#here are just somethings that kind help me sometimes

[goldfades]

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe 🤗🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

--

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

--

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

--

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

--

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

--

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

--

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

--

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

--

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

--

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

--

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

--

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

--

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

--

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

[moonstruckme]

Here’s my idea for Spencer and intern!reader if you’d be so kind to write it <3 something like Spencer comforting reader after she saw/experienced something rough and is trying not to show emotion bc she thinks that’s what being on the team is

Thank you for requesting!

cw: crime scene, no descriptions but there is a body and the killing is discussed in vague terms, nausea, reader is a bau intern but also an adult

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re all bottled up. Spencer should be listening to the police officer telling them about witnesses who discovered the victim, but you’re distracting him. You’re breathing deep and slow, intentionally, and your gaze flickers between the cop and the body like you’re not sure which deserves your attention more. Your skin looks waxy in the morning light. 

Spencer is able to step away fairly easily, leaving JJ and Morgan with the officer as he grasps your elbow to pull you with him. 

Closer, your breaths are audibly stilted. “What’s up?” you ask, sounding remarkably composed despite how your eyes are still moving between Spencer and the victim. 

He walks you away from the crowd, back towards the SUV. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

You say it too fast. Spencer watches you realize this, and in the same moment you know of course he has too. 

Still, he says gently, “You look like you’re going to faint. If you are, it’s better if you tell me.” 

You reach the SUV. Spencer opens the passenger side, expecting you to sit in the seat to steady yourself, but you only take refuge behind the door. Away from the eyes of the rest of the team, you close your eyes, sucking in another deep breath. 

“I’m not going to faint,” you say on the exhale. This time, with enough conviction that Spencer believes you. “I’m really sorry, I just—I feel sort of sick.” 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

“Do you want some water?” Spencer reaches into the glove box to find an unopened bottle. “Here, drink small sips of this.” 

“I’m okay,” you say, twisting the cap off to do as he says. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he offers. “I know it’s not your first crime scene, but it can be disturbing, the things we see. You know, for most people, even smelling a dead body without seeing it is enough to…” He slows when he can hear his team groaning at him in his head. Spence, JJ would say, in her fond and motherly way, not helping. “...to…well, you know. It’s a lot.” 

You give a little laugh. Fortunately, you seem not to be affected by Spencer reminding you of the smell. Unfortunately, you now look closer to tears than vomiting. 

“I know we have to see this stuff all the time.” Your voice is choked down to a whisper, face pointed at the ground. Spencer finds himself leaning closer to hear you. “And I know that none of the deaths are pretty, or…or easy. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to let it affect me.” 

“That’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all affected.” 

“But you don’t show it.” 

“We have…we have practice. But we all show it sometimes. Some cases are worse for some of us than others.” 

“I guess I just haven’t—” Your voice splinters, and Spencer’s heart does a poor mimicry of the sound. “—haven’t seen one this…intentional yet.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as two tears streak down your cheeks. You look frustrated and afraid, and even younger than usual. Spencer has his arms around you without knowing how he got there. 

He understands what you mean. The cases you’ve worked so far have been awful in their own ways, but this killer took his time in a way the others didn’t. He left his victim mutilated, torn apart with a cold-hearted meticulousness that would be enough to horrify even the most seasoned agent. By your anguish, Spencer knows you’ve probably seen it all play out in your mind a dozen times. 

Spencer thinks of himself as an empathetic person. He’s seen some terrible things, but he still tries to meet people, especially people at his job, with compassion and kindness. It doesn’t explain why he’s so startlingly desperate to soothe you. 

He holds the back of your head and keeps you folded into him, his other hand rubbing your back as you take in a wet, shuddering inhale. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

Your voice is a choked, fraught thing. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I want to be professional.” 

“Sweetheart” —it slips out without him meaning for it to; Spencer ploughs ahead before either of you can think about it— “you’re not being unprofessional. This is…this is what we do. It’s hard sometimes. Everyone here understands that. Everyone on our team has done what you’re doing.” 

Another short, soft laugh, followed by a sniffle. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that why you’re so good at this?” 

Spencer pauses. “No, I’m…well, I wouldn’t say I am good at this, actually. I’m glad you think so, though.” 

“Yeah, you are.” You straighten, wiping underneath your eyes with a knuckle. “God, everyone is going to know I cried.” 

He can’t deny that. “They won’t care,” he promises you instead. “No one will ask questions if you don’t want them to. We all get it.” 

“I knew there were some really fucked up people out there,” you say in a small voice. “I just haven’t really thought as much about the people who…” Your gaze shifts, as if drawn by a magnet, through the tinted window of the SUV and back toward the crime scene. Your expression goes haunted. “...who they…” 

Spencer puts his hand to the side of your face. It’s not like him, and your eyes widen at the contact but you let him direct your attention away. Your skin is warm and tacky against his fingertips.

“It might help to sit down for a minute,” he suggests gently. You’re pliable, allowing him to nudge you back into the passenger seat. “Drink some more, okay? Do you still feel sick?” 

You think about it, then shake your head. “Not really.” 

“Let’s wait a bit anyway.” 

You swallow some water. Worry your lip. “You shouldn't have to coddle me.” 

“It’s not coddling,” Spencer says quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Luckily, you’re not as skilled a profiler and you don’t catch him. “It’s okay to step away sometimes. They don’t need us over there right now.” 

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Spencer.” 

He gets called lots of things. Spencer is one of them, of course, along with Reid, Spence, Kid, Boy Genius, and sometimes even Professor. None of them sounds as heavy sweet as his name on your lips. 

“We can wait here.” He decides it as it comes out of his mouth. He’ll have to get the details of the crime scene secondhand, might even make a trip to the coroner’s later to inspect the body himself, but in this moment Spencer can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to make you comfortable. Inconveniences are trivial. “They’ll come find us when they’re ready to go to the station.” 

You look conflicted, your dedication to the team warring with your obvious desire to avoid being near the victim again. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Spencer’s own voice sounds distant as he tries to make sense of the unfamiliar tug in his middle. “I’m sure.”

[neferaskingdom]

Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[erinsreadings]

The Chocolate Box Spread 🍫

PAC Reading

This spread uses the idea of picking chocolates from a Valentine’s box, where each “chocolate” reveals a sweet, surprising, or insightful message about your love life.

before clicking on an image, ask the question in mind & take a deep breath before selecting a pile. set your intentions & remember, you are the only one who controls your fate. this is a general read, take what resonates & leave the rest please.

book with me & check out the rest of my links here! paid services are now up & running! tips are welcomed as always 🎀

pile one

right now, you’re standing at a crossroads, imagining what your love life could be and the possibilities that lie ahead. it’s an exciting yet slightly uncertain place, where your dreams and intentions are beginning to take form, but action is still needed to turn those visions into reality. there’s an energy of curiosity and quiet determination here, but also a reminder not to stay too long in the planning phase. taking that first step, even if it feels small or scary, will open doors you can’t yet see.

it might feel like life has thrown a wrench into your plans or like the pace of your love life isn’t matching your desires. delays or challenges may have left you feeling stuck or uncertain, but these moments are part of a bigger picture. this energy is asking you to trust the cycles of your life. sometimes what feels like a setback is actually a redirection, preparing you for something that aligns more deeply with who you’re becoming. patience isn’t just about waiting; it’s about trusting the process and allowing things to unfold as they’re meant to.

there’s also a need to slow down and reflect on how you’re approaching love. rushing forward or acting impulsively might feel tempting, especially if you’re eager to move past this sense of waiting. but this energy asks for thoughtfulness. taking your time doesn’t mean you’re delaying your happiness—it means you’re building a solid foundation for it. sometimes, stepping back gives you the clarity and calm you need to make the right decisions for yourself and your heart.

