#but I will post them anyway to let them go

[justladders]

First off, I want to second the thing about tiktok. Unless it is literally your job to market for a company or something, that platform is so extremely blood-sucking. Beyond everything else about it, creators are forced to constantly post, constantly shift to do what's popular for attention in the algorithm, etc. An incredibly easy way to burn out and be down on yourself if you aren't keeping it up. Just don't do it.

But what I find to be very important to realize and applicable to a lot of artists is that, because of what they have seen or been told, they have started to prioritize numbers over what they originally went online for: sharing.

It is incredibly easy on social media to compare yourself to other people -and their numbers- which is what everyone always says you should never do. One of my own friends mentioned to me that they were disheartened when something of mine got attention because their stuff "doesn't do as well." It's not that I don't understand why they want engagement, it's that the comparison is damaging and pointless because there will always be someone with a more popular post, with art that more people seem to like, with stuff that more people will engage with. What you have to realize is that doesn't make them "better." Even if you're considered a popular artist, there may be times where you make something that doesn't get as much attention as before, in which case the person you're comparing yourself to is yourself, which is still the same principle:

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

Share your ideas and your art that you enjoy, and the people that like it will find it, and people will echo appreciation and ideas, and a group or community of like-minded individuals may start to form, and you can make new friends, and you can find ideas/inspiration/new media through those people and what they share, and the list goes on. If one amount of engagement is higher than another, that doesn't stop any of this from happening anywhere else. And this could just be like 5 people. It doesn't have to be 5000.

A quick aside about Tumblr. I've been on a number of social medias to share art, but over time I always end up finding it incredibly easy to just drift off of those platforms. They always go the same way: "post, get some likes/shares, post again." Tumblr has been the only one where I've found actual engagement easier, especially in the form of asks, which is much more fun. It's like the difference between "passing a friend and waving hello" and "passing a friend, but stopping to ask about that new game they just got, make an in-joke, suggest a movie to watch later, then do a silly handshake."

Now, I want you to consider this - you, the creative reading this that is constantly comparing themselves:

Imagine that there was no way to check the "numbers" on the engagement you get. You can still see interactions and respond and whatnot, but there's no way to quantify it. And now imagine that there's no way for you to check other people's numbers. You can never know if anyone else's stuff has gotten more attention than you.

Would you be content with the people that are there that want to engage with you? If there was no metric for comparison, would you be upset about the amount of attention you aren't getting? Would you be happier responding to the engagement you do get if you weren't wishing there was as much as someone else?

If you find that this applies, I have a trick for you. Just pretend like the numbers don't matter so you can be happier. Then, through the experience of it, you can come to realize that they really don't matter. And then you won't have to pretend. And then you can be happy.

also we fucked up as a society the moment we started telling teens and aspiring artists to conflate being an artist with building a brand as if the two things are inextricable. the name of the game if you want to share your art is to work a job and sell yourself as aesthetizied content. back in my day we could just POST SHIT. to deviantart! what the fuck!

[moonlightrafe]

Buckle Bunny ✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡

summary: The new girl in town gives Topper a run for his money and Rafe meets his match.

pairing: Cowboy!Rafe x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, p in v, squirting, creampie 18+ MDNI

note: tagging some moots I feel comfy with bc I feel like my Rafe posts get no traction 😅 @angelspitxx @rafescorpsebride @rafeysbangs @rafesheaven no pressure to read just trying to put myself out there *runs away*

It is a warm Friday night and the annual rodeo was the biggest event of the summer, according to your cousin, Kie. She made it clear you couldn’t miss it.

Being well-versed in rodeo yourself, you take her word for it and check it out. You’re not exactly sure how North Carolina will hold a candle to Texas rodeo, but you decide to go anyway. You pull on your boots, pair them with your tightest fitting denim shorts, and make your way to the fairgrounds. You show up late, but try to enjoy yourself anyway, you just wanted to get a taste, anyway.

The smell of hay and barbecue fill the air, blending with the sounds of laughter and the sharp crack of bullwhips — it reminds you of home.

You take it all in as you stroll past booths selling cowboy hats and fried food. You aren’t quite sure what to expect, but when you spot the bronc riders preparing for their turn, your curiosity gets the best of you.

The large crowd erupts into cheers as the announcer introduces the final rider of the night: Rafe Cameron, apparently a local legend. Your eyes were drawn to him immediately. Tall, broad-shouldered, confident. He climbs onto the massive bucking bronco as if it were nothing. His hat sits low over his piercing blue eyes, and his smirk is unforgettable.

When the gate swings open, the horse explodes into the arena, and Rafe moves with it like he was born for this. You catch herself gripping the railing, holding your breath as he stays on for the full eight seconds– you couldn’t deny you were impressed.

The buzzer sounds, and the crowd goes wild. He tips his hat to the audience before hopping off the bronc, completely unfazed.

After the show, you end up wandering over to the food trucks, hoping to grab something to eat before heading over to the local dive. To your surprise, the cowboy from earlier, Rafe, is there, leaning casually against a truck while talking to a few friends. You freeze for a moment, debating whether to approach him, but before you can make up your mind, one of Rafe’s friends—a loud, blond guy named Topper—spots you.

“Well, look at this,” Topper drawls, a sly smirk etched onto his face, “a little Buckle Bunny comin’ to meet the star of the show.”

Your cheeks burn with anger, "buckle bunny” isn’t exactly a compliment.

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe turns, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His smirk vanishing as his gaze moves to Topper, “knock it off, Top.”

Topper just laughs in response.

“What? I’m just saying—”

“You’re done,” Rafe cuts him off sharpy, stepping closer to you. “Sorry ‘bout that, he’s an idiot.”

You lift your chin, attempting to play it cool.

“S’alright, I can handle myself,” you purr, “just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Rafe’s eyes beam at you, “Well? What’d ya think?”

“Not bad,” you reply, letting a small smile slip through, “but this ain’t my first rodeo, I’ve seen better.”

The guys around him erupt into laughter, and even Rafe can’t help but chuckle at you.

“Alright, new girl,” he says, tipping his hat to you, “you’ve got my attention. What’s your name?”

“y/n,” you reply.

“Well, miss y/n,” he said, his voice softening, “I’ll make sure you get a proper tour—minus the idiots.”

He says this, shooting a look at Topper, who just rolls his eyes.

“We’re all headin’ over to the dive bar right down the road if you care to join.”

“Yeah, I was headin’ over that way anyway, I’ll hop in my truck and head out.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow at you.

“You got your own truck?”

“Mhm, I got my own horse too, and I’m a hell of a ride.”

✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧

The divebar is small, but extremely lively. From across the way you can see Rafe being congratulated, you watch him intently as you sip on your drink.

You can’t help but notice that the mechanical bull is starting up, and you figure this is your chance to show your skills off to Rafe and his friends.

You saunter up to the bull with a grin, making sure the boys, especially Rafe, see you throw your jacket off and pull your hair up into a ponytail.

The operator gives you a nod, cranking up the controls as you swing your leg over the make-shift saddle.

“Hold on tight, buckle bunny,” Topper calls, his voice laced with venom.

As the buzzer sounds, the bull lurches forward. Clenching your thighs and moving with it, you allow muscle memory and pure determination to take over. It spins, bucks, and attempts with all it’s might to to throw you off but you hold on for you dear life.

As your gaze meets Rafe’s you can’t shy away from thinking how it would feel to have him bucking underneath you. Rolling your hips in sync with the machine, wetness pools at your core.

Down girl, focus.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the crowd began to cheer, the bull beginning to slow down: you did it!

The cowboys all went quiet, their smirks fading as you swung off the bull with ease, landing successfully on your feet.

✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧

After that, you find yourself in the grimy, dimly-lit bathroom catching your breath when you hear the door creak open.

“That was quite the show,” Rafe says as he comes in, locking the door behind him.

Your cheeks feel hot as you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Told ya I knew how to ride,” you say with a smirk.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” He whispers, coming up behind you, pressing himself into you.

“Definitely not a ‘buckle bunny,’ you’re the real deal… but a little tease like you makes me wanna lose control.”

You can feel his ever-growing bulge beneath his jeans, taunting you with what’s to come.

His calloused fingers glide underneath your shirt and across the smooth skin of your stomach. Your body trembles, eagerly awaiting his next move. Rafe leans in close, his stubble grazing your cheek, “you want me to take for a real ride?”

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to get out as you bite harshly on your bottom lip.

Rafe’s hands grab your hair, tilting your head back, exposing your neck. His tongue tracing a path up from your jaw to your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

He eagerly spins you around and bends you over the sink countertop. You assist in unbuttoning your jeans as he slides them down your legs with experienced quickness, your panties following suit.

His hands caress your ass cheeks before delving into your soft pussy, coating his fingers with your arousal. You moan loudly, bracing yourself against the counter.

“Spread those legs wide for me, babydoll,” he orders, his breath hot on your neck. You comply eagerly, feeling the cool air hit your most sensitive spot.

Rafe takes no time undoing his belt, eagerly ripping his jeans down and pulling his already-hard cock out from the restraint of his boxer briefs.

He guides himself up to your entrance and slowly pushes the throbbing head of his cock inside of you. You gasp as he fills you inch by inch, until there’s nothing left to take.

A loud groan erupts from your chest as his thickness stretches your walls, making you bite your lip to keep from screaming. Rafe grips tightly at your hips as he begins to move, picking up speed with each thrust. He sets a punishing pace, slamming into you with such force that the counter digs into your flesh. He grunts with every thrust, breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

Your moans echo off the walls as he fucks you mercilessly, driving you closer to the edge with every stroke. Your cunt tightens around his pounding cock, squeezing him deeper as you feel pressure begin to build in your belly.

Within seconds you’re pushing Rafe out, squirting all over him and the floor.

He all but roars in response, in this moment in time his attraction to you is primal, animalistic.

“Fuck!!” he cries as he slams himself back inside of you, his pace quicker than before as he reaches his own release. With one final surge deep inside of you, he groans loudly as cum fills your pulsing pussy.

You feel so empty as pulls out, leaving you dripping, wet, and shaking. You look at each other for a moment, both catching your breath as a sly smile appears on Rafe’s face.

“Well, little bunny… I think I’ve finally met my match.”

[rose24207]

When mom looses her cool

Summary: You finally snap after you catch your kids lying about a party and afterwards teach them a lesson about responsibility.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, Dad!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, lying

A/N: wow I haven’t post about the mafia Norris family for so long! Anyways Amelia is 17 and Jacob is 16! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The Norris household was usually a place of balance, despite the unconventional family dynamics. Lando Norris, the head of a vast, shadowy empire, had a knack for handling chaos with an iron fist cloaked in charm. You, his wife, were the gentler counterbalance to his commanding presence—a source of love and calm for the family.

But every calm sea has its storm, and this storm had been brewing for weeks.

Amelia and Jacob were no strangers to pushing limits. They loved to test boundaries, usually with harmless antics. However, this time they had crossed the line in a way that even Lando couldn’t immediately smooth over.

It began with a lie.

“We’re staying over at Olivia’s house,” Amelia had said casually at dinner the night before, her fork poking at her salad.

“Yeah, her parents are hosting a movie night for us,” Jacob chimed in, nodding a little too enthusiastically.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, trusting them. Lando, ever the observer, leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between his children. “Just don’t get into trouble,” he said simply, his voice calm but laced with warning.

The kids had nodded eagerly, but their plan was anything but innocent.

Hours later, instead of watching movies under the supervision of Olivia’s parents, Amelia and Jacob found themselves in the middle of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was a full-blown underground rave, complete with deafening music, strobe lights, and an eclectic mix of people who had no business being there.

Jacob had been reluctant at first, but Amelia, ever the instigator, convinced him. “Come on, Jake! We’ll just stay for an hour. No one will find out.”

Famous last words.

Back at home, you were in bed reading, while Lando was reviewing some work on his laptop. A ping on his phone drew his attention. He frowned as he read the text.

“Security team flagged something,” he said, his voice calm but tight.

You looked up. “What?”

Lando held up his phone, showing a blurry image of Amelia and Jacob entering the warehouse. “That’s not Olivia’s house.”

Your blood boiled. For once, you didn’t feel calm or understanding. You felt betrayed.

“I’m going to call them,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Lando placed a hand over yours, his voice steady. “No. Let them finish digging their hole. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“But—”

“They’re teenagers. They’re going to screw up,” he said, his tone even. “It’s how we handle it that matters.”

