#but it feels so much more real that there's problems going on at the same time as the fun

[shdysders]

no one noticed

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: in which you fly across the country to surprise jenna, holding onto the hope that things will go back to the way they were.

word count: 6.0k

author’s note: no one noticed - the marias

You couldn't tell when it had all started.

You didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that it wasn't like it used to be.

Jenna used to notice everything. It was the way her gaze would linger a little longer than anyone else's, searching your face like it held all the answers.

She'd catch the smallest changes in your mood, the tiniest cracks in the facade you showed the world.

No one else noticed those things—not when you were quieter than usual, not when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes—but Jenna always did. She'd tilt her head, her brow furrowing in that way that meant she was piecing together a puzzle, and ask softly what was wrong.

It wasn't just your emotions she picked up on. It was everything. The way she'd notice when you'd changed your perfume, leaning closer and smiling as if it were her favorite secret.

Or how she'd spot the faintest smudge of eyeliner you'd tried to wipe away, running her thumb gently along your cheek without a word.

You hadn't even realized how much it had meant to you at the time, the way she saw you in ways no one else did. How she made you feel like you were someone worth noticing.

It had been effortless for her, her attention so natural and constant that you never had to ask for it. You'd be talking about something insignificant—some show you'd watched, something you'd read online—and she'd interrupt with a soft laugh, telling you how your eyes lit up when you were excited. She'd make you feel seen in a way that no one ever had, as if every little thing about you was worth treasuring.

Jenna had always been the person who noticed, even when no one else did.

So when that started to change, you wondered if it was all in your head.

At first, it felt small—just a few moments here and there that you could shrug off. Like when you'd been quiet during a phone call, and Jenna didn't pause to ask if something was wrong. Or when she'd missed the faint tremor in your voice, something she'd once been able to pick up on like a second language.

You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you were overthinking. But then it started happening more often. Little things piled up until they didn't feel so little anymore.

Still, you didn't want to blame her. Instead, you turned it on yourself, convincing yourself that you were imagining it. That you were making something out of nothing.

Maybe you'd just grown too used to her attention, you thought. Too dependent on the way she always noticed things no one else did. You felt almost ashamed for needing that kind of validation, for craving it the way you did.

There were nights when you couldn't sleep, lying awake and wondering if you'd lost your mind. You told yourself that she hadn't changed, that you were the problem—that you'd become hypersensitive, searching for cracks that weren't really there.

And since no one else seemed to notice it, you couldn't help but feel like you were wrong. Like you'd made it all up.

Jenna still said the right things sometimes. She still asked how you were, still smiled at you like you were her whole world when you were 'together'. But it didn't feel the same. There was a distance now, subtle but unmistakable, like a thin layer of glass separating you.

You told yourself that if no one else could see it, then it couldn't possibly be real. But deep down, you knew.

You knew, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself yet.

You'd told yourself over and over that things would get better.

Every time Jenna's name flashed across your screen, every time you saw her face smiling at you through a grainy video call, you felt that flicker of hope. She'd always say the right things—how much she missed you, how she couldn't wait to see you again. For a moment, you'd believe her.

But then the call would end, and you'd be left staring at your reflection on the dark screen, feeling emptier than before.

It was getting old, this routine of clinging to a connection that didn't feel real anymore. The virtual version of Jenna wasn't enough—it never was. You didn't want to see her through a screen; you wanted her here, next to you, holding you, laughing with you, noticing you.

But instead, you sat alone in the silence of your room, waiting for a text that might not come.

There were moments when you hated yourself for feeling this way. For needing her so much. You tried to rationalize it, telling yourself she was busy, that her work demanded more of her time now. You knew she wasn't doing it on purpose—but that didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear.

You'd catch yourself staring at your phone, half-hoping she'd call, half-hoping she wouldn't, because you didn't know if you could stand hearing her voice and still feeling so far away.

The distance wasn't just physical anymore. It was in every text that felt shorter than it used to, in the FaceTime calls where her eyes darted off-screen as if she had somewhere else to be. You'd thought, more than once, about asking her why she always looked like she was about to disappear. But you never did.

You'd told yourself it was because of work.

She loved what she did, and you loved that for her. How could you not? She'd always dreamed of it, always thrown herself into it with a passion that had drawn you to her in the first place. So, of course, she was busy. Of course, there were long days, packed schedules, and late nights. You'd whispered those words to yourself so often they became a mantra.

She's not ignoring you. She's just busy.

You told yourself that was the reason for the less frequent texts, the shorter calls, the way her replies came hours later now—sometimes not at all. It was work. It had to be. And you couldn't blame her for it. You wouldn’t blame her for it.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

It was getting old—lying awake in bed, phone clutched in your hand, fighting the pull of sleep just in case she'd call. Some nights, you didn't even know what you were waiting for. The sound of her voice? The comfort of knowing she was thinking of you? It never felt like enough.

And yet you kept waiting, night after night, feeling the ache of loneliness settle deeper into your chest.

You used to think you were strong, that you could handle the distance because it wasn't permanent, not really. But now, you weren't so sure. You felt yourself slipping, losing the ability to pretend everything was fine.

Maybe you'd lost it.

Maybe you were losing it—overanalyzing, clinging too tightly, wanting too much.

It wasn't like you could explain it to anyone else either. Nobody else saw what you did. Nobody else noticed how the little things were falling apart. So maybe you'd imagined it all.

And yet, lying there alone, staring at the darkened screen of your phone, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just work.

It was something else.

You felt awful for even thinking it. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn and your chest tighten with guilt. But sometimes, late at night when the silence felt too heavy, the whispers in your mind grew too loud to ignore.

What if Jenna had found someone else?

She'd been gone for months now, busy with filming, constantly surrounded by new faces, sharing spaces and moments with people you didn't know and couldn't see. You knew it wasn't fair to think that way. She was away for work, doing what she loved. But still, the idea crept in like a shadow you couldn't chase away.

What if she'd found someone who could give her the things you couldn't? Someone who could be there for her in ways you weren't able to, offering physical comfort while you were hundreds of miles away?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, an insult to everything you shared. Jenna wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that. But still, the ache of doubt lingered.

So instead, you turned the blame inward.

Maybe you were the problem.

Maybe this was all in your head, some twisted fabrication of a restless mind desperate for attention and reassurance. Maybe you were losing it—grasping at straws and creating problems where there weren't any. Or worse, maybe Jenna really was pulling away because of you.

Maybe you were too clingy, too needy, too pushy. Maybe she'd grown tired of the late-night calls, of your questions about her day, of you trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You'd lie awake in bed, turning those thoughts over and over until your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears you refused to let fall.

But you couldn't let yourself think that way. You couldn't let yourself spiral.

So you shoved it all down—every fear, every doubt, every whispered insecurity. You buried it beneath forced smiles and reassuring words, convincing yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You'd wait for her call, for her text, for any sign that things were still okay.

You had to believe it was just work.

Because the alternative would break you.

It made sense to keep it to yourself too. You avoided bringing it up—not to family, not to friends, and certainly not to Jenna. What would be the point? You'd perfected the art of acting like everything was fine, pasting on a smile that didn't falter even when your chest felt tight and your head felt heavy with unspoken worries.

Around others, you acted normal. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when the conversation called for it, and deflected any questions that veered too close to how you were really feeling. Because, in the end, nobody could read your eyes.

Nobody even tried.

Nobody but Jenna.

At least, that's how it used to be. Once, she'd been the only one who could see through the cracks in your facade. She could look at you and know instantly when something was wrong, even when no one else had a clue. She wouldn't even have to ask; she just knew. It was something you'd always loved about her—that quiet attentiveness, the way she cared so deeply and effortlessly.

But now, it didn't feel that way anymore.