the good news is, there’s a spark of something new just ahead. this energy feels fresh and full of possibility, like a chance to start over or embrace a completely unexpected opportunity. it’s the kind of shift that asks you to let go of fear and approach love with the same open-hearted wonder you’d have as a child. this new chapter isn’t about carrying the weight of the past but about leaping forward with joy and trust in the unknown.

what ties all of this together is the promise of success and recognition. whether you realize it or not, your journey is leading you toward a moment of triumph. you’re stepping into a space where the love you’ve been cultivating—both for yourself and others—will be acknowledged and celebrated. this energy is about confidence, knowing your worth, and trusting that the effort you’ve put into your growth is going to pay off. the love you deserve is closer than it feels, and when it arrives, it will feel like a victory you’ve worked hard to achieve.

pile two

it feels like things in your love life might not be moving in the direction or speed you’d hoped for. there’s a sense of frustration or feeling out of control, as if you’re trying to push forward but the road feels blocked. this energy is asking you to pause and reflect on what’s driving you—are you aligned with what truly serves you, or are you chasing something that’s no longer meant for you? sometimes, the universe slows us down to help us see the bigger picture, even if it feels like resistance in the moment.

there’s also a heaviness around connection. whether it’s a relationship that feels strained or a sense of disconnection from others, this energy suggests that something isn’t flowing smoothly. it might feel like a lack of mutual understanding or emotional reciprocity, leaving you questioning where things stand. the key here is to focus on your relationship with yourself. reconnecting with your own needs and desires will help you approach love with clarity and confidence when the time is right.

at the heart of this reading is the quiet yet powerful energy of intuition and foresight. you already have an inner knowing about where things are headed or what you need to do next, but it requires patience and trust in yourself. there’s a balance between waiting for the right moment and preparing for what’s to come. you’re in a phase where looking ahead and laying a foundation for your future is more important than rushing into action. your intuition is your greatest ally right now—listen to it.

that said, there’s also a spark of excitement and passion coming your way. whether it’s a renewed sense of drive or someone entering your life with bold, adventurous energy, this moment is about stepping back into your power. however, the knight of wands reminds you to temper excitement with intention. moving forward with a plan, rather than recklessness, will lead to more lasting joy.

finally, the underlying energy here is healing. there’s a wound or heartbreak that needs your attention, whether it’s fresh or lingering from the past. it’s okay to acknowledge the pain—it doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t mean you’re stuck there. healing isn’t linear, but this energy suggests that facing your emotions honestly will bring the clarity and release you need to move forward. trust that brighter days are ahead, even if the path there feels uncertain right now. your strength lies in your ability to honor your feelings while still looking toward a hopeful future.

pile three

right now, you’re stepping into a chapter of deep transformation in your love life. this is a moment of shedding old layers, releasing past versions of yourself, and making space for something more aligned with who you are becoming. there’s an energy of renewal here—whether it’s the closing of a cycle, the healing of an old wound, or the quiet realization that you’re no longer the same person who once longed for the things you used to. this shift is powerful, and while it may feel bittersweet, it’s also freeing.

there’s a sense that you’ve outgrown certain dynamics, patterns, or even people. what once felt fulfilling might no longer resonate, and that’s okay. this is your sign to honor the changes within you rather than clinging to what’s familiar. the universe is guiding you toward something more expansive, but it requires trust—trust that what’s meant for you will stay and what leaves was never meant to be yours in the long run.

at the heart of this reading is self-discovery. love isn’t just about connection with another person; it’s also about the relationship you cultivate with yourself. this is a time to reconnect with your own desires, dreams, and values. what do you truly want from love? what makes your heart feel alive? the more you align with your truth, the more effortlessly the right connections will find their way to you.

as you navigate this transition, there’s also a reminder to embrace softness. not everything has to be a battle. sometimes, surrendering to the flow of life brings more clarity than forcing answers. allow yourself to be in a space of receptivity—whether it’s to love, joy, or simply a deeper sense of peace within yourself.

the energy ahead feels like a fresh start, one rooted in authenticity and emotional depth. whether this is the arrival of a new connection, a renewal of an existing one, or simply a newfound confidence in your own worth, there’s a sense of stepping into something more aligned, more fulfilling. trust that everything is unfolding exactly as it should. love isn’t passing you by—it’s preparing to meet you at a place where you’re ready to receive it fully.

[beneathsilverstars]

Can you pls explain to me the proper way to raise a child gender neutrally, especially in a world that loves to push gender? It’s something I always wanted to do when I have my own kid but I’m scared the world is just not ready for that kind of thing and my child will get bullied by other kids/adults.

Unfortunately the feasibility of this does depend on where you live. I’m lucky to live in a fairly liberal college town — the state as a whole is awful, but in this town we have drag shows and a huge pride parade and rainbow stickers in shop fronts. There are still transphobic people here of course, but they generally know that being too overt about it will have social repercussions.

However! It doesn’t necessarily have to be an all-or-nothing thing! When your kid's a baby it’s up to you how you refer to them while in different situations, so you’re free to adjust your language as seems necessary. And then when they’re old enough to care, well, at that point it’s not up to you anyway! (My kid has decided she’s a nonbinary girl, hence the she/hers in this post.)

So here’s a list of things my partners and I did, and you can decide which things seem safe / worth it to you.

We gave her a name that doesn’t have strong gender connotations.

We shopped in the boys and girls sections equally, aiming for a roughly equal number of fancy little button ups vs fancy little dresses, pink diapers vs blue diapers, etc.

We told friends and family that we were planning to raise her gender neutrally and use they/them pronouns, until/unless she expressed a preference otherwise.

Our explanation to adults was along the lines of “We don't want to assign a gender to our child, because we think gender should be a freely-made choice rather than something that is assumed based on body type. So, we're raising them gender neutrally until they decide what they want to be. We’re not assigning them 'nonbinary', either; we’re using they/them to help avoid gendered bias, so they’ll get to experience feminine, masculine, and ungendered options equally. That way every option will be open to them as they learn their own preferences and decide who they want to be.”

Our explanation to kids was along the lines of “I don’t know yet if they’re a boy or a girl or something else! When babies are born, the doctor guesses what gender they’ll be. But sometimes the doctor guesses wrong, and the kid grows up to be a different gender. We decided not to guess what gender our baby will be, because we want to let them choose.” This usually makes perfect sense to 4-5 year olds! (Younger kids might not entirely understand or care, and older kids might have more questions.) However, you gotta be careful with this, bc even some people who are okay with you explaining your own adult transed gender won’t like you implying to their children that everyone should have that option and the whole system is bs. The less objectionable explanation is “I’m going to wait until they’re older to ask them whether they’re a boy or a girl.” Or even answering "What gender is your baby?" with "What do you think?" and then "Maybe!"

We didn’t announce her agab. When people asked, we refused to answer, more or less politely depending on the vibes. If you really want to make them feel bad you can give them a weird look and say “My child’s body is none of your business??” but there’s also the gentler “I don’t think it really matters!” We did fill out her assigned sex for official paperwork, like doctor's forms and legal government stuff, but for more casual forms we sometimes skipped the question or wrote in "we are raising them gender-neutrally" or "they/them".

We generally didn’t correct strangers or explain it to them unless they asked. Nothing wrong with some people assuming “she” and some people assuming “he”, as long as it’s not always just one or the other. If a stranger asked about their gender, I'd go for a quick "We're raising them gender-neutrally." I did also have to clarify fairly often that I only have one kid, when I talked about them and people assumed the "they" was plural, but that was never a big deal it was just kinda funny.