You took a deep breath and reluctantly agreed, but the anger simmered beneath your calm exterior.

The kids stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, looking worse for wear. Amelia’s eyeliner was smudged, and Jacob’s usually pristine hair was a mess. They clearly hadn’t slept much.

“Morning,” Amelia mumbled, heading straight for the fridge.

“Rough night?” Lando asked casually, sipping his coffee.

Amelia froze, the milk carton halfway to the counter. Jacob shot her a panicked look.

“Uh, no. Just stayed up late watching movies,” Amelia said, forcing a smile.

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice unusually sharp as you entered the kitchen.

Both kids turned to you, their smiles faltering. You placed your hands on your hips, leveling them with a glare that could shatter glass.

“Olivia’s house must have a rave room now,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jacob’s eyes widened. Amelia, ever the bold one, tried to play it cool. “Mom, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, really?” you snapped. “Because it looks like my children lied to my face, snuck off to an illegal party, and came home thinking they could get away with it!”

Amelia winced. Jacob looked like he wanted to disappear.

“We didn’t mean for it to get out of hand,” Jacob tried, his voice small.

“That’s your defense?” you shot back. “Jacob, you could’ve been arrested. Or worse!”

Lando, who had been quietly watching from the corner, finally spoke up. “Alright, let’s all take a breath.”

But you weren’t done. “No, Lando. I’ve had enough of their reckless behavior. This isn’t just a mistake; it’s disrespectful!”

Amelia blinked, stunned. You rarely raised your voice. Seeing you this angry was new territory, and she didn’t like it.

“We’re sorry,” she said quickly.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” you replied. “You lied to us, put yourselves in danger, and then had the nerve to come back here and act like nothing happened!”

Amelia and Jacob were marched into the living room, where you laid out the consequences.

“No phones for two weeks,” you began.

“What?!” Amelia protested.

“And you’ll both be spending your weekends helping out at the community center,” you continued, ignoring her outburst.

Jacob groaned. “Come on, Mom, that’s not fair.”

“You’re lucky we’re not grounding you until graduation,” you shot back.

Lando, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, finally chimed in. “Listen to your mother. She’s being generous.”

The kids fell silent, exchanging a glance. They had expected their father to be the hardliner, not you.

The silence in the house was palpable for the rest of the day. Amelia retreated to her room, while Jacob sulked in the den. Lando found you in the kitchen later, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea.

“You handled that well,” he said, his tone amused.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s good for them to see this side of you. Keeps them on their toes.”

“They need to understand that their actions have consequences,” you said, your voice softening. “I’m tired of them thinking they can get away with anything.”

“They’ll learn,” Lando assured you. “Trust me. They’re more scared of you than they’ve ever been of me.”

Later that night, Amelia knocked on Jacob’s door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

She flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t believe Mom yelled at us.”

Jacob sighed. “I know. I think I’d rather deal with Dad’s lectures.”

“Same,” Amelia admitted. “She was scary.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Amelia added, “Do you think we went too far this time?”

Jacob glanced at her. “Yeah. We screwed up.”

Amelia nodded. “We should probably apologize.”

“Yeah.”

The next morning, you and Lando were in the kitchen when Amelia and Jacob shuffled in.

“Mom?” Amelia began hesitantly.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“We’re sorry,” Jacob said. “For lying and…everything else.”

“We know we messed up,” Amelia added. “It won’t happen again.”

You studied them for a moment before nodding. “Thank you. But this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“We know,” they said in unison.

Lando smirked. “Smart kids.”

You shot him a look, but your lips twitched in a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, they were learning.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hxxi3, @same1995, @amatswimming

[kaijutegu]

Ranking the Reptiles of Vintage Men's Magazines

Men's pulp magazines have some of the wildest paintings for their cover art, and some of those feature lizards. Let's rank them!

We are NOT ranking these on accuracy or believability, we are ranking these on how much fun I, your good friend kaijutegu, find them to look at. These were never trying to be accurate. They were trying to sell magazines. Also I'm not allowed to critique human anatomy or we will be here all day.

This man is beset by wantons who ruined a nation! These dragons he's crawling with took him for a one-way ride, and now he has to pistol whip them until they stop biting his leg. I love how these lizards have more than a hint of rhino iguana to them, as well as the Crystal Palace megalosaurus. A tier.

This man looks shocked to discover that sex can be fun. I know, I don't believe it either. The snakes are interesting- I really love the lurid green fangs and tongue on the guy in front, but I would like to see more. B tier, I'm just not all that into it but I am intrigued.

NOW we're talking, this cover has it ALL. Come to beautiful san antonio where our women are clearly wearing skin-colored shirts underneath their regular shirts so they can breast boobily without worrying about a nip slip and our turtles are pissed. S tier.

This cover gets points for the painterly style, but loses them for the rude-ass man. The sex queen of Sicily and the cannibal crocodile they couldn't kill were just having a nice dance, and along comes this man and... how did he make that shot actually? B+ tier.

See that crocodile in the foreground? My lizard makes the exact face when she's begging for sushi. A tier.

There's something so charming to me about the way GIVE ME BACK MY ARM is phrased and like, two of you are going to get what it's pinging in my head but bear with me. Back in the day (literally 20 years ago at this point, jfc), the USPS put out this "put yourself in my shoes" safety notice about controlling your dog, and the goons over at Something Awful got hold of it and decided to have some fun with it and one of the remixes they made, the thing that started a whole big ol' meme thread that got turned into a CG post, was this one:

Something about the GIVE ME BACK MY ARM reminded me of this. Anyways I loved that thread, A tier, thanks for the memories.

I know I said that these were never meant to be accurate, but look at this one, the guy CLEARLY was looking at a reference for this alligator! Don't know why he drew the glottis like that, though. A tier.

Oh this, this I love. Incomprehensible snakes taking their babies on a field trip? Adorable! A tier!

The tongue doesn't go in the glottis. D tier, I know I said they weren't trying for accuracy but come on.

These selfless lizards know that this man is unfit for married love and are trying to rescue that woman from an awful fate. She's going to wed that man, but she's making a huge mistake, and they know it and they're powerless to stop her- but they're gonna try, by god. This is Good Luck, Babe! but with lizards instead of Joan of Arc at the VMAs. It's fine, it's cool, S+ tier.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis part 4

oh look, gave in, masterpost

by HH discord vote, wrote on this while waiting for my nerve test today (good news, nerves good. bad news, hands bad because ?????. other news, OW) which was nice because this is very soft and I was very nervous about it all. Apparently I had another chunk not posted here too so have a decent bit!

-

“Yeah, well, you just met—saw? You just saw my parents. They’re just sort of like that. Everything always becomes dramatic,” Danny said, some of his humor fading as he talked about his family.

“I’ll remember not to come over for dinner,” Conner said with a purposefully light tone.

Danny snorted. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t subject you to that horror. Easier to just eat out anyways.”

“And yet you don’t eat lunch,” Conner pointed out.

Danny ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, school lunches aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Conner agreed after a beat. Him and Dad might still have some issues that they were working through, but Clark made sure that Conner always had a lunch to take to school, no matter how busy he was with a story. The only times there wasn’t a lunch is when Clark was off world for three or more days.

Conner wondered if Dad would mind making an extra one.

“Anything you hate?” Conner asked curiously.

Danny gave a little shrug. His fingers twisted restlessly against Conner’s. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I’m okay with complicated answers.”

“Turkey and chicken, but only if it’s the whole bird. Hot dogs. I guess all meat can be iffy a lot, depends on the day. Tofu. Um, plain broths and Jello at this point. Anything fake cherry favored. Lime Gatorade,” Danny listed off in a rush.

Conner blinked. “Okay.” He’d do his best to remember that.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Like, I think that’s actually not that hard to work around. And you can remind me if I forget anything, but, like, I’ll try not to,” Conner said. He gave Danny’s hand a reassuring little squeeze.

Danny stared down at their clasped hands like it was the most confusing thing.

Conner tried not to worry too much about it. Danny could be odd like that.

The shop was actually a pretty nice one. Maybe it was a little too hipster, but it was a coffee shop. The music could be worse and the spray painted art on the wall was actually pretty cool. There was no one waiting, so Conner pulled them up to the front where they could easily read the menu to make their choices.

He nudged Danny gently with his elbow. “They have some vegetarian stuff, if it’s one of those days.”

“The beetroot sandwich is damn good,” the heavily tattooed barista who was waiting on them said.

“Yeah?” Danny said, looking over that on the board. “I’ll do that, I guess, and a large iced coffee.”

“Whole milk, skim, or oat milk?”

“Oh, um, whole is fine,” Danny said.

“Same drink for me, but I’ll do the avocado BLT,” Conner decided. He went to pull out his phone to pay, but Danny beat him to it, holding out a credit card.

“My treat, since we couldn’t work at my place,” Danny said quickly.

Conner huffed. “Fine. But next study session is my treat then.”

“You two can go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring your stuff over soon,” the barista said with a smile as they handed back Danny’s card.

Conner followed Danny’s lead over to a comfortable looking pair of armchairs around a low table. They were forced to finally let go of each other’s hands to sit, and Conner tried not to pout. Now that he knew Danny would let him, Conner figured he could find another excuse to hold Danny’s hand if he worked at it.

Danny pulled out his sleek, new laptop and set it open on the table. The assignment was already open on the screen, glaring in the large, red text that Mrs. Simmons liked to use for all of her assignment headers. It was especially bold on the black background of the dark mode that Danny seemed to keep everything in.

Under every poet’s name, Danny had typed a sentence or two about them. It was far from academic writing (some of it was actually hilariously blunt), but it actually had some really useful information.

“Damn, Danny, you call this only a little?” Conner asked as he scanned over the notes.

Danny fidgeted in his seat. “I mean. Just like I said, I'm not good at English work and I don't want to be why you get a bad grade.”

“Hey,” Conner leaned over and bumped their shoulders together, “it's just a grade.”

“Yeah, try saying that in my house with two doctorate already and a third on the way with my sister,” Danny muttered.

“Well, good thing we aren't in your house then,” Conner joked. When Danny rolled his eyes, Conner reached out and tapped Danny’s hand, getting the other to look at him. “It’s just a grade, Danny, but I'll do my best to make sure that it's a good one, okay?”

Danny’s smile was a little wobbly, but at least it was there. “Thanks.”

“Course. Tell me what you've done so far.”

His smile turned shier, but Danny started to explain that he’d wiki searched the poets and also scanned whatever there most famous poem was. He didn’t really know how to talk about the poems, but tried to write a word or two about them. As they went through the list, it was clear that Danny already had some he didn’t like, by the way his nose wrinkled as he talked about them, scrunching up his freckles. He also had some good points about some poets that they shouldn’t do as two white guys. Conner didn’t know if he actually really counted as a white guy, not with Clark, but he figured since socially Clark was seen and raise as one, it fit as much as anything.

(Not like Conner could talk about the whole half alien clone thing anyways.)

[wonderjanga]

Cap Being A Dad

Just some more dad Marvel because why not. I love writing it.

Marvel: *catches KD trying to shave his face* “What are you doing?”

Kid Flash: *has entirely too much shaving cream on his face* “Uh… nothing?”

Marvel: “Are you… trying to shave your face?”

Kid Flash: “…Yes.”

Marvel: *stares* “Is there even anything to shave?”

Kid Flash: “Wha- WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

Marvel: “Nothing! My bad. I meant no offense. Do you need help, by the way? You have like five cuts on your face.”

Kid Flash: “No!” *looks to the mirror and sees the cuts* “Well, maybe. Also, how can you tell? I have all this shit on my face.”

Marvel: “Some of the shit- I mean, stuff is pink. Anyways, do you like want some pointers?”

Kid Flash: “I…” *just gives up at this point* “Sure.”

Marvel: “Great! Put that down.” *wipes off some of the shaving cream from Wally’s face*

Kid Flash: “The razor?”

Marvel: “Yes, that. We’re going to be using this.” *puts hand into pocket dimension and whips out this shit*

That’s how, with Solomon’s help and a bit of Billy’s own memory of seeing his dad, Marvel successfully taught Kid Flash how to shave. Fun fact: after this, Wally wasn’t able to shave with a modern day razor ever again. He’ll cut his face 5 million times but for some reason, with the version Marvel gave him, he’s absolutely perfect.

or

Marvel: “Alright, so driving is pretty simple.”