There was no point in letting the cracks show, no point in spilling everything when it felt like she wouldn't notice, or worse, that she didn't want to. So you kept it buried, tucked away behind your smiles and your carefully constructed responses.

You wished it weren't true. You wished you could believe she still saw you the way she once did. That she still noticed the things no one else did. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, that belief became harder and harder to hold onto.

And you hated yourself for it. For doubting her. For doubting what you had. For doubting the one person who had once been your constant.

It wasn't like you had proof. Nothing you were feeling, none of the doubts gnawing at the back of your mind, were confirmed to be true. That's what made it worse—the uncertainty of it all. You were acting like everything was fine, smiling through conversations and going about your days like you weren't slowly unraveling inside, but the truth was, you didn't even know what you were holding back anymore.

You didn't know if Jenna really was pulling away, or if you were just imagining it. You didn't know if the long silences and the hurried calls were a sign of something deeper, or just a product of her busy schedule. You didn't know if it was you, if maybe you'd been too needy, too much, or if it was something entirely out of your control.

And yet, you were pretending like you were fine. Around family, friends, even Jenna during the few moments you got to speak to her, you tried your best to act normal. Because if you couldn't even be sure of how you felt—if you couldn't even figure out what was real and what wasn't—then how could you explain it to anyone else?

It was easier to push it down, to keep the doubts and the worries locked up where no one could see them. Easier to smile and nod and go through the motions than to let anyone in on how you were really feeling.

Because deep down, you knew there was no point. Nobody had ever tried to read you, not really. Nobody but Jenna.

And that was what scared you the most. Because if she wasn't noticing now, maybe she never would.

Nothing about this felt right. The distance between you and Jenna was like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every action, every word. Should you ask her about it? Should you speak up, lay everything bare, and risk hearing what you were most afraid of?

It felt like the logical choice, the brave thing to do, but even the thought of it made your chest tighten. What if she confirmed your worst fears? What if she told you it was over, or worse—that she hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

But keeping quiet didn't feel right either. Pretending you didn't feel the cracks widening between you, ignoring the ache of unanswered questions, felt like a betrayal to yourself. And yet, every time you tried to muster the courage to bring it up, something held you back.

The words would sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and unspoken, while you sat in silence. You didn't know what to do, caught in this limbo where every decision felt wrong.

And maybe that was why you kept spiraling—because the loneliness of it all was unbearable. Lying in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that this was normal, but the truth was that loneliness had a way of magnifying everything.

Every little doubt, every unanswered text, every distant call felt like another brick in the wall building between you.

You hated how much you overanalyzed everything, how your mind wouldn't let you rest. Every time your phone vibrated, you'd hold your breath, hoping it was her.

Every time it wasn't, your heart sank a little further. The quiet ate away at you, and the more time passed, the more you felt like you were the only one fighting to bridge the gap.

But forcing her wasn't an option either. It didn't feel right to demand more of her, to pull her into a conversation she didn't seem ready to have.

If you confronted her, if you said everything you'd been holding inside, what would happen? Would she tell you that you were right, that she'd already started to drift away?

Would she admit there was someone else, someone who could give her the kind of presence and attention you couldn't?

You couldn't bring yourself to think about it, let alone ask. If she wasn't yours in the way she used to be, you didn't want to know.

The idea of forcing her to stay, of begging her for something she wasn't willing to give freely, felt wrong in every sense. And yet, the thought of losing her entirely was unbearable.

So instead, you clung to the hope that time would fix it. If you didn't say anything, maybe things would fall back into place on their own. Maybe Jenna just needed space, time to navigate her busy schedule, and she'd eventually find her way back to you.

If you waited, if you were patient enough, maybe she'd realize what she had with you and want to hold onto it again.

But the waiting was agony. The longer you stayed silent, the more it felt like you were watching the clock, counting the minutes until something changed—or until it was too late. Time was supposed to heal things, wasn't it?

So why did it feel like the more time passed, the more everything unraveled?

There were moments when the thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome: What if Jenna was pulling away because she was leaving? It lingered at the edges of your mind, whispering possibilities you didn't want to believe.

The way her replies had become shorter, her texts less frequent, the way her calls felt rushed, like she couldn't wait to hang up. Was it just the stress of her work, or was she trying to create distance before breaking things off completely?

It felt absurd, cruel even, to think that way about her. But those doubts had a way of twisting everything, making every interaction feel like a confirmation of your worst fears.

Still, you clung to one fragile belief: it couldn't be that easy for her. Jenna wasn't the kind of person to let go without a fight. She wasn't the kind of person to give up on something she cared about.

And wasn't she still calling, even if less often? Wasn't she still texting, even if her words felt half-hearted? Surely, if she wanted to leave, she wouldn't be holding onto these threads of connection.

Surely, she couldn't just walk away from everything you'd built together. It wasn't that simple—was it?

It can't be that easy.

But even as you thought it, the uncertainty lingered. Because sometimes, it was easier to leave quietly, to let things fade without confrontation.

And what if that's what she was doing? What if she was pulling away so subtly that by the time you noticed, it would already be too late?

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone.

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone. The uncertainty clawed at you, feeding off the spaces between her words, the silences that stretched just a little too long.

Every time you hung up the phone, you'd sit there, staring at the darkened screen, trying to convince yourself that you were imagining things. That there was no way she could leave without a word.

But then she mentioned it. Casually, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything at all.

"We just wrapped the last scenes today. I'll be flying home soon," she said one night, her voice smooth and even. It was the sort of news that should've lit up your entire world, something that should've made you count the days until she walked through the door again.

But as much as you wanted to believe her, there was something in the way she said it that didn't sit right.

Her smile—soft, rehearsed—didn't reach her eyes. Her voice carried the right notes, hitting every expected beat, but none of it felt real. Not the way it used to.

She said she couldn't wait to see you, to hold you, to console you after being apart for so long, but it sounded like a line from one of her scripts—memorized, polished, and distant.

And the way her eyes darted away from the camera only added to the weight in your chest. You watched as her attention flickered to something else, something out of reach—a notification, a script, maybe just the corner of the room she was sitting in. It didn't matter what it was. What mattered was that it wasn't you.

She looked like she was about to disappear, like she couldn't wait to hang up.

The thought clung to you, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to believe her, to hold onto the version of Jenna who used to make you feel like the center of her universe. But that Jenna was slipping through your fingers, one short call at a time.

Still, you smiled through it. You nodded when she said she'd be home soon, when she promised things would feel better once she was back. You told her you couldn't wait, forcing enthusiasm into your voice even though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

What else could you do? Confront her? Push her to say something she might not even be ready to admit? You didn't know if you were prepared to hear the answer, especially if it confirmed the worst of your fears.

So you kept quiet. You waited, holding onto the hope that maybe this time, when she walked through the door, she'd prove you wrong. That she'd wrap you in her arms and make you feel like everything was okay again.

But that hope, thin as it was, didn't erase the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It didn't stop you from replaying her words over and over, searching for something that wasn't there.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince yourself otherwise.

If she was coming home, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe the woman who noticed every small detail, who could read your emotions before you even knew how to name them, was still there. You clung to that possibility, desperate for it to be true. It felt like your last thread of hope, fragile and fraying, but still holding on.

Unable to sit in your spiraling thoughts any longer, you booked a flight to her city. It wasn't a decision you made lightly—flights weren't cheap, and it wasn't like you had money to throw away.

But logic didn't matter anymore. You told yourself it was worth it, that seeing her in person, surprising her as she was about to board her flight home, would make her remember what you had. It was reckless, maybe even unnecessary, but you didn't care.

You told yourself it was about the surprise. Showing up unannounced at the airport, catching her before she stepped on the plane home—it felt romantic in a way that you hadn't felt in months. A grand gesture to prove, not only to Jenna but to yourself, that there was still something worth fighting for.