We did correct friends and family, since if they used gendered pronouns it was an active choice or mistake rather than a clueless assumption. Most of our circles are queer so most people were chill about it, but some family members changed one diaper and immediately assigned a pronoun set. We didn't think it was worth fighting over or limiting access, since it's not like they were disrespecting the baby's preference. But we did keep correcting them / emphasizing the neutral pronoun in our replies.

When she started preschool, we preemptively explained to her teachers that we're raising her gender-neutrally, and to please refer to her using "they/them" unless she said otherwise, and to avoid splitting the class into boys vs girls teams or anything like that. Again, fairly liberal town, and the preschool even has a teacher who uses they/them, so the teachers agreed without issue. iirc, they messed up occasionally but they were making an effort, and again I wasn't too bothered as long as my kid wasn't.

When she started using she/her sometimes, I let her teachers know, and told them to follow her lead. When we talked with friends and family we just used the right pronouns ourselves, and explained if they asked or it came up. And then once she was consistently using just she/her, we made a facebook post about it and started correcting people with a quick "She actually decided to use she/her, now."

And then here's how we talked about gender with her, specifically.

When she was old enough to start wondering who's a boy and who's a girl and what that even means, we explained, "Some people are girls, some people are boys, some people are neither or both or something else. I decided I don't want to be a boy or a girl, I'm nonbinary instead. You can decide if you want to be a boy or a girl or nonbinary or something else, too." and "Well, maybe that person's a boy, but they could be something else; I don't know because I don't know them. I don't know their name or anything either." We decided not to explain how differently most of society treats gender, the stereotypes of gender presentation, etc, until she started noticing that stuff herself. Explaining that it's wrong still involves putting those ideas into her head, which was going to happen pretty soon anyway regardless. Might as well start with a foundation of pure gender anarchy while we can.

When she noticed that every other kid she's met already had a gender, we explained "A lot of parents guess what gender their kid will be, and sometimes they guess right or sometimes they guess wrong. [Friend]'s mom guessed that she was a girl, and [friend] agrees! But when Mama was a kid people guessed she was a boy, and then she grew up and decided she's actually a girl. We didn't want to guess for you and maybe get it wrong, so we decided to wait until you were old enough to decide for yourself what gender you want to be."

Occasionally when the topic came up, we would ask if she felt like she wanted to be a girl or boy or something else, or specifically ask if she liked "they/them" or wanted to use "she/her" or "he/him". When she was ~2, she didn't entirely understand and didn't care. When she was ~3, she occasionally said she wanted to be a girl or use she/her, but immediately changed her mind as soon as we actually referred to her as such. (This is quite in-character for her, because she's generally averse to big changes and doesn't like to do anything she doesn't feel totally confident about.) When she was ~4 she finally stuck with it, and now she's a nonbinary girl who uses she/her, and her feelings about gendered terms like "daughter" still go back and forth a bit.

When she started expressing preferences in clothing, colors, etc, we just got things she liked, which ended up being dresses and sparkles.

As she started noticing gender differences, picking up stereotypes from school and media, etc, we'd address them as they came up. "Yes, a lot of people think dresses are just for girls. But I think that isn't very fair. Some boys love to wear dresses, and some girls don't, and that's just fine! It's not very nice to tell someone else what they're allowed to wear. (Unless they need certain clothes to say safe, like a jacket in the winter.)"

We also had to tell her to stop being sexist, lol. "It's fine that you think girls are awesome, they are! But boys are awesome too. It's not very nice to say you won't play with someone just because of their gender. If someone said they wouldn't play with me because I'm nonbinary, I would be so sad! If you don't want to play with [these three classmates] because they're usually too loud and rough, that's fine, but that's not because they're boys; that's because of what games they like to play. Some girls like to play loud and rough, and some boys like to be more careful and quiet like you. Can you think of any boys in your class who you like to play with sometimes? ... See, boys can like all sorts of different games, just like girls can."

We ended up getting the easiest resolution (at least for now): by the time she reached the age where kids start caring about these things, she'd started caring, and settled into being a classic girly girl (with the occasional splash of nonbinary flavor). If she'd stuck to they/them, she'd probably be starting to have a harder time in school -- definitely not full bullying, given her 12-kid 2-teacher private kindergarten class, but probably some frustration with constantly correcting people.

However... if she was more gnc, she woulda ended up that way sooner or later, anyway. If I was choosing between "she's out and proud trans and gets some shit for it" or "she's unhappy with being cis but doesn't realize she has other options," I'd always choose the former, because in that case she gets a choice. By the time kids are old enough to bully each other over gender, they're old enough to decide whether they want to be out at school, y'know? And I've always been ready to pull her from school if it ever became necessary due to peer bullying or unsupportive teachers, especially since she shares a lot of the traits that my wife got bullied for as a child.

It is possible to go 100% gender-neutral, and cut anyone out of your life who opposes it, including moving schools or even moving house if necessary. There are people who will support this choice, even cishet people who don't really get the trans thing but know that unconscious sexism can have a big effect on babies' development. Maybe more people than you think! But it depends on your local culture. And sometimes it takes a certain amount of privilege to be able to prioritize finding those people, and it's simply not worth, say, paying more to switch daycares to find a teacher who won't gender your baby. Sometimes you do have to balance your priorities, and you can't know how much balancing it will actually take until you get there.

So, overall, my advice is just to do whatever you feel comfortable with! What sounds worse to you: gendering your baby, or fighting against society's attempts to gender them? Obviously when you have a trans child you fight for them, but it's a muddier question when the child doesn't care yet. Most of our queer friends aren't going full they/them gender neutral with their kids like we did, because they don't want to have to constantly explain that on top of all the shit they deal with for being queer. Instead they're just being extra firm about shopping in both sections of the store, not falling to stereotypes, and explaining to their child that they can decide to be something else if they want.

And there's a lot of options in between -- maybe you use they/them at home, but he/him at school, or maybe even she/her at home to balance out the school. Maybe you name and dress them gender-neutrally (or both fem and masc) and don't correct any assumptions. Maybe you tell one side of the family that you're going gender anarchy neutral so they should avoid gendered terms, but you only tell the other side that you're going feminist equality so they should make sure to gift both pretend kitchen toys and pretend power tools. It's the same as deciding in what situations you want to be out vs stay stealth/closeted.

When they're a baby it doesn't matter much either way (as long as you're not being sexist in your reactions to their behavior) because they're a baby, they could not care less. And then when they're old enough to pick their gender, you're hopefully giving them that choice regardless of what you did when they're a baby. It's true that the starting point you gave them may affect their gender journey, but that's true of gender neutrality as well.

So if you think it'll be too risky in the time and place in which you're raising your child, you really don't have to feel bad about not doing it. It's okay to save your energy for when your child really needs it. But if it's something you're committed to, it is possible! I'm so glad that my family was able to make this choice. I actually loved the conversations that it opened up with all sorts of people about gendering children! Even though I got in trouble one time for explaining gender too well to the children at the daycare I worked at, lol. And I know that gendering my kid as a baby would've made me more uncomfortable than any number of awkward conversations. I love knowing that her pink purple flower unicorn heart dresses are something she freely chose!!

[aventurineswife]

Could I request for a Jing Yuan x Reader fluff? Nothing much, just Jing Yuan and reader being parental figures to Yanqing and loving each other very very much!!1!1! (I love this man sm please help)

Together, Through Time

Summary: Jing Yuan and you reflect on your roles as parental figures to Yanqing, sharing your deep bond and love for each other. As you watch over the city together, you both reaffirm your commitment to guiding Yanqing with patience and care while supporting one another through the challenges of leadership and time.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Parental Figures, Family, Love, Quiet Moments, Bonding, Soft Romance, Mentorship.