Robin!Tim: “You sure?”

Marvel: “Yup! Now hit the gas pedal.”

Robin!Tim: *floors it* “Aren’t I supposed to buckle my seatbelt first?”

Marvel: “What? Don’t you know those are just for show? Anyways, you’re doing great! Now make sure not to hit anything.”

After a couple minutes…

Robin!Tim: “This actually reminds me a lot of driving the Batmobile.” *swerves out of the way of a honking truck*

Marvel: “In what way?”

Robin!Tim: “This is exactly how Batman drives in it! I honestly thought driving as a civilian would make it so that you’d have to be more cautious but wow!”

They got pulled over like five minutes later. They were then sent to jail, full costumes mind you. They even got mug shots. Marvel pulled the Ken mugshot pose while Tim did the “Blue Steel” Dean Winchester one. Batman had to bail them both out. Also, yes, this is connected to my Who Let Him Drive?! post.

or

JL and YJ: *at the beach*

Marvel: “I’m good guys.” *sits down, letting out a little oof*

YJ: We’re literally at the beach. Don’t tell us you’re just gonna sit there.

Marvel: “I, in fact, am.” *pulls out newspaper and starts reading*

Him and Batman were content to just sit in beach chairs, sipping virgin Mojitos together while Marvel read the paper and Batman did something on a tablet. Also, I know this isn’t necessarily dad Marvel, but my father, whenever it came to water, would just be like “Go on ahead, I’ll join you eventually” he would say as he got out the paper, lying straight to my face because he would never join.

[zerocoded]

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to punch him straight in the knees. luckyly for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet┃caleb teaches you his love language ( on going series )

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

you loved him so much it hurt. you wish you’d told him more times. why didn’t you told him more times?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like it would be nice to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

author's note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

[luckykiwiii101]

“SPOTTED: ANONYMOUS F*CKERS LOSING SOMETHING NOBODY KNEW THEY EVEN HAD…THEIR COMMON SENSE.”

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ﾟ blah blah blahhhh ࿐

Hey Upper East Siders.

Pardon me for the time I took to write this, but I wasn’t sure whether to write a gossip post, or a eulogy, for some people’s common sense, that is.

Want to hear a story? Once upon a time, Mary had a little lamb, then the lamb grew up, gave birth, and that explains some people on this app. They follow each other, like sheep, one by one.

and that’s exactly what some of you are doing.

But when there’s so much smoke, who cares if there’s fire? Liars, Liars, Liars. I’m running out of fingers here, there’s too many to count!

But who’s talking? Oh wait, the lack of belief some people have in themselves. Like the great gossip girl I am, I decided to open my inbox to answer some pending success stories that have been sent to me. Instead, one anon said “slit your wrists”. I don’t usually like being told how to do things but if you’re going to tell me to do something, at least give me a physical demonstration. Maybe a…tutorial? Funny that you give me advice in a field you’re so specialised in…at least we have one thing in common. Someone give this one a pay rise. Since everything else in their life seems to be at an all time low.

As usual, it doesn’t end there. Another desperate lower east sider sent me: “You write things to yourself in your anonymous messages, come on, they're already realizing it.” Darling, just because you would, doesn’t mean I would. My blog runs on authenticity, not so-called tumblr “fame”. But of course, that’s just one concept your head’s too thick to wrap around.

Anyway, let’s move onto the bigger picture here. But…you might want to wear a gas mask. I’m afraid there are too many pants on fire! Allegedly. I’m sorry, that wasn’t clear? Let me say it again. Allegedly. Maybe if you listened as much as you’d spoke, you’d hear me, and I wouldn’t have to say it again.

It’s funny to say, but usually I’M the one gossiping, not the one gossiped about. But somehow, people have magically found a way to drag me through the dirt. No that’s not a tear in my eye, it’s disappointment. Disappointment that Mary’s little lamb turned out to be the mother of such…fuckers. Motherfuckers.

But back to the point, just found it flying right over your head. Listen closely so it doesn’t happen again. SPOTTED: A few lower east siders attempting to create their own little success story debunking club. They’re running in…circles? If there’s two things we know about circles, it’s that one, they are pointless (literally), and two, running in them, gets you nowhere (also literally).

Unluckily for them, a conclusion is something they’ll never come to, but to picture proof? They might just.

Picking and choosing which success stories are fake, and then asking them to send picture proof when you don’t believe? Please, there’s only so much laughs the upper east side can hold. Since your common sense seems to be searching for the divorce papers, i’ll break it down for you. Nobody owes you picture proof of their manifestations. But just like the many previous and countless times, people would just find a way to accuse them of getting their photos/videos on Pinterest, or the good old photoshop. Well I know a shop where you can’t buy photos, and it’s called your imagination, and when you use it, not only do you find your common sense in there, but you also get exactly what you want. Not such a difficult concept to grasp is it? Keep talking and i’ll see your head peeking over the empire state building soon enough.

Now once again, onto the next idiotic attempted claim. “These success stories have such similar desires”. Oh i’m sorry? But we live in a generation full of trends. And with trends come followers. And we call those followers sheep. I’ve counted sheep so many times so far, I might just fall asleep. This might sound crazy but…people get inspired…wait for it…by other people’s…don’t scream just yet…IDEAS! I know, it’s hard to believe. Crazy right.

But in my lovely consideration of not hurting your ego, I do acknowledge the rare valid points some of you’ve made. Like bloggers suddenly having each others accounts. Like bloggers saying they’ve manifested their dream lives, yet still staying on tumblr to argue with anons who call them liars. That doesn’t really make sense, honestly, even to me. But what gets me is the idea of picking and choosing certain success stories that have common desires, similar “typing” styles, and not enough enthusiasm. Apparently that’s the criteria you need to meet, in order to have a “fake success story”…Who the actual fuck are you to decide what’s not enthusiastic enough? So just because someone’s success story doesn’t sound like how you imagine your own to turn out, therefore it’s fake? If someone isn’t freaking out and smashing their keyboard whilst writing their success story then it’s fake? Are you fucking dumb? Let me answer that for you, first of all yes, you are fucking dumb. Second of all, you look for YOUR idea of success in THEIR success stories, so when you don’t see your ideal version of success, and your ideal reaction to success, you immediately assume it’s fake, because you cannot relate to it because “it’s not how you would react or what you would manifest”. Because your dumb fucking arse cannot comprehend the world beyond your own perception. Why? Because you’re a fucking dumbarse.

Call me crazy, but if one word comes to mind, it’s projection. And yes there are liars here and there, but the struggle to believe in others successes is just the struggle to believe in yourself. If you were reading those success stories from your mansion, with your desired appearance, in your desired city, with everything you could possibly want, reading other people’s success stories wouldn’t be so difficult would it. Why? Because humans learn from experience. But some of them are just too ignorant to consider, that with every person, comes a different experience. “Oh I didn’t succeed, therefore there’s no way they could have, they’re lying!!!!” Poor babies, may I ask where this desire to look for inconsistencies in success stories came from? I think we ALL know…it’s pretty easy to disbelieve in something that you believe you can never have. What was that word again…projection.

Yet again, I can’t believe I have to remind you that it’s not you against the world. Nobody is out to get you. Loablr is not some plot to make you believe in something that isn’t real. I don’t know what level of delusion that takes but usually it’s enough to put you in a straight jacket. Get off the app and touch grass. No one will notice if you leave, trust me. But in all fairness, I’ve read a few success stories that have seemed ingenuine to me. But do I have proof of that? No. So do I make a blog “calling them out” when I have no way of 100% knowing that, or do I move on with my life and focus on my own successes instead of their alleged fake ones? You think it hasn’t occurred to people that other people could be lying? If you think otherwise, boy have I got news for you. And most IMPORTANTLY, like I said before, YOU cannot define what ingenuine is, because YOU cannot predict other people’s reactions, nor can you see them from behind their screens. And since some of you are so obsessed with “real life” proof, you still decide to ignore success stories OUTSIDE of tumblr. Especially, Celebrity success stories. So CLEARLY there’s not much we can do for you here. You claim to believe in the law of assumption, then go and fucking apply it, instead of thinking you have some valid point to “prove”. You’re not as “woke” as you think you are. I don’t care if you can’t control your suspicions of others, i’m not telling you to stop feeling suspicious, but it’s the way you go about it that matters. And the way some of you do it, is disgusting.

If there’s anyone who is currently reading this who has lied about any successes whatsoever, you’re pathetic. And I hope you feel ashamed. And yes, no one actually knows who you are, but that’s not where the consequence lies honey, the consequence lies in the fact that you don’t have anything you want. Think about that for a second. Bitch. Instead of louboutin red bottoms, you literally have a red bottom. Don’t break your knuckles trying to get the extinguisher out.

Anyway. There’s so much more I could say about how unfathomably stupid some of you are but if I were to, then I’d be here all day. So i’ll leave it at that. And keep in mind, when I don’t reply to you, or when I block you, it’s not because i’ve got nothing to say or that i’m “defeated”, it just means that you are not worth my time and that i’ve probably already made a point that yet again flew over your head that you therefore missed.

As if some of you haven’t embarrassed yourselves enough already, you’ve decided to dig your holes even deeper. Maybe a little too deep. I think i’m starting to feel the earth’s core, maybe the heat wasn’t coming from the liars fiery pants after all…

I guess success is just harder for you to believe when your self concept is buried almost as low as you, when you debunk, insult, and argue yourself to death. Ofcourse someone who’s so used to failing sees nothing but failure. Can I even blame you? You know who you are. Pathetic.

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[mstowel]

this is a lot of posts for me in 24 hours, but there are a couple things i saw/experienced at the show in relation to audience & stage door behavior that i think is important to know to discourage that behavior. this is gonna be super long, so bear with me <3

tldr: be quiet during shows & be respectful to those around u at stage door

first the audience behavior. i was sat behind two people who i have had the unfortunate luck of sitting behind at an earlier show a few weeks ago. so this doesnt go for all audience members, but i have heard other situations like this as well. the ENTIRE show, they were lip syncing to the songs and dancing (which ok worse things have happened, but it was incredibly distracting for the people around me, who kept complaining about their behavior). they also were literally quoting the scenes out loud. like, would say the character's lines before the actor even said it themselves. it was actually insane? like fully ruining scenes and moments in the show, because they clearly wanted people around them to know they had seen the show before. behavior like that is just rude and incosiderate. if u wanna sing along and act out the dialogue, maybe stay home and watch a bootleg? people paid a LOT of money to see the actors perform, not random audience members. it was really frustrating to a lot of people sitting around me, and to me as well. so just dont do that maybe?

for stage door behavior, im gonna name one person (bc multiple ppl have had issues with them), but leave the other two unnamed because i dont think anyone needs to receive unnecessary hate. there were a few people at stage door who werent at the show, and i understand that that happens all the time and u cant really do anything about it! but it was people who often brag and post about going only to the stage door without seeing the show and take up a few spots at the front. like....this is not the first time they've done this, and also they were maybe involved in a certain dming and food situation from a while ago if u guys remember that....so. no hate to them, free will and all, you can do what you want. but like, the repeat offending of constantly stage dooring without seeing the show is wild to me.

for the named person, broadwaypolaroids needs to chill tf out. i know multiple ppl who have had issues with her, and i never really cared to think about her until the last few times i have stage doored (all of which she has been at) where she is just so disrespectful not only to the actors, but the other fans who were at the show waiting to talk to the actors. she was fully interrupting fans conversations with certain actors to make the actors take at lesat 3 or 4 photos on her dumbass camera. she also was fully blocking the way for actors to leave and forcing them into stopping to take pictures. also insane that she charges money for these pictures and i think more people need to be talking about it, but maybe thats just me. i also one night saw her be rude to security because trevor (who was on as pony that show) didnt sign playbills in the section she was standing in. mind u trevor was outside for lile 15 minutes really taking his time with the fans. she went up to security and basically demanded they get trevor to come back outside. it was literally one of the more insane things i have ever witnessed. anyways, that turned into a rant. but the behavior from her last night was seriously not cool and shes just a rude person from what i have seen.

anways! lets remember to be considerate and respectful of those around us, both at the show and afterwards. everyone is there for the reason of enjoying the show and maybe getting to compliment the actors' performances after. so just be quiet during shows and be kind to those around u, in seats and at stage door. its truly not that hard. ok bye! <3

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (5)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Following the events of PART FOUR, you all begin to pick up the pieces and start to heal.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: kissing, messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing/name calling; arguments; crying; hurt/comfort; angst; miscommunication; jealousy; happy ending; fluff

A/N: We have made it to the final part of our story. I'm honestly sad to see it end- but it's not *really* over, is it? Again, everyone who has commented and reblogged- you are my muse. It was your kind words who kept me motivated. Thank you so much. You all are so amazing. Please, please, please don't hesitate to send me questions or requests- do you want to see more post-story drabbles, more angsty flashbacks, headcannons? Let me know and I will do my best to deliver. My inbox is open for requests.