If she saw you there, waiting for her at the airport before she even boarded her flight home, maybe it would remind her of what you had. Maybe it would remind her of the love that had once felt so natural, so easy.

You weren't packing bags or planning to stay; this wasn't about extending your time together. It was about showing her that you still cared enough to make the effort. That even when everything felt wrong, you were willing to fight for what you had. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to remind her why she had once fought for you, too.

You spent the entire flight running through scenarios in your mind. She'd see you across the terminal, and maybe her face would light up the way it used to when you surprised her.

Or maybe she'd be confused, unsure why you'd gone to such lengths when she'd already promised to come home. And then there was the other possibility, the one you couldn't bear to entertain for long: what if she didn't seem happy to see you at all?

What if her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she asked, gently but firmly, why you'd bothered?

Still, you clung to the hope. It was all you had left.

The plan was simple: show up unannounced, surprise her at the airport, and make her feel the way you used to. You pictured her running into your arms, her words spilling over with apologies for how distant she'd been.

Maybe she'd tell you she'd missed you just as much as you'd missed her. Maybe this would be the moment everything changed, the turning point you'd been waiting for.

But beneath that hope, there was a voice you couldn't silence. It whispered doubts you didn't want to hear: What if she'd already let go? What if this trip wasn't the romantic gesture you'd built it up to be, but just another reminder of how far apart you'd drifted?

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of seeing her again. That was what mattered. She was coming home, and you were going to make sure that this time, it felt like coming home to you.

When you arrived at the airport, the rush of excitement coursing through you made your hands tremble.

The overhead announcements blended with the distant hum of engines and the chatter of travelers, but all of it felt like background noise. Your focus was sharp, your mind singular: find Jenna.

You moved through the terminal with purpose, your eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Each time someone walked by, your heart jumped, only to settle back when it wasn't her. It was almost overwhelming—the sheer volume of people, the endless possibilities of where she might be.

But you didn't let it deter you. You kept walking, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as you weaved between bustling families and travelers clutching their luggage. The excitement hadn't dulled; it thrummed in your chest with every step.

You were just excited to see her face.

There was something surreal about the thought of seeing Jenna in person again. For months, your interactions had been reduced to grainy screens and lagging calls. The details of her face—once so familiar—had started to feel distant, like a memory that wasn't quite sharp anymore. But now, you'd see her clearly. No pixelation, no delays, no guessing whether her tone matched the look in her eyes.

You found yourself craning your neck, peering through the crowd, your pulse quickening with each new face that wasn't hers. Every person walking by seemed to blur together, but you didn't care. The anticipation was too strong, too consuming.

She'd be here soon. You were sure of it. And when you saw her—when she looked at you and realized you'd come all this way just to surprise her—you felt certain everything would fall back into place. You'd wrap her in your arms, and she'd smile that smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. Everything would go back to normal.

Your excitement only grew as you kept moving, your gaze darting across the terminal. The weight of the past few months seemed lighter here, replaced by the spark of hope that seeing her again brought.

You were so ready to leave behind the grainy screens, the clipped conversations, and the gnawing loneliness. Soon, you'd have her here—right in front of you.

Every brunette you spotted sent a rush of anticipation through you, only for it to fade as you realized it wasn't her. But the thought of seeing her in person kept you moving, your steps light despite the weight of everything you'd been carrying inside.

Then, you saw her.

For a split second, you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. She was just ahead, standing near one of the boarding gates, her familiar figure unmistakable even from this distance. Your heart swelled with relief and excitement, your hand twitching at your side as if it already itched to reach out to her. She was right there, and everything you'd been holding onto—the doubts, the fears—seemed to melt away.

But the joy that had begun to bloom in your chest withered almost instantly.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone standing next to her—a blonde, their features partially obscured by the way they were leaning close to Jenna. The scene in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach, your body freezing as the sight registered.

It wasn't just the proximity of their bodies; it was the way they seemed so at ease with one another. Jenna's laughter rang out, soft and warm, a sound you hadn't heard in weeks.

You took a shaky step closer, trying to convince yourself that there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a colleague, a friend—someone who worked with her.

It had to be.

But the way Jenna tilted her head toward the person, her gaze soft and unguarded, made it impossible to ignore the intimacy between them.

Your breath caught when she reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of blonde hair away from the other person's face. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, and it felt like someone had grabbed your chest and squeezed. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even as your stomach churned with a sickening mix of disbelief and hurt.

She hadn't looked at you like that in months. Maybe longer.

The thought hit you before you could stop it, an unwelcome truth that only deepened the ache spreading through your chest. You tried to rationalize it—tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking, that you didn't know the full story—but the way they leaned toward each other, the way Jenna's lips curled into a smile that felt entirely too genuine, shattered every excuse you could muster.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, the bustling crowd around you fading into the background. Your fingers clenched at your sides, the hope you'd clung to so tightly now slipping through your grasp like sand.

The excitement that had carried you here dissolved, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread through your entire body.

You didn't know who the blonde was, couldn't make out their features fully, but it didn't matter.

All you could see was the way Jenna looked at them—the way she leaned in to whisper something, her expression so open and free. It was a look that once belonged to you, and now, it felt like a memory you could barely hold onto.

Your mind raced, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Part of you wanted to march up to her, to demand answers, to ask her why she hadn't looked at you like that in so long. But another part of you—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew you wouldn't.

Because what if the answer was exactly what you feared?

So, you stayed where you were, your chest tightening with every second that passed. The Jenna you'd come here to surprise, the one you'd hoped to reconnect with, felt farther away than ever—even though she was standing just a few feet in front of you.

You had wanted so badly to see her face, to feel like everything could be okay again. But now, as the scene played out before you, all you could think about was how foolish you'd been to hope.

You couldn't look away, no matter how much it hurt. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion—every crack and splinter dragging out the inevitable.

Jenna didn't even glance around the terminal, didn't seem to notice anyone but the blonde in front of her. Her focus was entirely on them, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

You tried to remind yourself that she couldn't have been looking for you—there was no reason for her to. She didn't know you were here, waiting, desperate to surprise her. Still, it didn't dull the sting. It didn't stop the ache in your chest as you watched her laugh, completely unaware of your presence. She looked so... comfortable. So at ease. She didn't even flinch when someone brushed past her shoulder, her attention glued to the person in front of her.

You felt rooted to the spot, your legs heavy and unwilling to move. All you could do was watch it unfold—the way her smile seemed unguarded, the way her body tilted slightly toward theirs as though pulled by an invisible string. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear what they were saying; their body language spoke louder than words ever could.

You wanted to believe that you were overreacting, that there was some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to convince yourself. Jenna didn't look like someone who was holding back. She didn't look like someone who was keeping anyone at arm's length.

And it hit you—how easy it all seemed for her.

Maybe leaving you really had been that easy for her.

The thought clawed at your insides, tearing through the fragile hope you'd carried with you. You'd thought it wouldn't be simple for her to drift away, that the bond you shared was too strong to break so easily. You'd convinced yourself that, deep down, she'd be struggling as much as you were, that her distance was temporary, that she still cared.

But now? Watching her like this, so at ease, so unbothered, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Maybe it really hadn't been hard for her to let go. Maybe she'd been letting go for a long time—so slowly, so quietly, that you hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Your chest tightened as the realization sunk in. You'd spent weeks, months, holding on to the hope that she would come back to you, that the distance between you wasn't as wide as it felt. And yet, here she was, looking happier and more present than you'd seen her in months—just not with you.

You blinked rapidly, your throat burning as you fought the urge to cry. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Seeing her again, being here, was supposed to remind you why you'd fought so hard to hold on. Instead, it was like a door being slammed shut in your face, a reminder of just how far apart you'd grown.

The irony wasn't lost on you: she was finally here, right in front of you, but it felt like you'd already lost her a long time ago.