A/N: real 🫣🤭

It was a quiet evening on the Xianzhou Luofu, the kind of evening where the soft hum of the ships blended with the distant twinkling of stars. The clouds outside swirled in the sky, and from the high balcony of the Cloud Knights' headquarters, you could see the shimmering lights of the city below. Jing Yuan stood beside you, his eyes tracing the horizon with the calm, measured gaze of someone who had long ago made peace with the passage of time.

You leaned against the railing, side by side with him, the night air cool against your skin. The silence was comfortable, one that spoke volumes about the trust and understanding between you two. You could feel the weight of the years on his shoulders, but somehow, with him beside you, time seemed to move slower, gentler.

"Are you still thinking about Yanqing?" you asked softly, glancing over at him.

Jing Yuan let out a small sigh, his gaze shifting from the stars to you. There was a softness in his expression, a tenderness that only you ever saw. "He’s been growing so fast. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough… if I’m being the kind of mentor he needs," he said, his voice low and reflective.

You chuckled lightly, stepping closer to him. "You’re being everything he needs. He looks up to you more than you know. And... to be honest, I think you both need each other in ways you can’t fully articulate yet."

Jing Yuan’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I suppose you’re right. He’s a stubborn one, but there’s a spark in him that reminds me of... well, me, back when I was young."

"You were never quite as impulsive as he is," you teased, nudging him with your elbow. "He’ll grow out of it with time. Just like you did."

His smile widened slightly, and his eyes softened as he looked at you. "I do wonder, sometimes, if I’m too old for this. The constant weight of leadership... of being responsible for so many. But then I see you and Yanqing, and somehow, I feel like I can do anything."

The sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You reached up, placing a hand gently on his arm. "We’re a team, Jing Yuan. You don’t carry that weight alone. We’re both here for him—and for each other."

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze filled with a warmth that made you feel as though the world outside didn’t matter. For a moment, the worries and burdens of leadership were forgotten, replaced by something simpler—something deeply cherished.

"I don't say it often enough," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "but I’m grateful for you. You make everything... easier. You help me remember what it’s like to be human again, not just a general or an arbiter."

You smiled up at him, your heart full. "I’m grateful for you too. You’ve given me so much—your wisdom, your strength... but more than that, your heart."

Before you could say another word, Jing Yuan’s hand found yours, his fingers weaving gently between yours. His touch was warm, steady, a quiet reassurance. "Together," he murmured, "we'll make sure Yanqing never forgets the power of love and patience, of understanding. We'll show him how to walk this path with care... and with laughter."

A light, knowing chuckle escaped your lips as you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. "I think we're already doing that. Every day."

His other hand reached up to gently cup your face, turning you toward him, his golden eyes shining softly. "I hope you're right. I never want to stop learning, not with you by my side."

The night stretched on in peaceful silence, the two of you watching over the Luofu below. Somewhere in the quiet, Yanqing’s laughter echoed from the training grounds, the sound of his youthful energy filling the air. You both shared a look—a silent understanding—before Jing Yuan's arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, as if the three of you were already a family in your hearts.

"Good night," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his love enveloping you. "We’ll get through this, together."

And as you closed your eyes, the promise of tomorrow—and the bond you shared—felt as eternal as the stars themselves.

[afurtivecake]

ok I'm going to have to defend Abby here. I know there is an argument that Abby should have known better than to say something like "My Foxes fight back," to Jean, a victim of recent brutality. It definitely comes across as tactless from Jean's POV and you would expect the nurse of a team of traumatized students to know what to say. But I don't think Abby actually knows what to say in these situations - and I don't think it's her fault.

This line from Wymack's bonus chapter suggests that Abby really doesn't have the same sort of background as Wymack and their players:

"David had sworn years ago not to interfere with his kids' fixes so long as they didn't get caught or end up hospitalized. It had led to more fights than he could count between him and Abby in the early days. She'd given in eventually, though she'd probably never forgive him for taking such a stance when he should be setting a better example. Maybe she was right, or maybe she didn't have enough nightmares to understand."

While Abby has agreed to back Wymack up on the issue of allowing players to take drugs, Wymack still believes that Abby privately disagrees. Wymack insists upon it because of his personal experiences in life and guesses that Abby doesn't have those same experiences to understand why he insists upon it.

It's easy to forget because of the POV the story is in, but Abby's reaction is the "normal" one. Most people do not support giving students alcohol and see it as their responsibility to stop students from taking drugs if they find out about it. Wymack only takes the harm reduction approach (i.e. allowing/giving recovering addicts the substance they are addicted to safely, instead of forcing them to be cut off immediately. A divisive approach, even nowadays.) because of his own experiences, not because he has formal training in addictions counselling/treatment. All Abby is doing, is sticking with what she knows and believes will help these young people.

Abby is very "by-the-book" in comparison to Wymack or even Betsy. She argues against taking Andrew off his medication and putting him in rehab immediately because she believes it goes against the recommended procedure of these situations. She argues against it out of genuine concern for Andrew, because she believes going against the recommended procedures will do him more harm than good.

It makes me think back to Abby's interactions with Neil back in AFTG, where Abby says, "Sometimes I think this job is going to kill me, seeing what people have done, what people continue to do, to my Foxes," right after Neil's been through hell at Evermore. This always rubbed me the wrong way because Neil's just been put through the wringer and all Abby can talk about it how much it's affecting her? She can give up this job at any time and walk away but Neil can't just walk away from being in his situation. But this is a really common sentiment among people who work with vulnerable populations. It's called "vicarious trauma" and it can happen when working with and empathizing with survivors of trauma. It can lead to lingering feelings of anger, sadness, guilt and burnout. Those feelings are no more Abby's fault that the feelings experienced in response to direct trauma.

The way I read it, Abby isn't trying to blame Jean or shame him for his victimhood. What Abby sees is a kid who acts like he's already given up on life, a kid who doesn't want others' kindness. It's not an unreasonable assumption to make; even Kevin and Neil have said that Jean "isn't a fighter." My interpretation is that Abby's "My Foxes fight back," is her attempt at copying Wymack's gruff support. I think she's hoping that a direct challenge will spark pride or defiance, or at least enough anger, to stop Jean from giving up. She's seen Wymack and Neil strong-arm Kevin into being brave all year, and I think she thought that that's what Jean needed to hear too. After all, it really seems to work when Wymack does it. But the difference between her and Wymack is that Wymack's understanding of what their players need comes from personal experience. He knows when the right time to say certain things are. Andrew tells Neil first thing, "Coach always knows what to say." And that's not because Wymack is a better person than Abby; it's just because Wymack knows from experience what they need to hear.

It's not Abby's fault that she doesn't understand them the way that Wymack does and that she can't help them the way that Wymack can. She doesn't have Wymack's lived experience. What's she's been doing this entire time is trying to understand what these kids need and trying to do the best she can for them with what she knows. She genuinely cares and she's trying, but she's making all the mistakes a normal person would make. And that's perfectly realistic and fine! It doesn't mean she doesn't care about the students she works with. It doesn't make her a horrible person. It just means that she's just kind of painfully normal. In fact, her painfully normal responses have helped too. Like when she hugs Neil and though Neil's not used to hugs (like, at all), it's new and comforting and something only she would have and could have given him at the time. And yes, she's going to fuck up from time to time and not be able to give people what they need, but that's part of caring for anyone.

[dyingswanpavlova]

About me

So, I decided to introduce myself after years, because so far I didn't really interact with anyone, but here I am. ✨️

You can call me Lana, I'm 25 years old and I've been on Tumblr since I was 14. There were always long breaks in-between, but I haven't been as active as these last few weeks in forever.

