#i was like is this was healing feels like! not even realizing it!

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[omgfangirlland]

I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.

HEAR ME OUT!

Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-

So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.

So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.

But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.

I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-

Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.

The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.

The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.

The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-

Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.

Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.

Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.

Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.

So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.

Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.

Bonus p1:

Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠

Batsis just wants Joker to die.

Bonus pt2:

Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀

Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.

Bonus pt3:

John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?

The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷

That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.

Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.

[bokettochild]

What is Legend’s and post-totk Wild’s relationship like? Does it change or is it the same?

Honestly, I keep trying to write an answer but all I have are inexplicable vibes.

It would change. Legend's the same as he was but Wild's grown up. Wild would be either 22 or 23 by the time TotK is over (in game we're told it's been 5 years since BotW) meanwhile Legend is still, at best, 17, but likely 16.

That's a 6-7 year age gap where before they were either the same age or very close.

Legend's still got his experience, but now Wild has the context of years, of knowing what normal looks like. Post BotW Wild has no concept of normal or peace, but post TotK Wild would have spent 5 years just existing and doing People Things. He knows what normal kids are like now. He's a teacher. He's a leader. He's an adult, even if he's still a young one. But he's got that frame of reference that Legend never has had of what life looks like after the adventure, but now also with the understanding that legend does have of the fact that heroes' can be ripped away any time, life uprooted to save the world again at any moment.

Wild has life experience that Legend can't fathom. Wild knows what growing up is like. Wild knows what peace looks like now.

Legend doesn't even know what the word "retirement" means, much less "stop" or "peace". He's used to having only enough time to heal between adventures before heading out again, if that!

I think Wild would come back, thinking he could slip back in, just to realize he can't see his brothers the same anymore. I won't dig in too deep, since you just asked about him and Legend, but for the vet I think he'd just get shocked at how young his brother really is, by how screwed up Legend's outlook on life is, and I think he'd be floundering because the guy he used to look to as a veteran, an expert and a role model, is actually just a teenager with too much responsibility on his shoulders.

I don't think he'd know what to do with that, because that's still his brother, but Legend's no longer his BIG brother, or at least not his peer. Legend's younger than him now, and much as he tries to see the vet the same way he used to, he'd just keep realizing how screwed up everything about Legend really is.

Meanwhile Legend, Mister Abandonment-Issues, would be over here struggling with the feeling of being left behind and out of the know and suddenly feeling small around a hero who used to make him feel so big. Wild's an adult now, but he's not supposed to be. Wild's matured now (but still Wild) and he's not sure what to do with that. Wild is wiser now, knows things, isn't charging in without thought anymore, and Legend has to adjust his whole perception all while wondering if this is even the same guy. All while trying his hardest not to let on that he feels that way because you bet your BUTT this kid has gotten enough grief over the years for not being the same kid people used to know that he has no wish to make anyone else feel that.

Like, adventures change you, a LOT. Legend's had a lot of adventures, ergo; he's changed a ton over the years and it definitely throws off everyone who knows him every single time. it's not his first rodeo, but it is the first time he's not been the one riding the bull that is change.

I think they'd both struggle a lot with this. I think there'd be a lot of frustration and fear on Legend's side and a lot of shock and confusion on Wild's. I think both would grieve, and I know Legend wouldn't be the one to know how to fix it.

Legend fixes problems, but the thing that sets him apart from the rest of the heroes is that he's never had time between adventures to actually process and learn healthy coping mechanisms or ways to express himself. Kid knows how to fix other people's shit, but never his own.

Wild would have to be the one to cross the divide between them, and as the older brother now, I think that would just make it all the weirder for both of them.

Anyways, congrats, I had enough brainrot about this that I wrote a dang fic and then sobbed for a good ten minutes in a public coffee shop T-T

Thanks for the ask!

[uyuforu]

❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。 ༻ Astro Observations XI ༺ ❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。

All pictures were found on Pinterest

Other posts you could like:

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જ⁀➴ Astro Observations X

❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。 ❀°。❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° 。 • *₊°。

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⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Natal Chart

❀ I read somewhere that Aries Rising often ignore people, even the closest people. My sister does that often, and she is also Aries Rising. ❀

❀ Also, the Rising sign and degree can say often how you look, your appearance but don't forget planets and other placements in your 1H! ❀

❀ Moreover, the Ruler of your Rising can also tell a lot about your appearance, meaning the sign and house placements of your Ruler. ❀

❀ I also noticed that whenever the Sun or Venus was transiting my 1H I was changing something on my appearance. It can also just be me adopting a new way to do my hair or my make up, etc. ❀

❀ Having Aries Descendant is a sign you'll have a spouse who will make you realize you are too nice, you are too generous with others, and they will teach you it's okay to tell people to go f*ck themselves. ❀