You stood frozen, watching Jenna and the girl, their conversation seeming so effortless, so natural.

Their laughter was soft, shared like a secret, and it pulled them closer. You didn't need to hear what they were saying to know where it was heading.

The way Jenna leaned in just slightly, her head tilting toward the blonde, was enough to make your stomach drop.

You'd waited so long for this moment—for Jenna to come home, for her to hold you again, to console you with promises that everything was going to be okay. But as you watched her now, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not with you.

Your chest felt heavy, a knot tightening in your throat as you took a shaky step back, then another.

The world around you blurred, but it wasn't until you felt the wet streak on your cheek that you realized you were crying. The tears came slow and small, a quiet betrayal of everything you'd tried so hard to hold in.

You couldn't watch anymore. You couldn't stay there, hoping for something that had already slipped through your fingers. Without a second thought, you turned and started walking, weaving through the crowd with no real direction, just an aching need to get away.

You left before Jenna could see you, before she could ever know you were there.

And as you disappeared into the throng of travelers, you felt the weight of it—the emptiness, the quiet finality of leaving without a trace.

[mamayura]

Okay but what's crazy is that the episode does subtly reveal that Adrien did keep it a secret from Marinette that he's more than silent jogging buddies with Sublime

In the beginning, Marinette says that when she asked Adrien if he and Sublime talk when they go running he always says "no". This is factually correct as we find out in the end through Sublime:

But there is obviously something not adding up here. Sublime literally says "Outside of running, of course Adrien and I talk". They just arent talking in any of their morning runs because Sublime in particular is doing it as serious training. So no talking because that would impact their breathing, but outside of that? Well, yeah, duh.

And that makes sense

Adrien and Sublime are in the same ancient Greek class, of course they would talk. I'm gonna go with the assumption that this is why Sublime started running by his side, because they vaguely knew each other from Greek class and when they crossed each others running paths one morning they were familiar enough to just run together in silence

Look, I- I dont know how to put this more elegantly, so I'll rip off the bandaid. The vibes I'm getting from this episode are that Adrien was more than cool with not talking anyway because he deliberately keep his friendship with Sublime a secret from Marinette because he knew Marinette would be weird about it and that made him uncomfortable.

He knows his girlfriend and she's peanut-butter-and-jealous.

And the thing is, as much as this certainly is a complicated topic with a lot of factors to consider for both sides, the way the episode had Marinette go about all this...

... the episode proved him RIGHT. He was right to be too uncomfortable with letting Marinette know about being friends with Sublime. She merely found out that they were running together in silence and proceeded to not only keep watching them each morning and taking photos, Marinette even proceeded to stalk the hell out Sublime:

No, this isnt normal. This isnt a "quirky girlfriend" thing to do, or "funny haha". Its one of the reason why Adrien didnt feel comfortable letting her know.

And, I mean, yeah. I can't blame him for it, can I? :I

Later on, Sublime is very quick to piece together that the girl hiding behind them is Adrien's girlfriend. Not the thing I would immediately go with, unless of course Adrien did already vaguely mention having a girlfriend to Sublime at one point. Then yes, her coming to this conclusion after Marinette followed her all day makes a lot more sense. Even if those are not.. nice implications. The episode does go on playing it straight at first that Marinette is the weird and a bit alarming girlfriend.

Look, you can pretty this up if you like, but for me, Adrien is clearly a solid bit uncomfortable and very apologetic here to Sublime because of Marinette's behavior. Sublime too is being nice about it to a degree you shouldnt take for granted. She would have had been perfectly justified in saying something else entirely. Adrien is trying to be a good boyfriend about this, but Marinette is out here proving him right in having struggled with wanting her to know about Sublime. Marinette has been following her around all day, Sublime noticed, and Adrien is doing good faith damage control here by telling Sublime that Marinette has good intentions and only wants to be her friend.

Something, though, that the episode clarified 3 times wasnt really the case:

It is so weird that at the core of the problem for both sides of Adrinette WAS Marinette being peanut-butter-and-jealous.

Marinette did NOT try to befriend Sublime out of some pure-hearted desire to know her. She did so because she feared that Adrien could end up not loving her anymore if she doesnt gain some control over the Sublime situation real quick

And Adrien DID keep his friendship with Sublime a secret from Marinette because, well, was he wrong?

And thats the thing. The episode just DROPS this in favor of saying that Marinette only had these pure-hearted intentions to know her when that isnt true. The episode proved Adrien alarmingly RIGHT in his gut feeling to keep Sublime a secret from Marinette, they just-

They just didnt let him know about any of it as if that makes it any less true. I would understand it if this episode had been entirely about tackling this issue for good. Adrien not being wrong for feeling uncomfortable with letting Marinette know about any new female friends and then Adrien gets proven right, but the situation is saved by Marinette's secondary desire of befriending Sublime.

Sure, not the plot of my choice, but I would GET IT because it would actually cover the given problem. Here it is... they didnt do it. Adrien was proven right, Marinette did everything wrong to Sublime that was possible and ended up breaking her prosthetic and ruined the sponsorship with a combo of Marinette's and Ladybug's harmful inconsideration.

Marinette did exactly what Adrien was afraid of... and they just DON'T resolve the initial Adrinette core of this issue. It's still ongoing. Marinette didnt even get to react in the end to finding out that Adrien did keep her in the dark about talking to Sublime:

I guess for now the explanation for that will be that Adrinette switched positions in this for once and now it's Marinette who isnt questioning it enough that Adrien only said the truth to her going by the technicality of "She only ask him if they talk while running".

Obviously, this is not how it works. He kept her in the dark. And whether he was right to doing so or not isnt important for the feeling I'm getting that this is just the beginning of a streak of similar problems like this. The postponed resolution to this will happen at a later point, and knowing Miraculous, they'll do it after it escalates to hell.

We already saw it in "Illustrhater" and the synopsis for "Werepapas" for example also sounds like Marinette will not stop here being a questionable girlfriend

I just dont understand why they would keep on DOING that?

[blubunz]

JUST TONIGHT

— bodyguard! leon s. kennedy x f! model! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: porn with plot, maybe slowburn? slight slowburn, pet names, fingering, masturbation.

A/N: a real sucker for this AU i just want myself a man like this tbh. anyways I write this when I can't sleep even though I clearly have to wake up early tomorrow. (Okay it's afternoon now um WHY IS THIS SO LONG😭 I DID NOT EXPECT IT TO BE LONG)

Throughout your career, you weren't in need for a strong, brooding figure to protect yourself, you weren't fond of having anyone watching over you — it made you feel like you're just a weak girl, a damsel in distress who always needs a knight by her side.

And you are, you need someone to be by your side and protecting you from harm. Sometimes you do reckless things, and not to mention those times where you made stupid decisions that almost cost you your life if not for Lady Luck. But Lady Luck can't stay with you forever, and you don't want to be living on edge so constantly. It makes you look like a madman and, most of all, losing sleep, bad schedule and then it escalated to affecting your career and hard work.

And that's why he's here.

You've heard of him before, not on the news, but through whispers and rumors. Of all the things you've heard from them, you're surprised how Leon isn't on the news as much, maybe he's laying low, or maybe he's working for the government, all private and redacted matters.

So then, how exactly did you manage to hire him?

For one, you're curious enough to search him up. His name isn't hard to find, and you admit he looks good, perfect for modeling. The problem is that he hardly uses social media. If he does, then maybe he goes by some other names, or he doesn't post a lot. You found out about Claire Redfield though, at first, she doesn't leave much impression to you, but the pictures she posted have that same familiar face, albeit Leon is looking like a grumpy uncle who would give bad advice to his nieces in each photo.

Once you've decided that it was enough to go stalking people's profiles, you go and make a call using your fame and broad connections in and out of your industry. You got his number in your contact within two days, and your hands are shaking as you try to call him.