I'm a philosophy student and I got married two years ago. One year ago we started a family. That's also the reason why I can't always guarantee to upload or answer in time - sorry in advance. 🥀

I got a really bad case of depression when I turned 18. It's been up and down since then, but it never was as bad again as it was back then. I got a few mental health issues actually, aside from depression I'm suffering from severe OCD and anxiety. I'm also assuming that I might be a bit autistic, but I can't confirm that. I'm trying to work on it every day and hopefully, one day I'll be able to take on life without any precautions. One of my biggest dreams is to become an author one day - wish me luck. 🍀📖

I'm a very honest person - or I try to be. One might call it naïve, I try to call it positive. I love everyone, unless they give me a reason not to. And I'm convinced that love can exist in many forms, not only romantically; I might not know you, but I care about you. My inbox is always open for everyone. I don't tolerate any kind of hate or bullying. Aside from that, everyone is always welcome. Let's be friends. 🤍

As a child, I was abused, over and over by the same person and it went on for many years. I only just recently started to try and understand that better. My fanfiction "Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader is something that has helped me a lot when it comes to working on that trauma. I hope it might help someone else as well.

I have a strange fascination with darkness. Don't get me wrong, I love fluff from time to time, but I'm a sucker for angst. I always loved drama and I love any character going yandere.

I take requests and I try to take any really, even if sometimes it might take some time. I write for Squid Game, House of the Dragon, Game of Thrones, Peaky Blinders, Supernatural and like a million other shows which I can't all mention. If you do have a request, it makes most sense if you ask me if I write for that show and we'll take it from there. I'll be brave and say I take almost any request idea. Sure, there are some boundaries, as we can all imagine, but I'm not afraid of freaky shit - come at me!

I love books, poetry, music, art, food, movies, tv shows and the ballet and obvioualy many more things. Unfortunately, I don't dance myself, but I love to watch it. Anna Pavlova's Dying Swan and Swan Lake in general are my Roman Empire. 🦢🩰

You can find my masterlist here. It contains my most recent works, because, I'll be honest, I'm super embarrassed about my older fics. English also isn't my first language, so if sometimes I'm talking gibberish, please forgive me.

I think this is what was most important. I love you, guys!

Yours eternally,

Lana 🤍

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 14: The Shadow to my Flame

Series masterlist

Masterlist

Ashe woke up and was no longer being cuddled by Azriel. However, her mind was in a little better place, so she didn’t feel totally abandoned like she did last night.

Azriel wasn’t cuddling her, but his shadows were. They held her almost like it was Azriel doing it. They were brushing through her hair and holding onto her legs. She felt herself pressing her head further and further into their comforting hold.

She didn’t open her eyes until Azriel sat down on her bed, and she felt it dip. He picked up her hand like he had done yesterday.

 “Ready for some food? Or are you going to keep snoring?”

Ashe ignored his comment about her snoring and eventually got up from the warm bed, with her hand still in Azriel’s. Most of the shadows left her, but some of them still held on to various places on her body.

“Do you mind them?” Azriel asked her and she looked over at him.

He wore comfortable clothing, he was still in his pyjamas, and his hair looked quite messy. His eyes looked very light, and he smiled at her.

 “I don’t mind them, I just-”

She stopped speaking when she noticed the table.

Azriel had moved her desk to the middle of the room and laid a small tablecloth on it. It was set for two and had various foods on it. Egg and bacon, oats and milk, and some chocolate croissants. On the middle of the table stood an unlit candle. Ashe almost gaped at the table.

“I made breakfast,” Azriel said. “Samli got us the croissants. Hungry?”

She sat down, still a bit shock about the kindness he shows her.

“Do you mind lighting the candle?” he looked hopeful at her.

She felt like a dark cloud covered her head. What if she hit him instead? What if she lost control and hurt him? What is she burned down the house? What if she hurt Samli and Thord after everything they had done for her?

“Breathe,” Azriel pulled her out of her spiral. His brushed his thumb over her hand and his eyes grounded her. “You can do this. Just remember to breathe. If something happens, we’ll work on it.”

Ashe doesn’t know why, but she trusted his words. His soft voice made her stress less.

So, she did it. She lifted her free hand, squeezed Azriel’s hand with the other and lighted the candle. She sent the smallest flame, and it lit the candle immediately. It was lit for about two seconds, before it extinguished.

She looked confused at Azriel, but he only smiled at her. He looked proud.

“Light it again.”

She did it and it extinguished once more.

“Again.”

The same happened.

“Do you understand?” Azriel asked her.

She shocks her head. No, she didn’t understand. She was just becoming more and more annoyed. She lit the candle, and it extinguished without any reason. How did it happen?

“Light it again.”

She got annoyed but did it anyway. Second after she had lit the candle, she saw how a single shadow flew through the flame and extinguished it. The shadow then danced with the smoke.

 “You didn’t hurt me. I flinched, because it surprised me. I was expecting to be hurt, but it was only soft and warm. You are not a danger. I know you won’t ever hurt me or anyone else you care about. You have the flames, and I have the shadows. I’m the shadow to your flame.”

“The shadow to my flame,” she muttered.

Ashe heard his words and even though they highly warmed her heart, she couldn’t trust him just yet.

“But I lost control,” she said and looked down at her still bandaged hands.

Azriel carefully reached his gloved hand towards her and lifted her chin.

“Everybody loses control sometimes. That just means we practiced too much or did something that now was too difficult. Losing control is a good thing, because you now know what to practice so that is doesn’t happen again.”

She nodded at his words and meant it. He was slowly but surely getting through to her.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk. I know it’s hard, but none of us can help you if we don’t know what you need help with, Flame. If you figure out what you’re needing, we’ll all help you get better.”

She nodded once more.

She should just jump into it, shouldn’t she? He had proven that he wouldn’t judge her and with her already broken mental state, it couldn’t be much worse.

She looked over to the floor length mirror she had covered. Ashe no longer dared to watch herself. She was too scared to see him and not herself. She didn’t know herself anymore, but for some reason, she hoped Azriel did.

“I can’t,” she started, but had to stop at her shaky voice. Azriel squeezed her hand a little and it gave her the courage she needed to speak, even if it was just a whisper. “I only see him. I no longer see myself.”

It probably was an awful explanation, but she couldn’t explain it better.

Azriel nodded at her words, and it was visible he was thinking. His shadows were swirling around his head and Ashe felt insecure about being left out of the conversation they were having.

“Do you trust me?” Azriel then asked.

Ashe should probably have spent some time thinking about her answer, but she didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she answered him confidently.

The most adorable blush grew on his face and Ashe couldn’t help but smile.

Azriel stood up and helped Ashe up with him. He walked both of them towards the mirror. Ashe hesitated for a second, but Azriel’s encouraging look helped her. He stopped when Ashe stood directly in front of the mirror. Azriel let go of her hand and Ashe immediately got more anxious. It was like his hand had been a lid to all her fears.

He looked directly into her eyes as he removed the blanket she had placed over the mirror.

Ashe could see herself in her side vision but chose to look directly at Azriel. He wore a soft smile and even in her state it made her weak in the knees. He kept smiling as he walked over to her, he took hold of both her arms and stopped directly behind her.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded, still not able to look at the mirror. She didn’t even dare to look at him through the mirror.

Azriel lifted his arm in a tempo where Ashe could stop him if she needed to. He stopped with his hand right under her chin. Ashe was well aware over what he was planning, but she let him do it anyway.

She could do it. She could do it. She could do it.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes.”

Azriel’s hand touched her chin and slowly moved her head so that her head faced the mirror. Ashe looked at the celling instead. Her brain convinced her that it would be his wicked smile looking back at her.