❀ Men who have Virgo Rising are the finest in my opinion, perhaps because I'm Virgo Venus but girl they are just so neat and take care of themselves so much, it's so refreshing. ❀

❀ Moreover, Virgo Rising men often age like fine wine. Their hot era is never ending. Just take Benjamin Bratt as an example. ❀

❀ If Pluto transiting your Natal Chart will give you clarity over which house it transits, and it will also be a huge transformation in it. I have it in my 4H, and I can tell you I see my family differently and learn a lot of hidden things. It hits like a b*tch. ❀

❀ Can we stop generalizing MC signs ? Cancer MC doesn't mean necessarily the person will do a job related to taking care of others. The sign over your MC is often a way to describe your needs in a career, but the planets in the 10h and the sign it is in matters, AND the ruler of the 10H as well. ❀

❀ Saturn conjunct Juno often means you'll marry your destined person later in life, and you could also meet later in life as well. ❀

❀ Juno conjunct Chiron is a sign your FS is wounded, in depression, or that they will need to heal to be with you. Being with your Future Spouse could also require a lot of sacrifices. ❀

❀ 4H Ruler in 7H people could often depend on their partner emotionally. They can also be the kind of person to want to only settle down with a partner. ❀

❀ Saturn 7H can have the same effect as Venus conjunct Saturn , you could have a delay in your love life, or find yourself having many lessons about it. You could have to live some failed relationships or romantic interactions in your early life, yet perhaps around your Saturn Return, you could have a better and long lasting love life. ❀

❀ Jupiter conjunct Saturn 7H could mean a delay in your marriage, perhaps marrying close to your 30's, but it could also mean after being married, your life will be very good, and you'll gain a lot because of marriage, and perhaps a lot of knowledge and wisdom as well. ❀

❀ I feel like even if you try hard, you'll never really know someone with Sun 8H/12H. They are quite good at showing exactly what they want you to see. ❀

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Synastry

❀ Rising conjunct Venus often means Venus person will think Rising person is their ideal type. ❀

❀ I often found that when it's not a romantic connection, Sun in 7H Synastry is not a good relationship, yet often a toxic one. Sun person can tend to hate 7H person. ❀

❀ I feel like 2H, 6H & 10H are really underrated houses in Synastry. I think it's really good to have those houses, mostly if big 3 are there. ❀

❀ Sun conjunct Venus often makes the Sun person think Venus person is very attractive. They could also find Venus very charming and their type. ❀

❀ I often saw Juno 1H Synastry when there was love at first sight between two people. Often Juno person having love at first sight for 1H person. ❀

❀ Venus/ Juno/ Jupiter is very beneficial for "finding the house person good looking", and often if you have those planets in someone's 1H or conjunct their Rising, they will be your type. ❀

❀ Every time I had a friend who wanted to befriend me and who was also someone I got along with so much, they have a Stellium in my 11H. ❀

❀ Sun 12H Synastry can possibly make the 12H person forget about you often. ❀

❀ In some relationships, Venus in the 12H can say that 12H person doesn't feel the love Venus person try to give them, and could also feel unloved. ❀

❀ Moon conjunct Saturn can also be that Moon person feel totally misunderstood by Saturn person, or they could feel judged often by Saturn person. ❀

❀ Mars 3H can mean Mars person can often know the right words to hurt 3H person, they can speak to them in a harsh way as well. ❀

❀ Sometimes 12H placements aren't that bad, so take it with a grain of salt. For example, my mother has a Stellium in my 12H, and we are very connected. ❀

❀ Sun conjunct Jupiter often makes the two natives adore each other, they often get along very well, laugh together but also they often share the same opinion. Jupiter person often teach a lot of valuable lessons to Sun person. ❀

❀ Chiron conjunct Moon often means Chiron person will hurt Moon's feelings. I have this aspect with my uncle, he often is harsh with his words. I was scared of him when I was little. ❀

❀ Sun 8H can mean 8H person can feel like Sun person doesn't like them. ❀

❀ Moon 12H in Synastry can often tell us that Moon person will struggle to say to 12H person how they feel, or often share personal things about them. Though, it can also be a sign of deep spiritual connection. ❀

Thank you for reading!

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[genericpuff]

Apollo, buddy, that was not very supportive, caring boyfriend of you.

It wasn't, but in his defense, he is "trying", it's just that he and Kore don't really exist in the same worlds and their perspectives aren't manifesting in the exact same way.