It's not that you're scared of socializing, it's just that you're hesitant of making this decision, of finally have someone to protect your life, of admitting that you seek help and reassurance.

But, the possibilities of death and dark thoughts fill your mind quickly enough, and you convince yourself you need this, for your own sake.

“Hello?”

“Is this... Leon Kennedy?”

It's been a month since Leon's been here. Truth be told, he doesn't care much about how people are falling in love with you, mainly just your looks and charisma. He's heard of you many times, so many times, you keep appearing on magazines, billboards, the news, advertisements and more. God, there was this one prime time of your life where your face was practically everywhere! Not that you're no longer famous, but that was the time where your life was endangered the most by how crazy your fans were — another reason why Leon is here.

Upon interacting with you during your own time, Leon found out you're not like how the media portrays you to be. He isn't a stranger to it, seeing famous people and important figures always having to smile and maintain a certain persona for the sake of the community. Sure, you have that bit of yourself in it, but when he escorts you hone, it's when he sees your fatigue.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, putting your bag on the coffee table as the TV is playing some shows for white noise, you're scared of the quietness — having thoughts that might hurt yourself. Leon closes the door and locks it safely, carrying your bag up to your room.

He doesn't need to do that, Leon's aware his job is to protect your life, not servicing you like a maid ir servant, but he keeps doing so, helping you with the small things like carrying your belonging, to making meals for you.

“You can't sleep now.” Leon sighs, seeing you lying on the couch, eyes closing. He doesn't want to startle you, so he picks you up and carries you into your bedroom, seating you by the make up table.

This is a change of pace for Leon, everything he does has to be careful for you. No longer picking up guns to shoot bio organism weapons or anything of the sort, instead he's now attending to a young model. Two different lives, and Leon finds himself hard to adjust, remembering the times you joke about him acting awkward sometimes when you tried to talk to him normally.

Your name comes out of his lips, sounding sweet and calm. And your eyes open, lazily rubbing off your make up while Leon prepares the bath for you.

“You don't have to do that.” You say once he steps out again, smelling a bit of the bath bomb he put in.

“I know. But, protecting your life is my job, and caring for your bare minimum needs is included.” He explains, and you just nod, not quite sure if they're connected in your mind.

Still, you let him undress you. Your cheeks flush at the way his fingers hook under your top to remove it, oh the slight contact when his hand brushes over your tits or ass. And sometimes you find it crazy how it's you that's the one being attracted to someone, and not Leon, who never advances himself on you, he doesn't even react when seeing your body, you find it weird, but intriguing too when your looks being the most important aspect of your industry, you've gotten used to the attention and the reactions.

In reality, Leon is still human, he admits your body is attractive, he wishes to lay his hands on your body with a more intimate intent, with more sensuality rather than just helping you with undressing or carrying you, his eyes linger on your skin, seeing that your body isn't that perfect as they claim to be, and he imagines himself kissing your flaws, to be the only one seeing your most intimate areas. But he's worked long enough not to let his feelings get involved, he can't bare it not after—

“You can... let me go.” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and Leon lets you go, he didn't even notice he was holding you still, zoning out and staring at the back of your neck.

“Right, sorry.” He clears his voice a little, sitting by your bed to wait for you to finish shower. He brushes a hand through his hair, finding himself longing for some alcohol to drown out this feeling. And that's also a problem. You've said you don't like the smell that lingers when he drinks, making excuses on how it affects your own scent, and people won't find you as attractive. He just stops drinking when he knows he'd have to see you later, not quitting for good, just pausing to prioritize his job — and in within case, his job means you.

Stepping in the shower, you can't help but fantasize about Leon, you can't believe that you fell for him first, and now you're imagining his hand cupping your mound, squeezing you and rubbing your clit. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed with clear displeasure on your face — your fingers aren't enough, you need a hand big like Leon's, to feel those rough pads of skin trailing down your body.

Grumbling in frustration, you go ahead and finish showering.

Leon finishes checking over the securities and ensuring that no one was lurking near your home, he get back to the living room only to see you in your robe, making some tea for yourself.

“Tea?” You ask, passing him the cup before he could say anything.

“Thanks.” He swallows, eyes flickering to your form hidden under the thin silk robe painted by your favorite color, somehow seeing your body like this is much more arousing than when you strip down naked, it teases his desire, and it leaves him chasing that tantalizing image. You catch his lingering gaze, and your eyes twinkle with a hopeful glea. Maybe he likes you too? Even if he's attracted to your looks, you can work your way with making him love you fully. After all, he's the only one who sees you in your most vulnerable moments. He's special, and you let him know of that privilege.

You head off to your room, with him following behind. Leon helps you with closing the curtains and removing your robe, palms firmly rubbing your shoulders. You shiver, letting the garment pool at your feet before seating on your bed in just your lingerie.

Leon tucks you in, and every time he does things like this, he gives you that flutter in your stomach, god, it's always the little things that get to you.

“Goodnight—”

“Leon, wait.” You reach up, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, and he looks at you with an unchanged expression.

“Yes?”

“Um...” You hesitate, will Leon find this weird? No, no, maybe you can make an excuse, saying that you're too paranoid. “Can you... stay in my room? Just tonight?”

Leon nods without hesitation or any questions. He sits by the chair near your makeup table and plans to just read something to pass the time.

“No, not there.” You say, your voice sounding abrupt as you try your best not to appear so needy. But you can't. You're just naturally so. “In my bed, please?”

Leon bites the inside of his cheeks to hold back his smile, you sound so cute with the little "please" as a cherry on top. He complies, sitting at the edge of your bed, a hand on your ankle.

“Is this good enough for you, princess?” He smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Or do you want me to hold you close, hm? Protect you from the monsters, yeah?”

“That... That wouldn't be a bother.” You murmur, and Leon takes it to heart, taking off his jacket and crawling up to your side. Leon gets you on his lap, pushing your head against his shoulder.

“Better?” He asks, voice muffled from his lips pressed against your hair, smelling your shampoo.

You nod, hiding your flustered face in Leon's shoulder, that elicits a laugh from him and he brushes your hair. He rubs your back soothingly, feeling your body relaxes under his grip.

Leon traces his hand down to your lower back, kneeding your soft buttocks. You take a sharp inhale, subtly pushing up against his palm.

His eyebrow raises, smirking against your hair before rubbing your thighs, and you spread your legs open for him. Leon doesn't say anything and just watches your reaction. He can feel you breathing down his neck. Your heart picks up its pace in excitement.

“Do you like this?” He keeps the pace slow, rubbing up to the waistband of your panties.

“Mhm...” You nod.

“Want more?”

“Mhm.” You nod again.

He hooks his finger under the band, and pulls the garment down, enough to let his hand slide in, brushing just over the top near your aching clit.

The moment his middle finger presses against your bud, you moan, hips twitching against his palm.

“Have you been dreaming about this?” Leon asks, and you only whimper in response. His finger moves down, collecting your juices and pulling out, tasting your essence on his finger.

“Me too.” Leon admits, and he shoves his hand back to your cunt, pushing a finger through your entrance.

“I've been wanting this too. Even more, wanna feel this tight cunt around my dick instead.” He groans, the way your walls tighten around his finger is enough to make his cock leaking pre-cum. “Fuck— you're so tight already, hm? I bet you cum with just my fingers.”

You mewl, hips rutting against his palm, and Leon pushes another finger in, spreading your pussy open so that you can fit his cock.

“Oh, god, Leonnnnn!” Your eyes roll up as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices drooling down his hand. “Mngh, f-fuck—”

“Good girl.” Leon whispers, kissing down your neck whilst your body trembles, shaking high in pleasure. “That's it.”

His thumb rubbing harshly against your clit, making your whines higher and higher, you sound so needy and desperate, an side of you that you don't want anyone to see — anyone but Leon.