“Look at me,” he said, and Ashe tried to move her head around so that she could watch him over her shoulder. Azriel, however, stopped her movement by using a soft touch on her chin. “Through the mirror, Flame.”

She let out a small sigh. She hoped she could trick him.

After she had taken a few very deep breaths and long exhales, she moved her eyes to look at Azriel’s hazel eyes through the mirror. To prevent her eyes from jumping to another place, she began studying Azriel’s entire face. His hazel eyes were glowing from the sunshining, and she could see some brown stripes through his otherwise pitch-black hair. She saw how his lips were tilted up in a smile, but that the smile was slightly higher on his left side than the right.

“My father was my abuser too,” he started explaining and Ashe felt her heart scream at the thought of him being hurt. “I didn’t have an easy childhood, and even though I hurt people as a living, I would never hurt the innocent. Cassian’s father sent him to the Illyrian camps and forced him to learn how to protect himself. Cass is the most thoughtful fae I have ever met. Rhysand’s father was a strict High Lord and Rhys got some harsh love throughout the years, but Rhys does his best to see everybody. My friend Morrigan’s father sold her to the Autumn Court to make an alliance. I expect you already know this, but she almost died at her father’s hands. Mor is making sure the same doesn’t happen to other females from the Hewn City.”

He lifted his hand and Ashe involuntary looked at his movements. He lifted it and brushed it through her short hair. The red was showing almost more than the brown now. Ashe didn’t know what do think about it.

“You’re not Beron,” Azriel continued and Ashe felt her eyes widen at the sound of the High Lord’s name. Calling him Beron almost gave her the feeling that she didn’t need to fear him. “You, my Flame, are Ashe. You are Ashe, the female that wrote down as many details about the High Lord as you could, because you wanted to protect others. You saved me from the dungeons without even knowing me. And you took Samli’s punishment without even hesitating. Beron would never even understand why someone could do that without evil motives.”

Azriel moved his hand so that it cupped her face and Ashe focused on each and every scare she could see on his hand.

“You feel too much to be Beron. Okay, so you are a Wildflame that does crazy and dangerous things sometimes, but you also care so much for the people around you without even hesitating. You gave away all your money to Samli, because you knew she was struggling. You spilled tea on a guard and was ready to face the punishment when you saved me. Look me in the eyes and tell me you think Beron would ever do that.”

She couldn’t.

Realisation flushed over her as she realized she believed him.

“There she is,” he said, and Ashe couldn’t help the blushfilled smile she smiled at him. “I don’t know about you, but I have been admiring your eyes for the last couple of minutes. Wouldn’t you like to do the same?”

She listened to his voice and did as he asked her.

Her amber eyes looked even more golden than usual. She saw hope in herself. The dull eyes she had seen the last couple of times she had looked in the mirror was now gone.

She looked at a slightly skinnier version of herself that had shorter hair, but her eyes and smile was the same. She could see that now.

Somethings hadn’t changed.

“You look beautiful,” Azriel whisper to her.

Azriel had left after breakfast, but only after Ashe promised she would eat at least two more solid meals that day.

He had left with a squeeze of her hand, but deep-down Ashe wished it had been one more of those soft kisses to her lips. At the same time, she knew she should keep as much energy as possible taking care of herself.

She got dressed properly for the first time in weeks. She wore a simple dress she had gotten from Samli. It felt weird, but at the same time right to go down stairs in the middle of the day. Velaris was more beautiful at night, she realized.

She had spent the day with Samli. They ate lunch together and spoke about all and nothing. Samli had started knitting as a way to spent time. Neither Thord or Samli had gotten jobs yet, but Thord often got small odd-jobs. Samli found life without a farm to be boring. She had way too much time and didn’t know what to do about it.

Ashe felt the same.

She was used to working all day every day, but at the same time, her body was too weak to do anything about it.

It was dark when Thord got home from one of his odd jobs.

 Samli and Ashe had prepared an easy dinner, and they ate together. It felt nice. They spoke and laughed like they used to do in Autumn.

Samli started doing the dished and Thord and Ashe sat down to play some cards before they went to sleep.

“What do you think about the shadowsinger?” Thord asked her. He looked a little worried.

Ashe didn’t know how to answer.

Azriel was amazing, fantastic, beautiful and he cared a lot about her. She felt safe in his presence and he made her smile like no other.

But telling Thord all that felt weird. She hadn’t even told Azriel about it.

“Thinking about anything special?”

Thord laid out his next card and Ashe realized she was definitely going to lose.

“He cares a lot about you,” Thord said next. “I’m just wondering if you think the two of you might have a future together.”

Ashe certainly hoped they did.

“I hope so,” she said and fought a blush. “But I haven’t been able to think much about the future lately.”

Ashe laid down her card and hoped Thord’s last card wasn’t the right one. However, they way his eyes lit up told her that she had lost.

“But you don’t feel anything particularly powerful about him?”

Ashe looked confused at him. What was he talking about?

“I’m just saying, as a mated male myself, I can see a lot of similar behaviour in Azriel’s actions towards you. I don’t know for sure of course, but if I was you, I would have thought about it. Held my eyes open and so on.”

Thord let down his last card, let out an awkward “yay” and moved to help Samli with the rest of the dished. She washed and he dried. It seemed like that was how they did it. When they finished, Thord kissed Samli’s forehead tenderly and took her hand.

“Think about it, love,” he said to Ashe before the two of them went to bed.

Was it true?

Was Azriel her mate?

On one side, she felt extremely happy. Azriel was the fae she cared the most for. She would love for him to be her mate. The thought of being able to spend eternity with him made her entire body filled with butterflies.

On the other side, what if Thord was wrong? What if Azriel wasn’t her mate and she had just gotten her hopes up?

Ashe knew one thing for sure.

It was only one way to find out.

The next morning, she would ask him. So, she spent the night preparing to either have the happiest or most heartbreaking conversation in her entire life.

Taglist: @tele86 @demon-master-zero @kbear8863 @atluky @mis-lil-red @rcarbo1

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

[brucewaynehater101]

I got you something. In the tim is bruce's dad hc/au. Tim is the reincarnation of Thomas Wayne.

Shit happens and tim revert to his last life form, being thomas before diying.

I just want to traumatize bruce.