Apollo is someone who's basically a celebrity, he's lived in Olympus virtually his entire life and in that time he's gone through more of his fair share of "social media drama" where he's now, by and large, desensitized to it. His response to Kore's concerns do come across as very flippant, because to him, the drama is inevitable and fleeting. He's blocked many people and BEEN blocked, so now whenever stuff like that happens to him, it rolls right off him - or at the very least, he recovers pretty quickly - because, well, it's definitely not the first time, and it won't be the last, so why worry? Why not just roll with it and maybe share in a laugh over some petty online drama?

By and large, his practical advice underneath all the teasing and laughter isn't actually incorrect - under normal circumstances (as those are the circumstances Kore and Apollo are both applying due to not being aware of other factors at play such as the eye-pulling) Apollo is technically right that if Alex - and subsequently, Hades - suddenly ghosted Kore out of the blue without explanation, then clearly it was a one-sided relationship and Kore shouldn't waste her tears over someone who could dump her so easily. Though he's coming across as very inconsiderate towards Kore's feelings, his heart is in the right place. Even when he asks "wait you're actually upset??" it's not him being deluded to Kore's feelings - it's him realizing that what happened is actually deeply affecting her, she's not talking about what happened to talk shit or "spill the tea", she's talking about it because she's looking for comfort and validation, something Apollo typically isn't looking for whenever he's going through fallouts in his relationships.

Through his eyes, someone blocking him randomly out of the blue simply communicates, "That person clearly isn't on my level, so I guess it's better for them to haul themselves out of my life willingly before I throw them out forcefully." But through Kore's eyes, she's seeing herself as the reason for her own abandonment. She's not accustomed to the superficial norms of social media (or the vanity of the Olympians) and how they differ from how people typically behave in the Mortal Realm. She's never really experienced someone just disappearing from her life, at least not in this way. She can't just say "bye Felicia" as confidently and arrogantly as Apollo can. Though it's a dick move for Apollo to immediately jump to joking around / laughing in her face over the matter, that's just the coping mechanism he's accustomed to and he wrongly assumed that it would translate to Kore's situation as well.

That said, that's also under normal circumstances. There are obviously more complicated factors at play here (none more so than the eye-pulling torture) that explain both Alex's and Hades' perspectives as to why they're distancing themselves from Kore without notice. From Kore's perspective though - and by extension, Apollo's perspective, framed by Kore - she's being cut out of people's lives for reasons she doesn't know, and it's drudging up a lot of anxiety and imposter syndrome and making her feel like it's all her fault.

And there's nothing worse than feeling like you're suffering consequences for things you aren't even entirely sure you did (or didn't do) in the first place.

Long tangent aside - Apollo is being supportive in the only way he knows how, and Kore is reacting in the only way she's ever known. Both Kore and Apollo have their own issues that they haven't healed from, issues that we'll be unpacking more as the series goes on. Though they both have similar trauma in regards to their past relationships and how they were raised, it's manifested in different ways - Kore is indecisive and terrified of committing to relationships out of fear of ruining them, while Apollo has built a shield of arrogant grandiose around him to prevent him from ever getting hurt again, even if it means looking/acting like an asshole.

This is also, by and large, why I don't make it a matter of "picking sides" when discussing Kore and Apollo. They both have reasons and explanations as to why they are the way that they are. They just aren't capable yet of bridging that gap and meeting in the middle - so it's currently creating a tense, unrecognized standoff between fight and flight.

[sematarygirls]

🐞 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── rafe sees anxious!reader's tramp stamp for the first time

cw: suggestive but mostly fluff, angst if you squint

       It wasn't like you were hiding it or anything. You certainly weren't ashamed of the permanent ink artwork embedded into your lower back. In fact, you had loved it ever since you got it done.

The problem was that you were self-conscious about your body. You weren't big enough to be considered plus sized, but you weren't small enough to be considered ideal either. You were in a weird middle zone that left you feeling utterly undesirable and completely at war with your body, which led you to wearing a lot of high-rise pants and other articles of clothing that obscured your body—your lower back included.

You also met Rafe in the winter. How he, the hottest guy in Kildare and maybe even the entire world, found you of all people attractive aside, the weather meant that you were never in bikinis or cropped shirts and shorts around him.

Those things combined with the fact that you were too scared to have sex with him meant that you had never been in a position where he had been able to catch a glimpse of it, leaving your boyfriend completely in the dark to your tattoo.

Plus, you sort of forgot it was there. After it healed and there was no longer pain or that persistent, unfathomably uncomfortable itch to remind you that you had gotten your skin altered forever, it was out of sight, out of mind.

Those things combined with the fact that you were too scared to have sex with him meant that you had never been in a position where he had been able to catch a glimpse of it, leaving your boyfriend completely in the dark to your tattoo.