Leon grunts, feeling your juices dampening his pants, right against his bulge. His cock throbbing in his pants, just aching to pound that tight pussy of yours. But he puts you first, making you cum and high in ecstasy.

“Mm, gonna cum, baby?” He coos, feeling your cunt clamping down his fingers. “Cum, baby, be a good girl and cum f' me.” He increases the pace and intensity of his thrusts, dreaming of them being his cock instead.

You moan loudly as you squirt against his palm, and your knees buckle, legs shaking and body trembling as you collapse on his body.

“Gooood girl.” Leon kisses your forehead, rubbing your back with a free hand while he sucks off your juices from his fingers. “Now, ready for the main event?”

You feel his cock twitches under you, and you can feel yourself heating up again. You gulp, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his bulge.

“Yeah.”

[polarimiufy]

i love neglected reader batfam aus but what if reader was growing up in the Wayne Manor not completely ignored by everyone. instead, they showed their love in little ways.

your family members were often busy. you were not completely oblivious to their nightly activities. often times, you had to attend a gala in your dad's place while he was prowling the night streets in Gotham wearing a bat costume. though, he tried not to make it as a habit or people will notice.

you love your family, really. there was no hesitation on your part. you were not related to Bruce Wayne by blood, like Damian, but you loved him like he was your real father. you just hoped that he would take care of himself more often and not spend so much time in the batcave. not to mention everyone was in on the secret. Dick was already off to Blüdhaven. Jason rarely came to the manor, and preferred to spend time in Crime Alley. Tim, now finally entering college, was busier than ever. Damian was also busy with school and being Robin.

your only hope was Alfred but even he can't be at many places at one time. so, you feel dejected. the manor felt so empty now that they were absent.

and your family noticed this. of course they did. so, they decided to show signs that they care.

Dick can't be at the manor all the time, so he often texted you messages. he sent you good morning texts, asking how you were doing and leaving reminders like "don't skip breakfast!" and "don't sleep too late, you don't want to be like Tim :)"

one of the few rare days when Jason did go to the manor, he took you riding around the city with his bike, going to the bookstore and grabbing lunch at that restaurant you liked. before he left, he would ruffle your hair and tell you "don't bring trouble" to which you scoffed because hello? look at you? and asked you if he needed to threaten someone, which was unnecessary. you were tempted.

as for Tim, since you both were almost the same age, you often spend time talking about the woes of living a college life. "ugh, Tim. i can't believe this but one of my groupmates hasn't answered my texts yet- the deadline is TOMORROW!" and cue the venting session. Tim always listened to your problems. he felt that sometimes you don't need a solution, you just need a good listener.

and Damian, given his upbringing, he wasn't good at expressing things like affection. he found you crying one time, stressed from doing assignments. it only took him one look at you before he grabbed his sketchbook and his art supplies then sitting next to you and started drawing. the sound of his pencil moving on the paper soothed your mind. you didn't need words to express yourself. just by being side by side, eased you both.

Alfred often made tea and cookies for you when you immersed yourself with work. he knew about your sweet tooth, and he liked to take advantage of it.

while Bruce was often absent from your life before, he tried to involve himself more. breakfast and dinner was spent with him asking about you. if you were doing okay, if someone was bothering you, if he had to bribe them to leave you alone, etc.

your family never said it out loud, but you knew.

you were loved.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 2

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky rushed home after work that day.  The presentation had gone well, securing his bonus, but had run over the time he’d originally planned.  He had texted Y/N, but never got a response.  He got home as fast as he could, walking into the kitchen to find it empty.  Fuck, missed dinner, he thought, chastising himself as he unloaded his things and cleaned them.  He walked toward the sound of the kids’ voices in the front room.  They were all spread out on the floor doing homework, spouting off endless questions to Y/N, who was trying her best to help them while also mediating between Winnie and Becca, which seemed like a constant these days.

“Mama she won’t stop brushing her eraser shavings on my paper!” Winnie whined, trying to shove the eraser bits back toward Becca.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Becca whined back.  “Not everything I do is to spite you.  Maybe if you wouldn’t sit so close to me they wouldn’t land on your stuff!”

“Guys, please,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Hello my loves,” Bucky called out, trying to distract them.

The kids all looked up at him with smiles on their faces, quickly getting up and giving him hugs and greetings before sitting back down.  Bucky moved over and around them to Y/N, kneeling down next to her.  She gave him a small smile in greeting.  “How did your presentation go?” she asked quietly.

“We got it,” he replied, smiling at her.  

“Congratulations,” Y/N’s smile widened.

It was one of the few real smiles he’d gotten from her in a while, and it made his heart soar.  Before he could say anything else the girls were bickering again, and James started firing off questions.

“Quit with the eraser!  Geez, do you just not get it so you keep having to restart?  How stupid can you be?”

“Mama, did you sign that form for the field trip yet?”

“I’m not the stupid one, you are!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“And I have that bake sale coming up, did you sign up for cupcakes?  Or muffins?  Your cookies last year were good.  Oh and my soccer uniform is all grassy, did you wash it yet?”

Y/N shut her eyes tight, trying to breath through the mounting noise.

“Guys,” Bucky said in a warning tone.

“Dad she’s being so annoying.  Why can’t you just leave me alone?  This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have plenty of friends.  You wouldn’t know anything about that because all the friends you have are just guys trying to date you.  How does it feel knowing that they don’t actually care about you, just what they can get from you?”

“At least I can get a date.”

“Mama, what does she mean what they can get from her?”

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” Y/N screamed, standing up fast and pushing away from them all, covering her ears.  “SHUT UP!  ALL OF YOU!  JESUS CHRIST!”  They all froze, staring at her in shock.  “No, James, I haven’t done any of that yet.  It will get done eventually.  As for you two,” she pointed at the girls.  “I know you’re both in a very weird stage of teen years right now, but if I hear one more mean thing said between the two of you I will ground you both for the rest of the school year, do you hear me?”  They both nodded quickly.  “I cannot stand this anymore.  This constant bickering, the noise, the incessant leaning on me for every little thing.  I’m so sick of the same thing day in and day out!  I’m done!”

Bucky stared at her in shock.  She had yelled at the kids before during rough moments, but this was different.  Y/N looked at them all with a deep look of disgust.  “I love you all very much.  But this is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not put up with it anymore.  I deserve better than this endless, repetitive, tedious bullshit!  Don’t I?”  Bucky stood up and walked over to her.  She had started crying as she spoke, and as he cupped her face in his hands she looked up at him, her eyes pleading and exhausted.  “Don’t I?” she cried.

“Yes, you do,” Bucky whispered, nodding as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her forehead.  “Just breathe, pretty mama.  Breathe.”

Y/N sputtered, her hands in fists at her sides as she closed her eyes.  She let herself relax against him for a moment, but just as suddenly as it started she shook her head again and pulled out of his grasp, sniffing hard.  “I…I’m fine, I just–” she glanced at them all, her face twisting into a look of horror.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, then turned and ran up the stairs.

Bucky watched her run, sighing when he heard their bedroom door shut loudly.  He turned to look at the kids, each of them with a look of shock and sadness on their faces.  “It’s gonna be okay, guys,” he said quietly, sitting down on the floor with them again.  “Mama just needs some time.  But she’s right,” he said, looking down at his hands then at Becca.  “Becca, if what Winnie’s saying is true, you need to find better friends.  Boys, especially at this age, aren’t worth it.”  She frowned and looked down.  “Winnie, you need to let Becca have her time away from you.  Just because you’re both close in age and go to the same school doesn’t mean you’re both the same.  She is her own person, and you are your own person.  Does that make sense?”  Winnie’s lips tightened, but she nodded.  “James, I know you mean well, but asking a lot of questions all at once is very overwhelming for Mama, and as much as she is willing to help you, she needs a breather just like everyone else.  Got it?”  James nodded sadly.  “As for all three of you, you’re old enough now, and your mom and I have taught you enough by now, to be able to handle yourselves more.  That means from now on you’re responsible for knowing your schedules, taking care of yourselves with your personal hygiene, cleaning up after yourselves, and as of now you’ll be responsible for getting your lunches for school ready, preparing your own breakfasts, and making sure you’re out the door on time for the bus.  Also, laundry,” he said, glancing at James for emphasis.  “Your clothes, your problem.  Do you all understand?”