You got me angst? 🥺 And it traumatizes Bruce???? Gods, it's perfect. Thank you ^^

~~~

Tw: Death, blood, shit ton of angst

Tim feels a nudge sometimes. A little pull, a small urge, an inclination. Just a gut feeling of what to do, to say, to think.

When he was younger, it rarely happened. It popped up here and there, most notably when others needed medical aid or other kids needed help, but it wasn't a feeling Tim noticed. He chalked it up to nerves or luck or something he read previously. It wasn't noteworthy or concerning.

But then he meets Bruce Wayne.

Tim is ten the first time he remembers meeting Bruce. Tim recalls the way his shoes pinched his feet, the stiff collar of his shirt pressing into his throat, his mother's perfume and father's cologne, the stern way his parents told him to be on his best behavior, and the kind elderly man who greeted him at the door. Wayne Manor shone vividly in his memories with dazzling chandeliers, an impeccably maintained ballroom, and a scrumptious spread of food. The event, as all Wayne hosted events are, was spectacular.

It all paled in comparison to Bruce Wayne.

When the man meandered over to the Drakes to say hello, Tim was hit by a dizzying wave of fondness, nostalgia, bereavement, and parental pride. He looked upon this man, this adult with children older than Tim, and felt the compulsion to scold him for his rumpled appearance while praising him for the man he's grown into.

Suffice to say, ten year old Tim did not handle this very well. To his parents' bemusement, he promptly started to bawl.

It was another three years before Tim saw Bruce again (though he did keep tabs on the older man).

This time, though, the butler who greeted him was weary and exhausted. The Bruce that Tim found was harsh, cold, and drowning in his grief.

Tim was thirteen. He didn't know how to help Bruce, to save him from himself.

But there were those little urges, those impulses and nudges. The ones that indicated to Tim when he should force Bruce to shower or relent with a disappointed sigh. The clues on when to push the matter, when to lecture Bruce, and when to provide solace. They weren't always correct, they weren't perfect, but they helped. It seems they also learned and were wrong less and less.

The pushes and inclinations aided his quest to be there for Bruce, but they also increased his fatherly tendencies. He found himself tucking the Bruce into bed, calling him nicknames like "sport," and ruffling his hair. The older man would send him a confused glance when Tim did this but eventually got used to the eccentricities. It became routine and common for them.

Tim would never, ever admit it out loud, but he saw Bruce as a son of his.

As Tim got older, his instincts got louder and clearer. They became more frequent to the point that he almost saw memories associated with the feelings. Memories Tim never lived.

He tried to push down his fears and confusion at the escalating symptoms. He ignored the information he suddenly knew about Gotham, Alfred, and Bruce. He pretended nothing was amiss the first time he saw Martha's face clearly after getting an urge.

Most of all, he kept all of this from everyone else.

It was hard to hide some of his symptoms, though. The way he paused too long when called "Tim," the increased fatherly behavior to Bruce, the treatment of Alfred to that of an old friend, and the familiar, almost instinctive movement of his hands when performing medical treatment. His family didn't understand what was happening to him, they didn't have enough pieces, but they knew something was happening to Tim. Something the teen refused to elaborate on.

It was causing tension and fights borne of worry. Arguments constantly occurred as Tim kept the information to himself while drowning over the realization and suspicions he had.

It boiled over one night on patrol. Bruce, in a desperate measure to figure out what was wrong with Tim, placed them on patrol together. He swapped routes and rearranged partners with others to ensure this would happen.

Bruce tried to reach out to Tim. He tried to approach him and reassure him and ask him to just fucking talk to him.

But Tim refused to explain and Bruce was tired of waiting.

Batman was angry and short with Red Robin, the two of them mid-dispute, when the sound of a scream interrupted them. The vigilantes are professionals, they've been at this for years, and they know how to navigate their emotions in the field. Being deflected shouldn't have posed an issue.

But Tim's been off lately. His body felt small, it didn't fit right, and his appearance freaked him out. He keeps glancing at mirrors and expecting a different, older, taller reflection.

It's a combination of shitty variables, a mirror in an unexpected place, that distract Red. Usually, this wouldn't have the consequences of Tim acquiring a gaping hole in his stomach. Usually, he wouldn't be faltering mid-fight.

Red, as the professional he is, quickly neutralizes his target. He's making his way back to Batman when he stumbles to his knees. He hadn't realized just how much he was bleeding.

Batman hears Tim's pained gasp from the other room. He was checking on the victim, but he immediately sprints towards Red at the sound.

When he arrives, Tim is laying in a pool of blood staring at the ceiling. For a long moment, Bruce fears that he's dead. At the sound of a wheezy, wet gasp, the man drops to his knees next to Red.

"Red? Red Robin!"

Bruce frantically applies pressure to Tim's wound, ignoring the pained groan at this action.

"Come on, Red. Keep your eyes open."

Tim's form... flickers beneath Bruce's hands. Bruce can almost swear that he sees his father, sees Thomas Wayne, in Tim's place.

Bruce has made that connection before, the one of his parents' death reminding him of the tragedies his children have faced. It's never been this vivid before.

Red Robin's costume, smeared with the blood gushing from Tim's stomach wound, wavers out of focus with the image of a bespoke suit marred by bullet holes and blood. The depiction is so tangible that Bruce can't help when he calls out, "D-dad?"

Tim's Thomas's face splits into a pained grin at the call. A pale hand rises to cup Bruce's face.

"Hey there, bud. It's alright. You're going to be okay."

Bruce chokes on a sob, two of his loved ones staring up at him. He leans into the touch, tears freely falling down. Tim Thomas wipes the tears as best he can.

"I need you to be brave for me, son. Can you do that?"

Biting his trembling lips, Bruce shakes his head.

"I know, chum. I know." At the anguished whine from Bruce, Tim's Thomas's face is sympathetic and desolate. "I know, son. I know, but I need you to be real brave for me."

Bruce's eyes slide shut with a shaky exhale.

"It's okay, bubs. You're going to be okay. Can you be brave for me?"

Bruce nods.

"I need you to promise me that you won't push your family away, that you'll let them help you. I need you to be brave and continue loving them."

"Okay."

The dying man clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Look at me, son." Only when Bruce's eyes meet his does he continue. "Promise me."

"I promise, Dad."

A relieved smile appears on Tim's Thomas's face. "That's my boy."

[skythealmighty]

haha i love when i struggle with multiple hyperfixations at once. i am a coward for not making a crossover between allnof them but like. worldbuilding hard stfu

#rocket talk #the hyperfixes: #tmnt #inanimate insanity #bfdi #dsmp #the last one mostly spurred on by the stupid shit dreams doing #love clowning on that fool

(0 notes)

🤍 notalwayssecondplace Follow

i love how people are reblogging gi's hit post like it isnt a sign of his crippling inability to deal with change or to come to terms with his own self

anyway on other news i have a bunch of ideas for a new d&d campaign!

#i love my cousin but he really really needs therapy #like REALLY really

(12 notes)

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

I just realized... why do we call it "humanity"? Shouldn't it be "objectity"? IS it that in some universes? Can we claim universes that use "humanity" all once had humans???

⛳ bossy-bot Follow

Hello! Golf Ball from the BFDI universe here. I can confirm we use 'humanity' because we have, and also have had, humans. I cannot say for other universes though.

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

Fan II at your service! we use both- humans are kind of a myth for the most part. depends on how religious you are sometimes

💊 the-cringe-one Follow

Cringe Pill, TDOS- 'objectity' is the main term we use. Hadn't even heard of humans until Real Life Battle, honestly

👓 the-nerdiest-glasses Follow

guys, you're way overthinking this. here one sec

add in the tags what universe you're from (and if you picked humanity, if you know why add that too)

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

Oh, hadn't even thought of that...

#Goes to show you can be as smart as you want and still be stupid 😅 #Very curious to see the responses

(351,294 notes)

🎩 not-a-magician asked: Hi, I've been seeing people ask you for advice on auras and mental wellness and things... do you have anything for sleeping? I don't know if I have insomnia, but I've definitely had some trouble sleeping lately. I'm tired as hell but can't seem to just. Do it. Any advice at all would mean the world to me, really

🕯 litwick-in-real-life Follow

(Reminder to all: my advice on here is not meant to replace professional help by any means. If this is the cause of underlying trauma, please turn to therapy and not Tumblr. I'm not licensed yet.)

Thank you so much for the ask! While I'm sorry to admit sleep habits are not something I'm particularly versed in, I will give advice to the best of my ability as always. Best wishes on your journey to heal ^-^