Alternative ending coming soon!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Because Steve crashed at his parent’s house, he hadn’t been home to see that Eddie never came back last night. Instead, he woke up in his childhood bedroom after a night of tossing and turning. He wanted to call you- he picked up the phone and hung it up so many times last night. He knew you probably wouldn’t appreciate it, so he resolved to wait until morning. He hardly slept. 

With tear stained cheeks, Steve knew he needed to get up and shower. After he was dressed for the day, he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. He didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t want to go home yet. He couldn’t face Eddie. He was so embarrassed and ashamed. 

He needed to take a walk to clear his head. He ended up deciding to get coffee. There was a coffee place he walked to and after that, with 2 coffees and a bag of bagels in hand. He decided to stop by your apartment. You’d have coffee and bagels and talk this out. If you would let him, it would be his do over to make up for last night. 

He walked up to your apartment two steps at a time balancing the coffee tray carefully with both hands to not spill. He lets himself take a moment. He smooths out the front of his jacket. And tousled his hair to look a little more presentable. He hopes you don’t slam the door in his face when he knocks. He stands up straighter when he hears the door unlock.

You open the door, but not all the way. You poke your head out from behind the partially open door. You’re still in your pajamas. A very old t-shirt that Steve has seen you in a million times before and flannel pajama pants- you look your best like this, Steve thinks. His brows furrowed in confusion when you step out onto the porch with a sweatshirt and don’t invite him in. 

“I got you a coffee,” he offers, “a peace offering for last night.”

. I was being an asshole.” 

“Listen, Steve..,” you begin. You cross your arms over your chest and look down at your feet. “I don’t know how to say this… Now isn’t the right time…”

“I’m sorry, I just thought we could talk in person,” he explains, “I just wanted to- you know, apologize in person.” 

“I get it.”

“I- I just, look,” he says gathering his thoughts, “I didn’t handle any of this right- at all. I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for taking this long to realize my feelings, but…”

“Steve. Stop- listen,” you say anxiously, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “Before you go on, I need to tell you…”

“What is it?”

“Eddie stayed over last night.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Oh…”

“Steve-”

“He’s still here, isn’t he?” Steve finally catches on. You hang your head, unable to look him in the eye. He blinks back the threat of tears. “Okay, um,” he clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, get out of here.”

“Steve- wait…”

“No, no it’s okay, really,” he tries to insist, trying his best to not break his cool. “Uh, anyways- take the coffee and stuff, anyways… I gotta go anyway.” 

He’s down the stairs and down the block before you can stop him. You slip back inside. You leave the coffee and the paper bag on the table. You couldn’t touch them. You take a seat at the kitchen table, staring at them. Eddie was still asleep, easily slept through Steve’s knocking. It’s a few minutes of solitude, just lost in thought, before the front door opens with a whoosh. 

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Robin marvels, kicking off her shoes. She hangs up her jacket, she’s wearing her same clothes as yesterday. You offer her a knowing smile. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “You just missed Steve.”

“What does that mean?” she asked hesitantly. “Did you and Steve-”

“Nope,” you say, realizing now what that sounded like. You shake your head- you have so much to fill her in on. “Eddie’s here- and Steve showed up with coffee and bagel for me.” 

“Wait. Wait. Wait,” she hurries over and takes the seat across from you- taking one of the coffees. “You slept with Eddie?”

“Eddie and I went to Lover’s Lake after the game-”

“Ew! Did you do it in the van?” Robin gasps. 

“No!” You say embarrassed, “We were just there, and Steve followed us. He started banging on the side of the van and scared the shit out of me.”

“What did he say?”

“Get your fucking hands off my girl.” You watch Robin’s jaw drop. 

“No, he didn’t!”

“He did! And he called me ‘baby.’” 

“What happened after that?”

“Well, Eddie drove me home and I invited him to stay. It wasn’t like that at first. I just- you weren’t home and I didn’t want to be alone so I asked him to stay with me.” 

“Sounds like it was that from the beginning,” Robin teases. “And Steve came here this morning to apologize and win you over and you had to tell him you slept with Eddie.”

“Pretty much,” you nod. “He’s still here.”

“Eddie’s still here?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep.” 

“Holy shit, dude.”

“I know!”

“Explains that huge hickey,” she jokes and you swat her arm. “Was he.. Was he good?”

Your eyes widen, “Robin!”

“I don’t know what to ask!” She holds her arms up in surrender. “So are you and Eddie, like together?”

“We didn’t really talk about that yet.” 

“He’s been in love with you since he was like 17,” Robin points out. “You think he’s going to not want to be with you?”

“No- it’s just, it’s all happened so fast. I just don’t want to ruin anything.” 

“I’m gonna call Steve,” Robin says, “I want to check on him.” You nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, that would be good,” you agree. 

The door creaks open when you slip back into your bedroom. In your absence, Eddie has starfished out on his stomach and has taken up the whole mattress. In just his boxers, he snores very softly as the light from the window is starting to beam in through the panels of your blinds. You walk over to the side of the bed, crouching down to be eye level. You gently stir him awake. 

Eddie can’t put into words how incredible a feeling it is that you are the first thing he sees when he wakes up. He smiles lazily with his face squished against the pillows. He reaches out and beckons for you to join him back in bed. He scoots over so you can have space to slide in next to him. The messy bed and the cozy blankets are so inviting, it would be just enough to help you forget about what’s waiting for you outside this little sanctuary. 

“Come on,” he pouts, and you can’t help but concede. He pulls you into him, spooning you. He pulls the blankets over the two of you. You turn to face him, but he keeps his arm slung over your waist. 

“Steve was just here,” you whisper. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. The news of Steve’s visit wakes him up. You nod. 

“Yes, it was just a hard conversation,” you volunteer. “He knows you stayed here last night.” 

“How’d he take that?” Eddie asks.

“Um, I could tell he felt hurt,” you admit, “he brought me breakfast; wanted to apologize and try it over with me… I told him you were here, and he accepted it. He was clearly upset, but he didn’t take it out on me. He, um, looked devastated. But he just left after I told him.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie asks, sounding shy and suddenly unsure of himself. 

“Of course,” you say encouragingly. 

“What did last night mean? You know, like- where do we stand?” Eddie isn’t sure if he even wants to know the answer. He’s so worried you’re going to reject him- tell him last night was a mistake. He’s bracing himself for the heartache of losing you.

You trace your hand gently over the side of his face, helping move his hair away from his eyes. Is it even still a question? You can’t help but smile. It all makes sense.

“I love you, Eds,” you confess and it feels like the weight of the world lifts off his shoulders. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see that,” you apologize, but he’s too wrapped up, he doesn’t even care. He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and passionate. Everything feels right- finally. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips. 

Your senior year (Eddie’s second), Eddie finally convinced you to sneak out on a Tuesday night and come see Corroded Coffin play at The Hideout. Your parents would kill you if they knew you were at a bar forty-five minutes away past eleven on a school night to see some boy with long hair and tattoos play in his metal band. They wouldn’t care if you insisted he was just a friend.  Thankfully, this is something they will never find out. 

Eddie felt on top of the world that night. He played better than he ever has, because you were there to impress. He could watch you, as you sat comfortable at a table all to yourself, singing along to songs you had no idea where even about you. You cheered and clapped at the end of every song- not caring if you were the only one in the room to acknowledge them. 

“Are you gonna ask her out tonight?” Jeff asks, covering his microphone between songs. 

“I don’t know- maybe. Shut up,” Eddie flushes, petrified you would hear. You hadn’t- you were completely oblivious to the way you made him feel. 

“If you don’t, I will!” Gareth whisper-shouts over his drum set. He laughs when Eddie turns around and flips him off. When he turns back around, you lamely throw him two thumbs up and grin widely. He mouths “Dweeb” to you across the bar and you stick your tongue out at him. 

Eddie did attempt to ask you out that night. Unfortunately, he was so nervous when he did it, you didn’t realize he had meant for it to be a date. He still cringes at how he ended up paying for Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Max to play mini golf and how shocked he was when they ended up tagging along. When he thought it couldn’t have gotten worse, the rest of Hellfire showed up as well. Since when did he have this many friends? He remembered thinking. 

Robin calls Steve a few times before she’s able to get through. She must have caught him right as he was getting home. 

“Yeah?” He sounds irritated. 

“Wow,” she says with a tisk. “Rude much?” She hears him take a breath. 

“I’m sorry, long day,” he mumbles. 

“It’s like 9:30,” Robin muses and he scoffs. 

“So you know?” He asks. 

“I know.” 

“I’m a fucking douchebag!” Steve exclaims, upset with himself still- clearly. “I can’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.” 

“You’re her oldest friend, Steve,” Robin points out, “She didn’t say she wanted nothing to do with you. She and everyone else I’m sure just everything to go back to normal.” 

“Normal except she’s with Eddie and I have to be around that everyday.” 

“Like how she was with you, for I don’t know- years! You’re being hypocritical. Don’t you think?” 

“Did she say that she and Eddie are together?”

“Not explicitly,” she says hesitantly, “Come on, Steve. You gotta let it go.” 

Steve flops down onto the couch and groans. He knows he’s being hypocritical- he knows he isn’t being fair. It doesn’t make the pain hurt any less. Something he couldn’t shake tugs at the back of his mind. You didn’t tell him you and Eddie were together, just that he stayed over. That doesn’t mean that you’re necessarily together. He knows he’s fooling himself. It’s so hard to just let it go. 

“The whole thing is way too close to home,” Robin muses, “maybe expand your dating pool to outside your immediate friend group?”

“I just need to actually hear her say it,” Steve says, but in agreement with Robin. “I just won’t be able to let it go until I actually hear it from her that she has no feelings for me.” 

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” Robin points out and he knows she’s right. “You need to figure out yourself. Do you actually love her? Or was it the idea of living her that you got so wrapped up in?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“There’s a difference. Were you actually in love with your best friend, or were you just in love with the idea of having someone you love who knows you like a best friend? Like you’ve known her for so long, and you’ve never thought of her as more than a friend until very recently? It might make sense you were wrapped up in the idea of it all- than actually falling in love with her. Does that make sense?” She takes a long pause. “The romanticism of it all, being wrapped up in that- you know?”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “It would’ve been really great.” 

“It would’ve,” Robin agrees. “But it wasn’t meant to be.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

When Eddie gets back to the apartment later, he doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t know if  Steve will take a swing at him, if he’ll yell, or if he will even be there. He doesn’t know what to anticipate Steve’s reaction to be. 

Surprised, Steve is sitting in their living room… calm. He looks solemn. He’s sitting on the same chair he sat the day of the huge fight. He’s staring at the spot where Nancy sat, and then his eyes move over to where you were. Eddie clears his throat to make himself known. Steve looks up like he’s been snapped out of a trance. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Steve says, immediately. “I really fucked that up.” 

“I don’t know- I get it,” Eddie sympathizes. “The whole situation is fucked.” 

“Yeah, totally.” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Steve drags his hands across his face. Eddie can tell he hardly slept. He looks exhausted. “I will get over it, I’m sure. I just need a little time to get my shit together. Get over myself, you know?” He jokes in a self-deprecating manner. Eddie offers a sympathetic smile, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. They both know they’ll be fine in time. 

The next morning, you’re at their apartment door first thing with coffee in hand. 

“Do-over?” You ask with a tilt of your head when Steve opens the door. 

“Do-over,” he offers a half smile, taking one of the to-go cups from your hand. 

“Eddie’s left for work already?” You guess and he nods. You stand in the door frame, face to face in a few long moments of silence.

“I really miss my best friend,” you say finally.

“Do you still even want to be friends after all of this?” Steve asks, stepping aside so you can come in.