They all nodded solemnly.  “Good.  We are going to have to work together to take the brunt of the work off of Mama.  She’s done too much for all of us for too long.  Which makes her an amazing mother and wife–” he stopped, nearly getting choked up on his words, before quickly clearing his throat.  “But it’s too much for just one person to handle.  We are a family, and family loves and supports each other, right?”  They all nodded again.  “Okay.  Are you all done with your homework enough for tomorrow?”  

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“Great.  Then go get ready for bed,” Bucky said.  “Good night, my spawn.”

They all giggled and gave him goodnight farewells and hugs, gathering their things and putting them away before trudging up the stairs to get ready for bed.  Bucky sighed as he stood up again, stretching before looking around the main floor of the house.  It was mostly pretty clean, so he got to work cleaning up the last few little messes and things he could see that needed to be done, then ate the leftovers from dinner.  

When he was finished the kids had all settled down in bed, and he tucked them each in before heading to his bedroom.  Bucky hesitated at the door, unsure of how to broach what had happened.  He knocked lightly, waiting to hear anything, but after a moment of silence he slowly opened the door.  He peered in and found Y/N already in bed, her soft snores the only sound in the room.  Bucky walked in and closed the door quietly, walking over to her side of the bed and kneeling down.  She was already in her pajamas, and judging from her makeup free face and the puffiness of her eyes, she had cried as she got ready for bed and up until she fell asleep.  Bucky’s heart broke for her.  He and the kids had been leaning on her for everything for so long.  They had taken advantage of her.  She had been suffering silently because she felt like she could only depend on herself to get things done.  He reached up and gently wiped away the last bits of tears that were still wet on her face, then leaned forward and kissed her nose.  “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  I love you.”  

Y/N squirmed a little in her sleep at his touch, but didn’t wake, letting out a short hum as she readjusted herself.  Bucky smiled at her, fixing the blanket around her and tucking her in before getting ready for bed.

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat

[whenlifegivesticks-blog]

The long overdue, extremely lengthy Heroes in Crisis Review. Put on your reading glasses because this is long. I just want to give a little summary, The entire comic is the definition of disrespecting existing characters as well as real people and their problems. I seen better writing from 13 year old wattpad kids who are just getting started on their writing journey. It's hard for me to believe professional writers wrote this. Now onto the detailed review.

Brain rot enjoyment meter (how much I enjoyed it without actually analyzing it) : 7/10

Actual rating: 3/10

I'll go on with the analysis part by part.

first of all characters: Half of them are out of character and the other half are random characters that dc hasn't used in over a decade, we don't care about. Only to kill them off and it has no impact whatsoever as we don't know who these people are plus bunch of one panel cameos of characters for absolute no reason and adds absolutely nothing to the actual plot or story. For example, Red Devil, Tattooed man, Hotspot (i later recognized him from teen titans). I am pretty young person so I absolutely did not know half the characters. And they didn't introduce or reintroduce in this case any of these characters. We barely know what their issues are or why they are at sanctuary.

All characters are out of character or completely dumbed down. Wally's entire character is massacred and even by the end I barely understood what was up with him. I'll expand on this later.

Batgirl, Barbara was just frustrating and felt really empty. Like she was just there and really didn't seem to add anything to the story. At least as a character she doesn't. She felt more like a plot device.

Batman was just ??? but he wasn't that bad but suffers from same thing as Babs. Felt like he was just there as a plot device and character wise he added nothing whatsoever. We don't even see him investigating properly.

superman was downright foul And made no sense. Ok so you're working on the investigation with Diana and Bruce, so what's with the tension and secrecy??? Like Clark is that really you?

and louis lane was just evil, will be explained later.

Hal Jordan made one of the one panel appearances and that one panel was enough to show that the writer knew absolutely nothing about him. I been reading old GL comics and that one panel was just... wow.

the bat kids made cameos and they just copy pasted dialogue for them with little differences.

The comic is only 9 issues and is short so it just doesn't really show off a lot of personality from characters that aren't Harley or booster. And even then these two were just... not very satisfactory.

Second of all, plot: Made absolutely no sense whatsoever, I read the ending twice and still don't know what happened or what's the message.

obvious spoilers:

So, in a heroes mental institute called sanctuary, everyone was found dead other than Harley Quinn and booster gold. Booster saw Harley kill everyone. Harley saw booster kill everyone. So its a murder mystery.

Except the comic is all over the place and does not give any needed or required context so it doesn't really feel anything. Like it immediately pulls you in with no context whatsoever, with characters you aren't allowed to build a connection with.

There's this ridiculous segment where Harley Quinn defeats the trinity like what???? Harley Quinn defeating superman , wonder woman and batman is impossible. Ya telling me Harley is stronger than darksied??? Better plot armor than batman...

and superman comments saying how Harley is just as good as Bruce... I call BS. The writers really trynna convince us Harley is stronger than batman.

like what?

she went toe to toe with booster gold and I'm like??? even with half his powers, booster gold wipes the floor with Harley.

And here's the thing, Barry Allen thinks booster killed everyone. Ya telling me he chose to believe Harley Quinn a known dangerous criminal over booster gold?? Booster gold isn't even a anti hero. he doesn't kill. Plus someone pointed out to me Booster probably experienced all this after he watched a version of batman kill himself in front of Booster. Which explains Booster talking about how he sees the blood on his visor despite nothing being there.

Barbara helps Harley and takes down blue beetle (whose helping booster) like even she chose the psycho Harley to protect over booster??

what they smoking!

Now if you take actual culprit. it was wally. Now the story shows a pretty okish segment of wally's downward spiral to a mental breakdown. Except it still was more tell than show. And the plot made no sense.

Wally had a mental breakdown because he believed everyone at sanctuary was faking their mental illness to make him feel better. That he alone was the crazy one. So he "hacked" the system in place and found recordings for everyone's sessions and lost control of his powers accidentally killing everyone.

Ok I can believe he accidentally killed everyone. He was insane and not in the right mind.

but then the writers make him make a plan to frame Harley and booster so he can have time to release all the footage he found as a way to do good for the world what??? people anonymous confidential therapy sessions to louis lane as a way to do good in exchange for his murders and framing others. He also time traveled to kill himself and get a body??

Wally has a segment where everyone tells him he's hope or something. Plus him reliving his Titan days. Him using the stupid mask. But I can't make a sense of it. Because mentally ill people are more likely to hurt themselves than others. The comic perpetuates harmful stereotypes even if Wally killed by accident.

worst part is the writer make it a good thing showing bunch of cameo characters who came to therapy because they realized they weren't alone due to the released recordings???

so Wally was insane enough to lose control and kill and yet still manage to make a supervillain ass plan to frame and kill himself. the story's point is lost in this nonsense.

