you take your stance. 

he charges at you like a bull. you immediately regret everything. 

he fakes left, spins right, throws in a random front flip for fun, and launches the ball straight into the net so hard it bounces back and hits you in the chest. 

you wheeze and drop to the ground. 

he laughs. laughs. 

“you okay, baby? that looked like it hurt. but hey, at least you looked cute dying.” 

you threaten to hit him with the ball. 

he tells you he’d let you, as long as you call him “coach” first. 

kaiser michael

you say “can you teach me soccer?” 

kaiser smirks. “only if you can handle greatness, schatz.” 

you should’ve known. 

he spends the first ten minutes making fun of your stance. mimics you with exaggerated arms and waddles like a penguin. 

you try to kick the ball. he sidesteps it like you’re in slow motion. 

you try to block him. he rainbow flicks over your head and pats your shoulder on the way past you. 

the disrespect. 

“that was cute,” he grins, brushing his hair back. “but maybe you should just watch me instead. it's safer for your pride.” 

you try to smack him. he dodges and winks. 

then he scores a goal, points at you, and says, “that one was dedicated to your downfall, liebe.”

ness alexis

"don’t worry, i’ll go easy on you," he says with the most patronizingly sweet smile you've ever seen. 

you blink. “you said that last time and i ended up face-first in the grass.” 

he giggles. “that was your balance issue, not my fault.” 

he insists on doing “basic footwork drills” with you. sounds safe, right? wrong. 

within five minutes, you’re dizzy. he’s doing little feints and twirls around you like it’s a figure skating routine. you can’t even tell where the ball is anymore. 

when you finally manage to poke the ball away from him, you celebrate – 

but he steals it back immediately, nutmegs you, and flicks it into the goal like it was nothing. 

“aww, almost!” he says, clapping like a soccer mom. “i believe in you! well, kind of…” 

you throw a cone at him. he ducks and giggles again. 

“was that an attempt at offense? cute!” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