“Steve,” you say with a deep breath. “I always want you to be in my life. You are my oldest friend and I hate that everything has blown up the way it has. I know we can’t go back to the way everything was before. We can move past this, together, can’t we?” 

“I really missed you too,” he admits. “I talked to Robin- I think she was right about a lot of things. You and Eddie- you guys are my best friends. I can’t stand in the way of you too. I think like how I was so hung up on Nancy- I was idealizing her; remembering just the good parts. I know I would’ve been so happy to end up with you. But I think I was more in love with an idea.”

“I get that. I think I’m guilty of that myself,” you chuckle, thinking back to the many years you held Steve up on a pedestal. He smiles back at you- a wide, all encompassing Steve Harrington smile. You had him back. “So, we’re going to be okay?” you ask, a smile creeping onto your lips. 

“We’re okay,” he reaffirms. 

A few months later, following the truce with Steve, everyone is piled into Steve and Eddie’s living room. A movie is playing you’ve all long since forgotten about. Nancy and Jonathan sit in the love seat, his arm around her as they watch amused as Steve and Robin argue- both of them standing on opposite ends of the coffee table as they debate the logistics of whether or not it’s pronounced “Duh-MEE” or “Dem-EE” Moore. Neither one of them plans to back down anytime soon. 

Vicky watches from her seat in the recliner like a tennis match, her eyes bouncing between her girlfriend and Steve- enough to give herself whiplash. This was not how she expected her first movie night with Robin’s friends to go- but what else would she expect besides utter chaos. 

“I thought something was gonna be catching on fire,” Eddie whispers in your ear. “This is boring,” he says in reference to the movie. 

His arms sit loosely around your waist as you sit on his lap. Your legs lay across his lap, resting your head on his shoulder as you sit together in the chair opposite Vicky. You can’t help but laugh at his commentary. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen, hun,” you say with a smile, offering condolences for his disappointment in the movie. 

“You’re a moron if you think it’s Dem-EE,” Robin shouts, losing her patience with each passing second. “Everyone knows it’s Duh-MEE!”

“Robin- I swear to god! It’s Dem-EE- it would be spelled differently if it was Duh-MEE,” Steve argues. 

“It’s French!” Robin yells, exasperated, ready to pull out her hair. She couldn’t believe that he’s still pushing this issue. 

Eddie runs his hand up and down your leg as he tries to act remotely interested in the movie. He knows you like it, so he’s trying his hardest to pay attention despite the distractions- Robin & Steve’s antics sure, but more so, sitting so close to you. He can smell your shampoo and your skin is so smooth when he touches it. It’s hard to not be consumed but the sensation. He squeezes your hip, and kisses your temple. 

Eddie loves the simple touches. It’s the things he thought about for so long. It’s so easy. The things he always wanted to say to you, everything he wanted to do are just habitual now. He can grab your hand and kiss the back whenever he gets the urge. He can tell you he loves you randomly whenever he pleases. He can kiss you- kiss you everywhere. He wishes he could go back and tell himself that he got the girl- that she loves him just as much. Tell him it’s better than he ever imagined it. 

The dust has settled. The worst of it all seems to be behind you all. Steve has a date lined up for tomorrow night and it seems he’s finally been able to let the idea of you go. Maybe, you’ll always be the one that got away, but he knows he’ll find the person he was always meant to be with. He has a really good feeling about the girl he’s seeing tomorrow. 

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Please let me know if you liked it. I decided on doing a follow-up story (maybe 3 parts?) focusing on this Steve and an another reader insert! Hopefully that's not too confusing lol It's going to focus on Steve meeting someone new, and falling for her. It can be read as a standalone or as a follow-up to this story. I'm going to do my best to have it out as soon as I can. Let me know if you like the idea or if it's too confusing.

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington @mrsjellymunson @fanficfantik

[physics-of-one-piece]

Let's talk about the 7th One Piece Poll, aka the biggest one (and most recent one) since for the first time, it could be voted worldwide! It's called Top 100 Worldwide. It happened in 2021, as celebration for 1000 Manga Chapters!

Here is the illustration of the Top 100 most popular characters! Both Doffy and Cora are on there! Cora is right beside Law 🥹😭 and he is only seperated from Doffy by Mihawk!

Here are the poll results!

ROSINANTE BEAT DOFFY! 🤣🤣

Rosinante is more famous than Doffy! OMG THIS IS HILARIOUS 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Rosi is #13 (haha, it fits him, that's the unlucky number) while Doffy is #20!

Well, he's in Top 20, I'm happy!

@moonbaby26 @fanaticsnail @ohnomyhooves @daydreamer-in-training @tuquidflamingo

I wonder how the brothers would react to these results 🤔

Cora would be all shy and blushing and say "thanks for voting for me 😊" and then get shocked when he realises he's more popular than Doffy! 🤣

Doffy, on the other hand, would be like...

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Also he lost to Croc 😭😭😭 and let's not even get Law's #5 spot involved.

ALSO HE GOT BEAT BY BOA, CROCODILE & JINBEI BY WARLORD POPULARITY. He's #4 most popular warlord.

I'm sad Croc beat him 😭😭 but I'm cackling that Cora beat Doffy! Poetic justice 🤣🤣🤣 plus, Cora also beat Croc! Wow! Go, Rosi, go!

Rosi would get all the girls, he'd steal them all from Croc and Doffy and you know what, FAIR. Get it, Rosi, you sweet wonderful marine, get it.

OMG, CORA IS #1 MARINE BY POPULARITY! HOLY SHIT!

Go, Cora!

I'm happy the DQ Brothers are in the top 20 🥹

Here they are 🥹

(also, I will live in denial and say this is Cora's design for post-timeskip cus he's wearing a different shirt, white with orangeish hearts 🥹)

Doffy was #17 in 5th (during Dressrosa Arc, 2015) & 6th Poll (Chapter 874, 2017) both polls taken by Japanese audience.

English Shonen Jump also held a popularity poll during Japan's 6th Popularity Poll (2017), and Doflamingo came #13 there! So he's more popular in 2017 with the English Shonen Jump audience!

Ha! He beat Crocodile there! GO, DOFFY!

Anyway, currently, Doffy's #20, and Cora is #13 by worldwide popularity poll, the latest popularity poll!

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{Heyyyy you feral gremlins! I’m back, I got all my personal stuff handled but I’ll still be little slow on posting…this stuff but don’t worry I’ll still be posting anyway to this freak of nature I call a post!}~

•Pomegranates•

Why was it always when Tim was about to finish whatever he was doing at the time and actually sleep for once without being forced or passing out it when a new villain decided to start making trouble.

So here was Tim and the rest of the Bats fighting a new villain and Tim was to sleep deprived to care what the villain was saying and just focusing on not passing TF out and hoping luck was on his side for him not to get hit to bad so he can just go to sleep after this.

But apparently luck fucking hates Tim.

The villain grabs a pendant around their neck and pulls it off and throws it at Tim as the villain was about to lose and as the pendant falls on the ground in front of Tim but before any of the bats can do anything.

Tim is surrounded by a dark pink-red mist and Tim only has one thought before he is teleported to somewhere and passed out.

“I should have just fucking slept.”

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

As Tim wakes up, he expected something like a lab or something similar….but he was not expecting this.

He was surrounded by a forest with dark oak trees from what Tim can tell but right now Tim needs to focus on getting back to Gotham or finding where he is, so Tim starts walking north.

After about 30 minutes Tim started to notice a few things that makes Tim more sure that this was not a normal forest.

First was the trees and forests itself was very odd

A figure in a dark pink-red dress that was partly covered by a soft black cloak and black hair that is covering most of his face as he looks down and hums a song that Tim doesn’t recognize and he was sitting on a black old bench by a large lake with some pomegranate trees making shade over the figure and lake.

But before Tim can take him all in, he steps on a tree branch causing the figure to look over to where Tim is standing.

And that’s when Tim sees the figures blue-green eyes and pale face but that’s not what caught Tims attention it was the very visible baby bump.

And it seems the figure saw him too.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Summary•

Danny was taken by the GIW or well he was given to them after his parents found out he was phantom and with Jazz gone off to college and Sam and Tucker out of town due to family so they can’t help.

Dani and Vlad [They have a somewhat better relationship but Dani still loves Mama Danny better] somehow get this information and decide to leave because all them are the only halfas and it’s not safe.

So Vlad and Dani break into the GIW base where Danny is being held and cause some property damage and probably kill a few GIW agents in Vlads case before they find Danny and book it out of their back to the Fenton portal as it’s the only portal to The Ghost Zone that isn’t a natural portal [Vlad shut his TF down before going to get Danny so the Fentons and GIW can’t get to The Ghost Zone and Dani, Danny and Vlad aren’t coming back]

And as they book it to the portal, Dani and Vlad get shot badly and this causes Dani’s body starts to destabilize and Vlads in no condition to hold her core in his body so Danny takes it and before the Fentons and GIW can’t get their ass Danny managed to power the portal up and throw himself and Vlad through and Wail back to the portal to destroy it.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Things•

-They are in Vlad’s Lair, usually ghost have to be 100 before they get a Lair but halfas just have one no matter their age

-Vlad is a overprotective fuck of Danny ~{AND IF I SEE ANYONE SHIP THEM FROM ONE OF MY POST YOU AND GETING BLOCKED!!! THAT IS A CHILD AND HIS GODFATHER}~

-They have so many pomegranate trees because Dawn makes Danny crave them and Vlad can change his Lair anyway he likes so he just put them in so it’s easier for everybody involved [Vlad, it’s easier for Vlad]

-Vlad doesn’t let ANYBODY in his lair

-Vlad will still some times call Danny his son and call Dawn his daughter…yes it’s still weird and it causes horrible misunderstandings 

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Outfit•

Danny’s appearance

Nothing really changed with Vlad besides having scars and having to use a cane when in human form [which he is almost never in anymore] and Dawns a fetus so she doesn’t really have a form.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

~{Anyway hope you gremlins enjoyed it, byeeeee}~

[arcane-ish]

Embracing the Monster: Why CaitVi kind of felt left out compared to Zaundads/Timebomb/JayVik

Let me start with some disclaimers: I have have wrestled with the way CaitVi was written in season 2 and tried to make sense of it in this post. And I have wrestled with myself and my tastes and why I actually feel very ill equipped to really say whether CaitVi is shippishly having issues or just being written for a different taste/target audience.

I have my very subjective often very oddball tastes of what I consider a good ship that often goes aggressively what either the general public or the popular fandom public considers good. In the end I can only report on what I saw.

IMO: looking at Arcane season 2 act 3 specifically there is just a really natural thematic flow.

Have you seen the meme: "Arcane was about love? Always has been"?

To me the overall message of Act 3 in particular (but that you can go back to and see traces of it in plenty of other act) is about Embracing the Monster.

And to me, despite the choppiness of much of Act 3, there's just a certain grace to how this is done.

It starts with Silco and Vander formulating the concept. They tease the promise, whether you see Silco or Vander as "the bad one" in this constellation, if you embrace, if you forgive, something great can come out of it.

This flows directly to Ekko who actively listens to it and tries applies it to himself

And it ends with JayVik symbolizing the concept. and ending the cosmic threat with it. Viktor expecting bad treatment due to his actions, Jayce embracing him anyway.

A lot can be said about the pros and cons of that theme (and I will do that), but there's just to me pure power in repetition and thematic congruency that just gives power and makes it hit more even for couples I don't actually like or ship all that much.

The problem is that even though CaitVi is the primary romantic couple of the show, they don't feel like they are part of this thematic trifecta of s2Act3.

CaitVi is too different to fit in, but not different enough to act as a counterpoint

From a story point of view, CaitVi could have been part of this general theme of big hearted understanding and forgiveness. I've seen a lot of discussion about has Cait apologized, has she apologized enough. I think that's besides the point.

We don't see whether Vander apologized to Silco. Jinx probably didn't apologize to Ekko and Viktor didn't in so many words apologize to Jayce. The point of this theme isn't about apologizing.

Considering the bad or misguided things Caitlyn did, she could have been part of that theme. But it would have required Vi to be a lot more horrified by her. To gulf between them would have to have been much larger so it can feel like a big deal for Vi to jump that gulf and embrace Caitlyn despite everything that has happened.

The show plays a little bit with "could Caitlyn become a monster", but in the end it doesn't go there in the way people react to her and how she carries herself. Because the show is hesitant to portray her as monster, for Vi to see Caitlyn as monster, they do not fit into the "embracing the monster*" theme that the other stories have going on. Again I speculate that that might have been intentional and that it might be their way of portraying CaitVi ultimately as a more functional couple.