Plus Clark didn't tell Bruce or Diana about louis having the recordings and only told them after releasing them to the public. What happened to patient confidentiality??? Do superheroes not have rights? Clark went on a spiel about being a reporter- So being a reporter means stomping other peoples rights and outing their private info. The time travel nonsense didn't make sense even with my drawn diagrams to make sense of it. So I'm just left confused. The conclusion is this vague shit where its ok to get help and hope something.

third thing the premise: The premise is mental health institute yet, the writer shown they know nothing about mental health Sanctuary isn't run by people. its run by an AI. The place has chambers where heroes can go in and make anything they want. Any scenario. Now imagine mentally ill people with no guidance and just using the chambers for whatever they want. Wally was using it to relive his dead family in fantasy lala land. Lagoon boy was reliving his ptsd again and again and again Gnarrk was the only one who it helped and that's because he wasn't mentally ill in the way wally or lagoon were. He was just lost and used it as a guidance because he already knew his own issues. Yet dc tries to frame the chambers as a helpful thing and heroes are getting better You cant expect me to believe that after watching wally ignore the AI's questions and pretend has back with his family in a fantasy. The comic is an insult to mental health.

Again, we don't know why 90% of the heroes are at sanctuary. They are just killed off after one appearance. Plus, Jason canonically never went to therapy. Roy was killed off for shock factor. Green lantern apparently doesn't know what "WILL" is... Harley Quinn's word is taken more than Boosters-

I have so many more things I could say but if I have to list everything wrong in this comic this review would be longer than my future. I DO NOT recommend this comic. It's trash and save your sanity. Not even the retcon of this comic salvaged it. Over all, The only good thing in this was Harley and booster interactions because it was funny. That's it.

[imagitory]

Not to call anyone out because everyone's entitled to their opinion and I don't want anyone getting attacked for theirs...but I saw a pro-Calypso post on an Epic the Musical community I can't reply to that kind of sent me spiraling that asked why Beast from Beauty and the Beast gets so much less hate than Calypso does when they "did the same thing."

Now I don't know if we're talking Disney's animated classic Beauty and the Beast specifically or the OG fairy tale or whatever, but um...have we forgotten the fact that Belle chose to stay with the Beast? And that Odysseus, in contrast, had no choice in whether to end up on or stay on Calypso's island? On the contrary -- Ody not only actively wants off, but he is so unhappy at the thought he'll never get home that he tries to unalive himself at one point. Then of course if we're talking Disney's Beauty and the Beast in particular, we can point out that Belle stays because she gave her word, not because she was physically unable to leave, and she leaves the castle out of fear for her own safety after going into the West Wing and enraging the Beast ("promise or no promise"), only to take the Beast back because he saves her life and is badly hurt in the process. Then the two nurture a real friendship -- something Odysseus and Calypso never did, in all their time together -- before Beast willingly lets Belle go with no expectation that she'd return, let alone break the spell on him and the castle servants. In contrast, in Not Sorry For Loving You, Calypso doubles down on how she treated Odysseus and turns everything into a pity-party for herself. She acts like she's sorry about how she treated him, but frames her disregard for his boundaries and freedom as her "coming on too strong" without ever acknowledging that she legitimately ignored Ody's feelings and wishes at the expense of her own. She uses the abusive-partner playbook to the nth degree, attempting to invalidate any hate Odysseus might legitimately feel toward her for what she did by passive-aggressively acting like it's his fault that he didn't accept her "love" for what it was ("and if you hate me, then I'm sorry my love's too much for you"). She even gets upset about why he "won't love her too" even though she knows full well he's a married man still very in love with his wife Penelope, who Calypso has been purposefully separating him from for years. Oh yeah, and on that note, Odysseus is already romantically committed to someone else, so Calypso has even less reason to presume Ody should return her feelings. Even Beast, who is in love with a single person and also has a ticking clock over him to fall in love quickly to break the curse on him and all of his servants, loves Belle sincerely enough that he didn't get angry or resentful at the thought that she might not love him back. He doesn't try to guilt-trip her into loving him. Even though in the original Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, there are a lot more toxic elements -- such as the Beast claiming he'll die if Belle doesn't return to him -- that doesn't change the fact that Belle has some agency in her situation, with the Beast connecting emotionally with this single woman over time in a way that she comes to see him as a dear friend despite his hideous appearance. And of course just about all adaptations of the story heavily lean away from or outright subvert the original's more problematic elements because they're rightly seen as toxic.

Look -- I don't see any problem with anyone feeling pity for Calypso. With her lonely backstory and lack of knowledge of how to interact with others, it's easy to. I could even see people arguing she cared for Odysseus in her own weird way. But that doesn't change how much she disrespected Odysseus's agency and used her goddess-y powers to keep him just as trapped on her island as she was, at the expense of his and his family's happiness. I personally view Calypso as a very well-developed anti-villain for this reason -- she can claim she loved Odysseus...but if she did, she didn't know what love really is, because love at its core is about selflessness, and Calypso at her core is incredibly selfish.

[theposhperyton]

All evidence suggests yes

[vaguely-concerned]

some more rye ingellvars! b/c I have fineagled. I have tweaked. we are getting ever closer every time I heave a big sigh and walk up to the mirror of transformation once more to put in my daily penance of moving the jawbone angle slider microscopically one way or the other

my boy... my son. the Most Profile Haver champion thirty-four years running <3

this one is mostly because lucanis standing there fully like the ben affleck smoking meme as big time necromancer drama goes down might be The funniest thing I've ever seen actually. PROS of falling in love with a Watcher: Bae :) CONS of falling in love with a Watcher: Bae's extended family feat. whatever the hell vorgoth is and megalomaniacal distant ex-aunts hellbent on world domination. well. to be fair I guess you also have to deal with illario so we're probably even

so determined so handsome so fierce and so "a decade plus on fantasy HRT and most people's go-to word to describe you would still be 'boyish'. but at least you wear it well" (rye is in their mid-thirties but is frequently mistaken for quite a bit younger on initial acquaintance. good genes absolutely no sun damage until recently and a certain youthfulness of mannerisms will do that to a motherfucker.)

he looks like a kid who's won a medal at some low-level sporting event and has been made to pose for a picture against his will and the photographer is taking a while <3 I would die for him

ah yes... ellaryen 'rye' ingellvar the tl;dr version (this conversation unexpectely fucked me up tho an emotional ambush I was not prepared for)

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option

[brittlebutch]

finally found a place to read With the Light online and i'm thrilled; if you haven't read this manga i do Legitimately recommend it

[britneyshakespeare]

the middle school principal wants to hire me in a full-time position so bad.

and who can blame him? i'm that substitute 💅

[thethingything]

so CBT never worked for us in therapy. basically every instance of it was therapists trying to get us to stop being anxious about very real problems that were very likely to happen. like, situations that were not only likely, but would be very dangerous if they did happen. sometimes even things that had already happened and were likely to happen again.

meanwhile we have an app on our phone that guides you through various CBT exercises and it turns out when we use that for the kind of shit where we already know our brain is being irrational and we just want to get our thoughts together and work through the issue by writing it out, it works really fucking well and oh look suddenly we've been doing CBT for an hour and processed the root cause of several key emotional issues we've been having for years.

funny how that works. it's almost like we can actually figure out for ourselves when something is irrational and when it's an actual real problem that could put us in danger and shouldn't be dismissed. who'd have fucking thought it

[omarwolaeth]

It's such a tiny innocuous thing that really doesn't matter, but I feel like calling duel monsters a children's card game (when it's fundamentally baked into everyday life, and your social existence is judged by what you play and how you play it so very intensely, for everyone in-universe) is an absolute injustice to what it is for that universe of people.

[infizero]

random thought but i just. arggrhgh i love the vibe toby fox creates in both undertale and deltarune where despite all the silliness and fun and joy, there's this constant feeling of sort of repressed sadness that permeates the whole thing as well. its something that i really really love

[tonyglowheart]

not 2 be a "bad" "feminist" but like. okay I know the guy who plays Nate is problematic and etc, but like. like I tried to like Leverage Redemption, but it just. is too flanderized and doesn't quite manage to like both write real-feeling characters nor grasp the charm that made Leverage "work" for me, so like. watching Leverage Redemption mostly has me wincing, and like. does not hold the same place in my heart that Leverage does....