Full advice below the cut to save space, as always!

Keep reading

#mental wellness #sleep habits #sleep #candle's light advice #not-a-magician

(14 notes)

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

ive come to a realization

you're welcome

#tpot #gravity falls #bfdi #one bfdi #bill cipher #i spent way too fucking long on this #if anyone's done this before me don't tell me please #also please dont come after me one THIS ISNT AN INSULT

(931 notes)

👿 darkness-reigns-supreme-3882 Follow

WHY THE FUCK AM I GREEN NOW?!

👿 darkness-reigns-supreme-3882 Follow

GREEN ISN'T INTIMIDATING. GREEN IS STUPID. GREEN IS ~nature~ AND ~healing~ AND PEOPLE WHO GET STUCK UP ON MOUNTAINS!!!!!

👿 darkness-reigns-supreme-3882 Follow

there will be hell to pay for this.

#i SWEAR if who i thought did this did this.

(2 notes)

✅ marker-the-green Follow

Ummm why did I just get a bunch of hate dms after I changed my username? I thought these were over :[

#It's the same guy too.... #oh wait right I unblocked him since he stopped

(7 notes)

📱 phone-guy-not-fnaf Follow

Finally getting therapy ✌ unfortunately my therapist says it's not productive to be literally dancing on my dead father's grave. that beign said tune into my next stream where we do dares at his gravestone

(374 notes)

🗒 meme-pad Follow

how to stop water in pot from burning? tried to cook ramen and failed

🗒 meme-pad Follow

i did not mean to type this in google im crowdsourcing

🎩 not-a-magician Follow

What the hell did you do?!

🗒 meme-pad Follow

NOTHING

#wait u have a tumnlr?

(1,279 notes)

📛 loud-and-proud Follow

i know this is ironic because of my username but uh. does anyone have any advice for being in love w your best bro and not knowing how to say it

🎚 all-about-dat-bass Follow

bro... im right here...

📛 loud-and-proud Follow

bro... so... is that a yes?

🎚 all-about-dat-bass Follow

hell YEAH, bro!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

📛 loud-and-proud Follow

no way... i love you dude ❤

🎚 all-about-dat-bass Follow

love you too man ❤

📕 imnotafuckingdiary Follow

Fucking finally

#They were SO BAD off screen #Definitely didn't expect this on Tumblr of all places though.

(72 notes)

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

time sensitive question: is it possible to get sued by algebraliens

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

this was posted literal months ago why are you idiots still reblogging it.

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

I mean~... if you want help not getting sued, I could always lend a theoretical hand?

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

no soliciting

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

That's not what "no soliciting" means, you know.

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

suck my dick

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

Haha, rude! I'm only offering help, you know.

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

go away you bill cipher wannabe or ill bite into you like a stale dorito

1️⃣ theoneandonly Follow

I can find you, you know.

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

lol

#im about to do whats called a pro gamer move

(240,163 notes)

🥧 threepointonefourwhatever Follow

i blocked her 🎉

[genericpuff]

I dont really know how to user tumbler im just kind of fumbling around for your content cause its so good, i was wondering if i maybe missed ep 56 & 57 or if im just bad at working tumbler/Diddy hub? (if they havent posted yet i apologize) love your work

ouu welcome to tumblr! here's a little guide to help you on your way!

You can access the full list of episodes on Dillyhub. They're all available to read here on Tumblr as well but navigation is a little trickier because my master post restricts how many links I can share (we ran out of room back around Ep 30-something). So I make do as best I can by providing Previous and Next episode links at the end of each episode.

Only thing with the Dillyhub mirror is that the episode numbers are 'behind' the Tumblr numbers. This is because when I started mirroring to Dillyhub, I merged some episodes together that were originally intended to be one part but had to be cut separately for time / readability. So the episode numbers had to be adjusted accordingly.

So even if it says "Episode 67" on Tumblr, that doesn't mean Dillyhub is 7 episodes behind - it's just that Episode 67 on DH is actually Episode 60!

Regardless of whether you read it here or on DH, you'll be caught up with the most recent episode that's available on both :) That said, DH tends to go up after the Tumblr version (usually within a couple hours, but sometimes not until the next day) and I only share the comic there, whereas here on Tumblr I also respond to asks, share the odd doodle, etc. But you can follow me on either platform (or both) for notifications about the next episode. The most recent was Episode 67, which just went up a couple days ago - you can read it here on Tumblr or on Dillyhub!

You can also bookmark my pinned post which I always update to link to the most recent episode after it's released!

Thanks so much for reading! Welcome to Tumblr >:3 <3

[simandy]

Yk anon besides your clear need to weed a plot to kill time and think about life, you also fail to understand the level 2 deep thought of: I do love this game. It doesn't mean I think it's good. Loving something and Liking something are two different sentiments.

When you LIKE something, you examine every single feature of it and think "oh I like this. This is nice in every aspect that I deem necessary. I'm staying around this thing."

When you LOVE something, you examine every single feature of it and think "this might not be perfect, this might actually be composed of 99% flaws, but something inside of me resonates deeply with this and I want to stay around it, even if it doesn't fit what I think would be ideal, and I do have hopes that it will get better sometime and I am eager to point out it's flaws, just in case it will help it's growth".

This is for things, people, ideologies, concepts, media, fandoms... Everything. I love Star Wars. I'm 26 years old and I've been loving it since I was 9. I know it is flawed, I personally don't like the last three movies because I think it could have gone in much better directions. Yet, I spent the last weekend glued to my TV because my dad decided it was star wars weekend so we watched the last three movies together. And I hate where the story goes but I LOVE star wars and it will always be part of me.

I love the sims series. I'm a late simmer, I got my sims 3 copy in my 11 years birthday and this was my first sims game. I learned about the community in 2012, got into it in 2015 and started to make cc in 2017. I've been here for long now and I've seen every single controversy. I remember the Katy Perry boycott. I was once the object of hate for an alpha creator because I asked them if their red hair swatch could be a bit brighter but my english was shit and they thought it was some kind of hate and it was a whole thing. The thing is, I love the sims and I wish i also liked it, but it's getting hard. I'm not leaving because I want it to be good, but I will complain all the time exactly because I want it to be good.

If you’re so pissed off about sims 4, stop playing. It doesn’t sound like you are having a good time playing. Why do something that you hate doing as a light pleasure experience?

Ah vai capinar um lote

[horreurscopes]

i like my body when it is with your body.

[lesbianherald]

I’m going to phrase this delicately because I’m so deeply grateful and awed by the support I’ve received.

But I will say it is a little anxiety inducing how many people feel they can talk about coming home whatever way they want openly and publicly because it has “numbers” or whatever (referring to my own work like this makes me want to claw my eyes out because they baffle me and I don’t necessarily feel I deserve them but it’s important for context).

This is Especially true for the way people speak under things I very much see. Art of the fic. My Twitter mutuals posts. Things I will very obviously interact with. It feels like someone is walking into my back yard and talking shit as if I'm literally not standing in said yard like this 🧍

You make something for a community for free as an act of passion and then the community in turn becomes something that isn’t quite accessible to you anymore. I’ve seen this happen to a lot of fic writers in my previous fandoms and idk man it’s just kind of a bummer.

Like. Fanfic and fanart is made by people in the fandom for the fandom. It’s not work being produced by some distant people in Hollywood who shouldn’t be in the fandom space in the first place.

Idk, it’s actually pretty rare that this happens to me but I wanted to mention I am a human who can very much read the things you say guys 😭 like if you reblog art related to my work and call it a bunch of petty names and say you had to dnf I can see that. It’s totally ok to feel whatever way you want. But maybe don't feel that way in my back yard.

Again. I’m so grateful for everything I really am. You absolutely do not have to fuck with my work. Fuck I don't fuck with my work sometimes DKLFJSDHF. This is probably the last time I’ll talk about this because the last thing I want to do is come off like I can’t take criticism and I’m ungrateful. But sometimes I really am chewing at my enclosure like IM RIGHT HERE MAN IM LITERALLY BEHIND YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT.

[sleepinginmygrave]

can someone explain to me why does my mum don't want me to be in my room and is forcing me to do my work downstairs 😃