There's catharsis in CaitVi's big payoff scene. But it's a different catharsis than what the other stories have going on.

Again, the theme of the other pairs is embracing the monster.

The theme of CaitVi is choosing happiness/being liberated from responsibility.

Picture a world where the themes of the other couples had echoed CaitVi? If let's say Ekko had actually felt burdened by his responsibility as a Firelight when he really wants to be with Jinx and him choosing her is about throwing away the shackles of that responsibility? If JayVik had been about Jayce's responsibility on the council and to Mel. If Vander's letter to Silco had been about "I thought I needed to expel you because people told me to, because of my responsibility to the Lanes, but I was wrong and I hate myself for it".

Can you see how if all stories, all relationships had been about choosing love over responsibility (whether it's Vi's responsibility to take care of Jinx or Caitlyn's feeling like she's supposed to live like her mother would have wanted her too), how that would have strengthened CaitVi's story. If the other stories had established a baseline how different characters deal with love and responsibility and set the baseline that this is an important topic that many people struggle with?

Or imagine the reverse, if rather than everybody joining CaitVi's theme, what if let's say rather than the relatively breezy/jokey/flirty/soft mood of the CaitVi scene pre sex had been about Cait having a full on ugly crying scene to the tune of "I'm a monster, I treated you badly, I went the wrong path, I don't deserve you" and Vi had embraced her anyway. If CaitVi had actually spelled out the implied confrontation that maybe went down or should went down between Zaundads, Timebomb, JayVik?

I'm not saying that it would have made a better show or made CaitVi a better couple. What I'm trying to explain what would have been required for CaitVi to feel like "part of the gang". And why right now they feel like the odd ones out, because the theme of three other storylines roughly match each other and CaitVi has a different theme compared to everybody else.

(MelJay is a different case for a couple of reasons)

In the end, it's not a crime that CaitVi doesn't follow everybody else's theme. I have speculated that it might have been intentional, that their theme is in the end maybe healthier/less dysfunctional from a future relationship perspective. Or maybe it's supposed to make them more special that their have their own unique theme.

IMO there's potential logic to going against the grain. But imo for my personal tastes, CaitVi not sharing the same theme would have worked better if they had actively contrasted the other stories by being completely different.

That's the problem of CaitVi being different, but not different enough. Because Cait does physically hurt Vi just not as aggressively as Vander hurting Silco or Timebomb trying to kill each other. And Cait did go down a dark path and lost herself in darkness the way Jinx or Viktor likely did. But it is not treated the same way.

The potential is there, but because the involved people react so differently to the situation it doesn't feel like it's the same theme, not "part of the gang". But it shares too many elements to feel like counterprogramming.

Again imagine a show where CaitVi are the one couple who feel full on differently. Who manage to stay sane and loving and supportive all the way through. If rather than Cait going all "Zaunites are animals!!!" and hitting Vi with the butt of a gun they had a sane and supportive breakup where Cait just tells her "I'm sorry, I can feel like I'm losing myself and I know I cannot be in a relationship now. Just go away, you probably have your own issues to handle first", And the rough corners of the plot had stayed the same of CaitVi being apart in Act 2, Vi doing her Jinx and Vanderwick arc and Cait losing herself in police work and responsibilities, but they always stay respectful and communicative with each other while all the other people around them are way more dysfunctional and hurt by poor communication.

IMO, for my taste (again as somebody who if firmly not a wlw shippers, just an occasional shipper of wlw couples), CaitVi would have resonated more powerfully if the show had gone for either option: join the same theme as the other characters (at the risk of making them more dysfunctional as a couple) or be a more aggressive contrast/the haven of difference and sanity and health in a chaotic world (at the risk of making them more boring/less melodramatic/less meatily shippy).

ETA: I hope it's okay that I tag CaitVi rather than anti. Because this is written from a place of affection, of "what could the show have done differently to make them pop more" (with the stipulation of "for a general audience" with the understanding that that might never have been the goal in the first place)

*I should probably add the "monster" here is naturally metaphorical most of the time and it's not about portraying Jinx, Viktor, Vander&Silco as monsters and more about whether you are missing out by seeing them as monsters, whether monsters like Vanderwick are actually a lot less monstrous than they might seem, that you can come back from anything etc

[reyreadersblog]

Hi y'all.

So i wasn't going to make a serious situation out of this but i had to bcs of @lucien-calore

She made a post.

So, "Libby left the chat" was a harmless joke, this type of jokes has been "trending" in different communities and fandoms since 2020-2021.

And my post contained NO kind of insult whatsoever. It was a joke. J.O.K.E.

Here for those of you who don't know what it is.

But for some reason @lucien-calore got offensive. And made a huge deal out of NOTHING.

When i got tagged in this i laughed out loudly, i rlly thought "they can't be serious" and since comments were blocked and restricted i rebloged with this.

Oh and btw, Libby and Avery spend a lot of time together, and she wasn't "RASIED" as an only child, which is mentioned in games untold, that her and Libby spent a lot of time together, before her mother took her away (even after it they were still in contact) Avery talked about how Libby and her got into stupid fights sometimes and her mother used to give them "the look".

But anyway..i srsly didn't know this, i reread the book after this whole drama to make sure, and i wasn't insulting her in the first place SINCE I DIDN'T KNOW AND IT WAS A FUCKING JOKE. And then she insulted me and called me an idiot for no reason at all💀💀

This is my reply, bcs obviously they needed some reality check.

After this a few of my moots replyed to her telling her that her behaviour was childish and it was never that serious.

and i was this is getting out of hand and i apologized. Even tho i litearlly had nothing to apologize for, she was the one who called me an idiot but i wanted the stupid thing to end.

But no she kept on going, with her insufferable babbling. I was going to let it go until she started talk shitting about my friend @jkriordanverse even tho i told her to leave her out of it.

"DRAGGED THEMSELVES" does your dysfunctional brain REALIZE that she has her own right, as for everyone else, to reply, comment, or react to anything the way she wants. The only bully here is you, and you should control your fucking nerves, take some medicine, go to a therapy. You do not insult someone you don't even know, esp if they made a harmless joke, OR rebloged and made a comment about something, WHICH, they have full right to do so. "Childish as your bff" pft, saying emotionally unstable, unemployed person who has serious problems...ironic.

Just so you know, i never wanted to make the whole drama out of it but you are the one who started it in the first place. And i will be blocking and reporting you after i post this. Idgaf what you say after this. Have a nice life.

[teruwasright]

Ok....I usually don't make posts like this but I feel like I need to spread the word on this in case people are unaware like I was bc I would want someone to tell me if I was moots with someone bad so I'm making a post about this-

This is about a user on here (Kikiwiwiz...) and I'm absolutely disgusted...

I don't see any defensive they could have for this but it's not looking good at all-

I'm making this known bc they've been in a good amount of my moots reblogs and seems even friends with some of them- in case yall don't know about this please follow the link and read it all.

If yall ARE aware of this and are the same or engaging In this as well BLOCK ME IMMEDIATELY ^^

I'm sorry if rebloging there posts gave people the wrong idea I absolutely had no idea about any of this and I'm so glad my friend told me when they saw this bc I'm absolutely disgusted-

I feel sick reading this and I was just completely shocked-

So please spread the word about this and if any of yall have any new information about this or something I don't know please reblog with the information!!! Also please show evidence of any clames you make- word against word will not get anyone anywhere and it will just lead to side chosing- please if you have any new information about this have evidence to back your claims!

Anyway I just thought I should make a post about this bc I actually feel so sick rn...it's so disgusting and I just can't- 😭😭

And in case yall didn't know either FAIRYMINAMOTO IS ALSO A MINAMOTO BRO SHIPPER.

I found out a bit ago (like maybe a month or two- maybe three??) And I fr crashed out bc they rebloged a post of mine AND a friend's art-

I wasn't sure if I should post about that either but IM TELLING YALL NOW!!!!!!!!

And PLS if ANYONE knows of any other people like this (like proshippers ect) PLS LET PEOPLE KNOW IN THE REBLOGS OK!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway I love yall ok stay safe out there and drink water ima go crash out now bc this person literally colored a Teru panel for me and I feel sick now- (I blocked them dw....)

Also tagging some people as well-

@kittytheartist @musicalmoritz @akane-aoi-irl @brujc @teruwife @tofusfortbhk @yoursillyartistnoir @yukiimizu @eatmy-customjorts @every-akane-aoi @kittytheartist @itzprismosblog @akane-aoi-everyday @neversam @ninja-grace @natsuterubrainrot @vvvincentzzz @xxsongbirdxx @bpzau-d-r-a-w-s @boomuchi @bpzau-art @lillyopad @zodiac-keeper @royakahoshiart @rockytye79 @str0yberries @shurup-overt @makshu

If any of yall know them and didn't know this now you do- also tagging people that aren't active as often ect- but I'm making sure yall know in case you didn't!

And again if any of yall participate in this or agree with this person or are friends with them and think the same BLOCK ME IMMEDIATELY ‼️ ^^

Sighhh the tbhk fan base is exploding apparently....

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 4: Threads of Connection

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: none. Just fluff, but the slow burn is starting to burn a little faster.

Word count: 6.4k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

______________________________________________________________

The following days settled into an uneasy rhythm. Evelyn threw herself into her crocheting, the repetitive motion of her hands calming the constant churn of her thoughts. She was determined to keep herself busy, to avoid thinking too much about the whispers in town or the way Logan’s absence made her cottage feel just a little emptier.

She hadn’t seen him since that evening when he’d helped her unload the truck. He’d left with the scarf folded neatly under his arm, his expression as reserved as ever. She wondered if he’d worn it, but the thought made her feel foolish. It was just a scarf—a small thank-you for everything he’d done. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything more.

And yet, she found herself glancing toward the driveway more often than she cared to admit, listening for the rumble of his truck.

One brisk morning, as she worked on a new shawl by the fire, the sharp ring of the landline broke the quiet. Startled, Evelyn set down her work and crossed the room, the cold wooden floorboards creaking underfoot.

“Hello?” she said, tucking the receiver against her ear.

“Evelyn, it’s Nancy,” came the familiar voice of the general store clerk. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m good,” she replied, though the slight hesitation in her voice betrayed her surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Nancy began, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “I just wanted to let you know we’re hosting a little community potluck this weekend. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a good way to meet more folks around town.”

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers curling around the phone cord. “That sounds nice, but I’m not sure...”

“Oh, nonsense!” Nancy interrupted. “You’re practically one of us now. Besides, everyone’s dying to see more of those beautiful crochet pieces of yours. You could set up a little table if you’d like.”

The offer was tempting, but the thought of stepping further into the spotlight made her stomach twist. Still, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“Good! Let me know if you need help with anything,” Nancy said brightly before hanging up.

The idea of the potluck lingered with her all day. Part of her wanted to decline, to keep her head down and focus on her quiet life at the cottage. But another part—the part that had started to feel restless—urged her to go.

The decision was made for her when Logan showed up later that afternoon, the scarf she’d given him looped loosely around his neck.

“Roof’s holding up,” he said, nodding toward the cottage as he stepped out of his truck.

“That’s good to hear,” she replied, surprised to see him. “What brings you by?”

“Figured you might need more firewood,” he said simply, gesturing to the pile in his truck bed.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as a small smile tugged at her lips. “You really like playing the role of the mysterious handyman, don’t you?”

Logan huffed softly, the sound almost like a laugh. “Guess I do.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she said, stepping down from the porch and brushing her hands against her jeans. “It’s not fair that you’re doing this for free. I should be buying firewood from the logging company anyway.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned against the truck bed. “You think I’m charging you for this?”

She shrugged, her tone light but insistent. “Well, you should be. It’s your time, your effort—”

“Save your money,” Logan cut in, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve got enough to deal with fixing up that place. Firewood’s covered.”

As he unloaded the firewood, she found herself studying him—his steady movements, the quiet focus in his expression.

“Have you heard about the potluck this weekend?” she asked, leaning against the porch railing.

He glanced at her briefly. “Yeah. Town does it every year.”

“You going?”

“Not my thing,” he replied, stacking the last piece of wood neatly by the side of the porch.

“I figured,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smile. “I might go. Nancy invited me.”

Logan straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You should. Good way to meet people.”

She tilted her head, her gaze lingering on him. “You don’t seem like the type who enjoys meeting people.”

“Don’t need to,” he said simply. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy.”

Her smile softened. “Well, thanks for the firewood. And for the advice.”

He nodded, tugging the scarf a little tighter around his neck as he turned toward the truck.

“Logan,” she called after him.

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Have you been wearing that scarf?”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through his usual stoicism. “Keeps the cold out,” he said before climbing into the truck.

As he drove away, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel that Logan’s quiet presence had settled into her life in a way she hadn’t expected.

By the time Saturday evening arrived, the small church hall was brimming with life. Warm light spilled through the frosted windows, illuminating rows of folding tables laden with dishes of every kind—casseroles, pies, salads, and baskets of fresh rolls. The air was filled with laughter, the clink of serving spoons, and the faint hum of holiday tunes playing from an old radio in the corner.

Evelyn stepped through the double doors, clutching a tin of cookies she’d baked earlier that day, along with a neatly folded bundle of her crochet pieces. She had debated leaving the scarves and shawls at home, but Nancy had been insistent about showcasing her work.

The room buzzed with energy, and though she’d prepared herself for the crowds, the sight of so many familiar faces still made her hesitate. She stood in the entryway for a moment, letting the warmth of the gathering wash over her before stepping inside.

“Evelyn!” Nancy’s cheerful voice rang out, cutting through her uncertainty. The older woman bustled over, her apron slightly askew but her smile as welcoming as ever. “You made it!”

“I did,” Evelyn replied with a small smile, holding up the tin. “And I brought these.”

Nancy peeked under the lid and let out an approving hum. “Chocolate chip. You’re going to fit in just fine here, dear.” She patted Evelyn on the arm and then noticed the bundle tucked under her other arm. “And what’s this?”

“Just a few scarves, shawls,” Evelyn said, almost apologetically. “I wasn’t sure—”

“They’re beautiful!” Nancy interrupted, already unfolding a scarf to admire the intricate stitching. “Come, let’s put these on display.”

Before Evelyn could protest, Nancy had whisked her toward a table near the corner, where a few other crafts were already on display—knitted mittens, jars of homemade jam, and intricately carved wooden figurines.

“You’ll have to tell me how you do this,” Nancy said as she spread the scarves and shawls out carefully. “You’ve got such a delicate touch.”

Pastor Edwards appeared by their side, his broad smile and kindly demeanor putting Evelyn at ease. “Miss Evelyn, it’s good to see you here tonight,” he said warmly. “I’ve heard nothing but praise about your work. You’re quite the talent.”

Evelyn flushed under the compliment. “That’s kind of you to say, Pastor. I’m just happy to contribute.”

“Contribute, indeed,” he said, picking up a soft blue scarf. “This is exquisite. If my wife sees it, I imagine I’ll be making a purchase before the evening’s through.”

Before Evelyn could respond, a familiar voice chimed in behind her. “Oh, Evelyn’s quite the artist, isn’t she?” Clara’s smile was all charm, but her tone carried an edge that Evelyn didn’t miss. “You’ve certainly been keeping busy. Crocheting and baking… and I’m sure there are other things taking up your time.”

Evelyn turned to face Clara, her expression neutral but her eyes steady. “I try to stay productive. And it’s nice to see the community appreciates the effort.” Her tone was light but unmistakably pointed, earning a small, approving glance from Nancy.

“Well,” Clara said, her smile tightening, “it’s good you’re settling in.”

Evelyn offered her a faint smile in return. “Thanks. I’ve been very lucky to have supportive people around me.”

Clara opened her mouth to reply, but Pastor Edwards intervened, his jovial voice cutting through any tension. “Now, Clara, if you’re here to chat, you’ll have to wait your turn. Evelyn’s become quite popular, and I imagine half the room will want one of these scarves before the night is out.”

Clara’s smile faltered, though she quickly recovered. “Well, they’re lovely. You’ve certainly made quite the impression around here. People have been talking about you nonstop.”

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her expression remaining polite. “ I’ve noticed people talk about a lot of things around here.” She paused, letting the words linger. “Some things just don’t stick.”

Before Clara could respond, Nancy broke in with a cheerful laugh. “Well, I think it’s clear Evelyn is going to stick—and I, for one, am thrilled about it. Now, Clara, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some cookies to set out.”

As Nancy steered Evelyn toward the dessert table, Evelyn caught a glimpse of Clara’s tight-lipped smile and couldn’t help the quiet satisfaction blooming in her chest.

“You handled that well,” Nancy murmured with a conspiratorial wink.

“I’m learning,” Evelyn replied softly, her gaze sweeping the hall. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel completely at ease in the town, but moments like these felt like progress.

As the evening wore on, Evelyn began to relax. The warmth of the gathering, coupled with the genuine interest people showed in her work, made it easier to forget her nerves. Several women approached her table, admiring the scarves and shawls.

“These are beautiful,” one woman said, running her fingers over a soft, pale-blue scarf. “Do you take commissions?”

Evelyn blinked in surprise. “I haven’t, but... I guess I could.”

“You should,” the woman insisted with a warm smile. “It’s clear you’ve got a gift.”

The compliments buoyed her spirits, and for the first time since arriving in Clearwater, she felt like she was truly beginning to belong.

It was later in the evening, as the crowd began to thin, that she spotted him.

Logan stood near the entrance, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark wahs jeans, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He looked out of place, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see, but he didn’t move to leave.

Their eyes met briefly, and she gave him a small wave. To her surprise, he nodded and began making his way over.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she said as he reached her table.

“Didn’t plan on it,” he replied, his voice low. “But I figured someone had to make sure you didn’t scare the locals.”

She snorted softly, shaking her head. “Very funny. What brought you out, really?”

Logan shrugged, glancing around the room. “Nancy wouldn’t stop bugging me.”

“Sounds about right,” she replied with a grin. “Well, you’re just in time to try my cookies. I expect glowing reviews.”

He raised an eyebrow but reached for one, taking a bite without much ceremony.

“They’re good,” he said after a moment, his tone almost begrudging.

“High praise coming from you,” she teased, her smile widening.

Logan huffed softly, his version of a laugh, and leaned against the table.

Their conversation was interrupted by a group of men from the logging company, who called Logan over with hearty waves and loud voices. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Evelyn briefly, before muttering, “I’ll be back.”

As he joined the group, Evelyn watched him with growing curiosity. There was something about the way he carried himself—reserved, almost guarded—that made her wonder what had shaped him into the man he was.

The men greeted him with playful jabs and laughter. “Didn’t think we’d see you here, Howlett,” one of them said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Guess miracles do happen,” another quipped, earning a round of chuckles.

Logan shrugged off their comments, his expression remaining stoic. “You girls done gossiping, or you need more time?”

The men roared with laughter, one of them shaking his head. “Alright, alright. We’ll leave you to it.”

Nancy appeared , her smile knowing. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What is?” Evelyn asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, nothing,” Nancy said airily. “Just that he has never come to one of  these things. And yet, here he is.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, leaving Evelyn to mull over her words.

When the evening wound down and the tables were being cleared, Logan reappeared at her side.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, his tone casual.

“You offering me a ride?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Truck’s warm, and it’s a cold night,” he replied simply.

She smiled, grabbing her tin of cookies and scarf. “Alright. Let me grab my coat.”

The drive back to the cottage was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them.

“Thanks for coming,” she said after a while, her voice soft. “Even if Nancy twisted your arm.”

Logan glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t need much twisting.”

Her heart gave a small, unexpected flutter at his words, but she pushed the feeling aside.

When they reached the cottage, she hesitated before opening the door. “You want to come in for a cup of tea? There are still cookies left.”

Logan studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”

Inside, the fire crackled softly as they sat at the small kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea in hand. Logan didn’t say much, but his presence filled the room in a way that felt strangely comforting.

“This place suits you,” he said finally, his voice low.

Evelyn glanced around the cozy, imperfect kitchen and smiled. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady. “That’s good.”

The tea had long gone cold in their cups, but neither of them seemed to notice. Logan leaned back slightly in his chair, his arms resting on the sides, his gaze fixed somewhere between her and the crackling fire.

“It’s quiet out here,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, almost contemplative.

“That’s why I picked it,” she replied, brushing her fingers along the rim of her mug. “I needed quiet. Too much noise back… before.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to her, the unspoken weight of her words hanging in the air. He didn’t press, but there was a softness in his expression, a quiet patience that made her want to say more.

“I guess I was running,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not sure what from.”

Logan nodded slowly, as if he understood, though he didn’t offer any platitudes. He rarely did. That was one of the things she appreciated about him—he listened without feeling the need to fill the spaces between words.

The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his face and the warmth in his otherwise stoic eyes. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

And maybe it was the intimacy of the moment, or the fact that the world outside the cottage felt so far away, but when he leaned forward slightly, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments, she didn’t pull away.

Until she did.

“Logan,” she said softly, her voice trembling as she pressed her hands to the edge of the table. “I can’t.”

He froze, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly. Then, he leaned back, his movements deliberate and measured. “Sorry,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to his mug.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said quickly, her chest tightening. “It’s not… it’s not you. I just—” She shook her head, struggling to find the right words. “I can’t.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once, his face unreadable once more. “I get it,” he said simply, though his tone carried an edge of something she couldn’t quite place—hurt? Frustration?

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. Evelyn felt a pang of regret, not for stopping him, but for the way she’d stumbled over her own emotions.

“It’s late,” he said finally, standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I should go.”

“Logan—” she started, but he cut her off with a small shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice steady, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, the sound of his truck rumbling down the driveway leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She sat there for a long time after he left, staring into the dying embers of the fire. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she couldn’t ignore the fear that had flared in her chest at the thought of letting someone get too close again.

Not yet.

The warmth of the fire had long faded, leaving the room in a quiet chill that mirrored the hollow ache in her chest. She sat unmoving, staring at the door as though expecting Logan to walk back through it. He wouldn’t, of course. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

Her hands clutched the cold mug of tea as if it could somehow tether her to the present, but her mind kept spiraling backward. To the way he’d leaned forward, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as his hand hesitated just inches from hers. And then, to the look on his face when she pulled away—the quiet resignation in his nod, the way he’d left with barely a word.

Why had she stopped him?

The answer rose immediately, unbidden: Because you’re terrified.

The words echoed in her mind, harsher than she’d meant them to be. She hadn’t lied, though. She couldn’t—not yet.

The thought sent a pang of guilt through her chest. Logan didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her fears. He’d done nothing but offer her kindness and quiet support, showing up time and again without asking for anything in return. And yet, when the moment came, she’d pulled back.

The embers in the hearth cracked softly, breaking the stillness. She stared into the glowing coals, her thoughts swirling. Maybe she should’ve said more, explained herself better. But how could she, when she wasn’t sure she fully understood her own hesitation?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t that broken girl anymore—the one who’d been left behind, who’d questioned her worth because someone else had decided she wasn’t enough. She was stronger now, wasn’t she?

And yet, as the hours stretched on, the emptiness in the cottage seemed to grow. The walls she’d once found solace in now felt suffocating, pressing in on all sides.

For the first time in weeks, Evelyn found herself questioning whether she truly belonged here.

Logan gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles standing out stark against the calloused skin of his hands. The truck rumbled down the narrow road, the headlights slicing through the darkness, but his mind was miles away—still back in her kitchen, caught in the flicker of firelight and the sound of her voice trembling with hesitation.

He let out a low growl, more at himself than anything else. He should’ve seen it coming—the hesitation in her eyes, the way her shoulders had tensed as he leaned in. She wasn’t ready, and he’d known that. Hell, he’d known it from the start.

But still, he’d pushed.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, shifting gears with a sharp motion.

Logan exhaled sharply, rolling the window down just enough to let the cold night air sting his face. He needed the sharpness, the bite, to cut through the frustration boiling in his chest. Not at her—never at her—but at himself.

She’d pulled back. And why wouldn’t she? She didn’t owe him anything, least of all her trust. Hell, he was the one who’d crossed the line, who’d let himself get too comfortable in the space she’d carved out of her pain.

But still…

The memory of her expression lingered, the way her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her voice, trembling with apology, had cut deeper than she probably realized.

“Logan, I can’t.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. He knew she didn’t mean them as a rejection—not entirely. But they still lodged themselves in his chest, heavy and unyielding.

But the truth clawed at him, raw and undeniable. He didn’t want to walk away. Not from her. Not from the moments of quiet connection that seemed to bloom between them, unspoken but palpable.

The truck hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present. He slowed down, the soft crunch of gravel under the tires filling the silence.

What the hell was he thinking? He was no good at this—not at getting close, not at navigating the messiness of human connection. It was safer to stay on the periphery, to keep people at arm’s length.

And yet, when he thought of her, sitting alone in that drafty little cottage, her hands twisting together as she struggled to find the right words...

He shook his head, pulling the truck to a stop at the edge of the woods. The engine idled softly as he leaned back against the seat, staring into the darkness.

Maybe he’d screwed things up. Maybe it was too late. But for the first time in years, the thought of walking away felt wrong—like turning his back on something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

If she needed time, he’d give it to her. If she needed space, he’d take a step back. But he wasn’t walking away—not yet.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. She tossed and turned, her thoughts refusing to settle, until finally, as dawn broke, she gave up entirely.

The cold of the morning didn’t ease the knot in her chest. It stayed there, heavy and unwelcome, as she moved through the motions of her day. Even crocheting, her usual refuge, didn’t bring the same comfort it usually did.

By mid-afternoon, the cottage felt suffocating, the silence pressing down on her. The new landline sat on the counter, its presence a reminder that she wasn’t as cut off from the world as she sometimes wanted to believe. Her fingers hovered over the receiver, debating.

She hadn’t called her best friend in weeks—not since the move. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because explaining everything felt like dredging up a wound she was trying to let scar over. But now, with the weight of her encounter with Logan still fresh, she needed someone to talk to.

Finally, she dialed.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

“Evie!” Martha’s voice burst through the receiver, warm and animated. “I was starting to think you’d gone off the grid for good.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her grip tightening on the phone. “Hey. Sorry for disappearing. It’s been… a lot.”

“Of course it has,” her friend replied, her tone softening. “How’s the new place? Are you settling in?”

“It’s… okay,” Evelyn said carefully, turning to look out the window. “The town’s small, the cottage is old, but it’s quiet. Peaceful, mostly.”

Her friend hummed thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement. What’s going on?”

Evelyn hesitated, chewing on her lip. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to put words to the tangled mess in her chest. But she’d called for a reason.

“There’s someone here,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s been helping me with repairs around the cottage. He’s… nice. Quiet. A little rough around the edges.”

“And?” her friend prompted, sensing there was more.

“And last night… something almost happened.”

The line went quiet for a moment before Martha spoke again. “Define ‘something.’”

“He tried to kiss me,” Evelyn admitted, her voice trembling. “And I—I pulled away. I told him I couldn’t.”

“Oh, hon,” her friend said, her voice filled with understanding. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I feel awful. He looked so hurt, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it. I thought I was ready to move on, but when it came down to it…”

“It’s okay,” her friend said gently. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to rush into anything you’re not ready for.”

“But what if I hurt him?” Evelyn asked, her voice breaking. “He’s done so much for me, and the last thing I want is to make him feel like he’s not enough. He is. It’s me. I’m the one who’s not ready.”

“Then you need to be honest with him,” her friend said firmly. “You don’t owe anyone your heart if you’re not ready to give it, but you do owe them honesty. If he’s as kind as you say he is, he’ll understand.”

Evelyn nodded, even though her friend couldn’t see her. “I don’t know if I can explain it to him without messing it up even more.”

“You can,” her friend assured her. “And if he’s worth it—and it sounds like he is—he’ll wait. But you have to let yourself believe you’re worth it, too.”

The words hit her like a jolt, her chest tightening with emotion. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her grip on the phone loosening. “I mean it.”

“Anytime,” Martha replied. “And hey—don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me when you need to talk. Even if it’s just to complain about the weather.”

Evelyn laughed weakly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I will. I promise.”

When the call ended, the cottage felt a little less oppressive. She sat by the window for a while, staring out at the forest and letting her friend’s words settle in.

Honesty.

It wasn’t easy, but it was a start.

The tension between her and Logan lingered like an unfinished conversation, heavy and unspoken. Her best friend’s words played on a loop in her mind: Be honest. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand.

Honesty. It seemed so simple in theory, but the thought of baring her tangled emotions to Logan made her palms sweat. Still, she couldn’t shake the image of his hurt expression as he’d walked out of her cottage. She owed him more than that.

Determined to make things right, Evelyn bundled up against the crisp morning air and made her way to his cabin. The drive was short, the road flanked by tall evergreens that whispered in the wind. When she arrived, she hesitated at his door, her heart thudding in her chest as she raised her hand to knock.

No answer.

She frowned, glancing around. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and the quiet that surrounded the cabin felt almost eerie. With a sigh, she stepped back and considered her options.

If he wasn’t home, maybe he was at work.

The idea of going to the logging company made her stomach twist, but she couldn’t just leave things unresolved. Squaring her shoulders, she got back into her truck and headed toward town.

The logging company was a modest operation, its main office a squat building with peeling paint and a few trucks parked out front. The hum of chainsaws and the distant crash of falling trees echoed from the forest behind it, a reminder of the hard, unrelenting labor that sustained the town.

Evelyn parked and stepped out, her breath visible in the chilly air. As she approached the office, a group of men lingered near the door, laughing and chatting as they smoked their lunch break cigarettes.

When they noticed her, the conversation stopped.

“You’re looking for Logan, aren’t you?” a man called out, his voice tinged with amusement but not unkind.

Evelyn hesitated. “Yes. Do you know where he is?”

Another man nearby chuckled, tipping his hat. “Down in the forest, working on that west patch. Lunch break came and went, but he didn’t stick around.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing toward the trail they pointed out.

As she turned to leave, one of them called after her, “Don’t let him scare you off, miss. He means well.”

She smiled faintly, their words settling uneasily in her chest. Did they all know how much Logan kept to himself? Did they see through the walls he put up as easily as she did?

The forest was quieter here, the roar of machinery fading into the background as Evelyn followed the trail. Her boots crunched over fallen leaves, and her breath puffed out in small clouds as she walked deeper into the woods.

She found him near the edge of a clearing, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows despite the cold. He stood by a felled tree, his hands gripping the handle of an ax. His movements were methodical, each swing splitting the wood with a resounding crack that echoed through the trees.

For a moment, she hesitated, watching him from a distance. There was something raw about the way he worked, as if he were trying to exorcise something he couldn’t put into words.

Finally, she stepped closer, her voice soft but steady. “Logan.”

He froze mid-swing, the ax hovering above the log for a heartbeat before he brought it down with one last, decisive crack. Turning, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his gaze sharp as it landed on her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone more curious than curt.

She took a deep breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket. “I wanted to talk to you. About the other night.”

Logan’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the ax tightened. “Nothing to talk about,” he said, turning back to the woodpile.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted, stepping closer. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice low as he picked up another log.

Evelyn shook her head. “I do. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Logan, and I just… I feel like I let you down.

He paused, his shoulders stiffening as he slowly set the log down. When he turned to face her again, there was something guarded in his eyes, like he was bracing himself for a blow.

He crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “You didn’t let me down. I pushed too hard. That’s on me.”

“It’s not just about that,” she said quickly. “It’s about me, and the way I’ve been holding back. You’ve given me so much patience, so much understanding, and I’ve been too scared to give anything back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t interrupt her.

She took a shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I’m not ready, Logan. Not yet. But I don’t want you to think that what happened—or didn’t happen—was because of you. It’s not. You’re—” She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “You’re more than I know how to handle right now.”

His expression softened, just slightly. “You don’t need to say anything you’re not ready for.”

“But I do,” she insisted. “Because I don’t want you to think I’m running away from you. I’m not.”

Logan let out a slow breath, his arms dropping to his sides. “I don’t want to push you, Evelyn. But I’m not going to pretend it’s easy to see you pulling away.”

Her chest tightened, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through her defenses.

“I’m not pulling away,” she said softly. “I’m trying to move closer—I just don’t know how yet.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Then, slowly, Logan stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“When you figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle, “I’ll be here.”

Evelyn felt the weight in her chest begin to lift, just slightly. She nodded, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on hers for a moment before he reached down to pick up the ax. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the forest. “I’ll walk you back.”

They fell into step together, the quiet of the forest wrapping around them like a protective shield. The earlier tension between them still lingered, but now it felt lighter, easier.

As they reached the edge of the lot, Evelyn’s truck came into view. He opened the door for her, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for walking me back,” she said, her voice softer now.

He nodded, leaning against the truck for a moment. “Anytime.”

Her hesitation was barely noticeable, but he caught it as she turned slightly toward him. “Logan,” she began, her tone unsure.

He straightened, his gaze steady on hers.

“Would you—” She cleared her throat, mustering her nerve. “Would you want to have dinner at my place later this week? As a thank-you for... everything.”

Logan raised a brow, his expression unreadable for a beat. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, feeling the words spill out. “Just food. You’ve done a lot for me, and I’d like to repay you.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright. What day?”

“Friday?” she offered, a little too quickly.

He gave a short nod. “That works.”

With that, he stepped back, watching as she climbed into the truck. Once she was gone, the vehicle rumbling down the dirt road, Logan exhaled deeply and turned back toward the group.

The crew had been waiting, their expressions ripe with mischief.

“Well, well,well, look at you, playing the gentleman.”, said Rick.

Logan shot him a warning look, but Rick just smirked, undeterred. “We’re just saying, Logan��if this keeps up, don’t forget to send us invites to the wedding.”

“I don’t want to hear a single comment,” Logan muttered, his voice low but edged.

Pete smirked. “Sure thing. But, uh, you might want to remind us if it’s going to be a spring or summer wedding. Just so we can plan accordingly.”

Logan ran a hand over his face, clearly done with their antics. “You’re all idiots,” he muttered, heading toward the stack of logs waiting for him.

“Hey, just saying, she seems nice,” Rick added, chuckling as Logan passed. “Hope you don’t mess it up.”

Logan ignored the laughter trailing behind him, focusing on the rhythm of his boots crunching over the gravel. His crew meant well—hell, he knew they did—but the teasing felt sharper than usual. Maybe because a small part of him wondered if they were right to joke. What if he did mess it up?

Reaching the worksite, he gripped the handle of the ax tighter than necessary and brought it down against the first log with a force that sent splinters flying. The physicality of the work grounded him, drowning out the echo of her voice from earlier: Would you want to have dinner at my place later this week?

For a man like Logan, used to solitude and simplicity, her tentative offer shouldn’t have stirred much. But it did. The vulnerability in her tone lingered, wrapping itself around him like a thread he didn’t know how to untangle.

Friday. Dinner.

It wasn’t a date. Not really. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the thought of sitting across from her in that warm, firelit cottage made something in his chest tighten.

Meanwhile, back at the cottage, Evelyn stood by her kitchen window, staring out at the fading light. The quiet wasn’t as oppressive as it had been before, but tonight, it carried a new kind of weight.

She ran a hand over the edge of the counter, her thoughts flickering back to the way Logan had looked at her. There was something steady about him, something grounding, but it was also unsettling. She’d built walls to keep herself safe, yet somehow, he was finding ways through without even trying.

Her fingers traced a threadbare potholder hanging near the stove. She caught her reflection in the window—flushed cheeks, slightly furrowed brow—and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Friday. Dinner.

She wanted it to be simple, to be just a thank-you for everything Logan had done. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

Turning from the window, she glanced at the half-finished crochet project on the armchair by the fire. Her hands itched to pick it up, to lose herself in the comfort of routine, but her thoughts stayed stubbornly on Logan. On the way his gaze softened, just slightly, whenever he spoke to her. On the quiet strength he carried, like it cost him nothing to give.

The fire crackled softly, and she found herself whispering to the empty room, “Don’t screw this up.”

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, the worksite had quieted. Logan leaned against the bed of his truck, watching the forest line shift into darker shades of green. His crew had called it a day, leaving him with his thoughts and the steady ache in his arms from hours of splitting wood.

He glanced at the scarf looped loosely around his neck, its soft wool a stark contrast to the roughness of his flannel jacket. It wasn’t something he would’ve picked for himself, but he hadn’t taken it off since she’d given it to him.

Shaking his head, he climbed into the truck, the engine rumbling to life. As he turned onto the road leading away from the site, the same thought circled back in his mind:

Don’t mess it up.

Chapter 3

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

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