Until you finally decided to stop being a nervous wreck and spend the night at his house. It was going to be completely innocent, nothing more than some cuddling and a slightly awkward moment of realization the morning after as you felt morning wood pressing against you for the first time. You were inexperienced, to say the very least.

He offered you some sweatpants with a drawstring and a shirt for you to wear, and since you had dreamed of this since you were 13, you had obliged, trying not to seem to excited at the thought of being in his clothes, enveloped by his scent. It just seemed like something oddly intimate and domestic, something you longed for.

You pulled your pants off and pulled his sweatpants on, tying the drawstring, but the pants still hung a little loose on your hips. You turned your back to him, lifting your shirt off, and just as you started to slip his shirt on, you heard his voice, making you freeze.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, his obscenity mixed with shock making the sentence come out much harsher and more jarring than he had intended. He wasn't as angry as his tone intended. In fact, he was really fucking turned on and incredibly curious. His sweet, shy little girlfriend was hiding a tattoo in the sexiest spot he could imagine.

"What?" You asked, quickly pulling his shirt down and turning to him, your eyes wide with worry. Your mind, adept at overthinking every micro expression and shift in tone, immediately started running with possibilities, most prominently, that he had seen something about your body that he didn't like.

"The tattoo," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn't tell me you had a fuckin' tramp stamp."

"Oh," you replied softly, your blood rushing to your cheeks. Your mind immediately worried that he didn't like it, that maybe it would be a deal breaker or he'd think you were some kind of slut. "I-uh- I don't know..." You tried to explain yourself, stumbling over your words as your mouth struggled to catch up to your brain. "I guess I forgot about it," your excuse sounded pathetic even to your own ears as it left your lips, but you didn't have anything else to say, nothing that wasn't a string of apologies and pleas that he wouldn't leave you, anyway.

"You forgot you had a tattoo on your lower back?" He raised an eyebrow, sitting up on his bed and crossing his arms, his biceps bulging slightly. He didn't mean to sound like an asshole, but it was practically in his DNA. He was working on trying to be gentler with you, realizing when you needed him to be softer and when you liked him acting like sort of a dick, but working on were the operative words in that phrase. He wasn't quite there yet.

"It's just..." You struggled to find the words to explain. Rafe didn't have tattoos. He didn't know how easy it was to just forget that they were there. After a certain point, it just becomes a part of you that you're used to. You don't really think about it or perceive it as much as other people do. "I don't really see it because of where it is, so I- um- well, it's easy to forget that it's there... I guess?" You sounded completely unsure of yourself, to the point that you worried he might think you were lying, whether that was a valid concern or just your anxious brain trying to fuck with you, you weren't sure.

He leaned forward, saying nothing for a moment as his piercing blue eyes regarded you with a scrutinizing stare that made you feel like he could see right through you. You fiddled with the hem off his shirt, biting the inside of your cheek anxiously as your gaze darted around the room—you always overthought how much eye contact was the correct amount. "Turn around," he ordered after a moment, his voice low and gruff. "Let me see. Properly this time."

"What?" You asked, your eyes snapping to his and widening a fraction as you were caught off guard by his demand. You weren't entirely sure what you expected to be honest, maybe to be broken up with, or just chewed out for keeping a secret or getting such a tattoo in the first place, but for some reason, it hadn't occurred to you that he would want to look at it, really look at it.

"Turn around," he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument this time. He didn't like repeating himself, and he especially didn't like feeling like he was missing out on a piece of you, this girl that had taken him completely by surprise and made him forget that anyone else existed. "Now."

Your brain seemed to short circuit, and you stood there for a minute, blinking at him with your lips parted as if you were going to object, but instead, you simply turned around, holding your breath as you entered your natural state of constant worrying.

Your breath hitched slightly, your eyes squeezing shut in fear and anticipation as he gently tugged the shirt up, revealing your back. he tugged the sweatpants down ever so slightly to see the bottom of the tattoo, and you waited for what seemed like forever before finally feeling his warm fingers run along the healed ink.

The image depicted on your skin, like art on a canvass, was two swans, kissing to create a heart with their faces. One of them was lightly shaded, meant to depict a white swan, and the other was darkly shaded, meant to depict a black swan. It didn't have an explicit meaning to you. You just thought it was pretty and really liked swans, the fact that they mated for life speaking to your hopeless romantic heart.

His fingertips traced the line work, a gesture that was sensual and seemed to leave fire in its wake. He stared at it for a long while, such a beautiful and permanent piece of art on his girl in such an indirectly intimate area making something within stir.

"You hate it don't you?" You breathed out, the words falling from your lips in a concerned hurry faster than you could stop it. The silence was suffocating, not knowing what would come after making your skin crawl with anxiety.

"Face me," was all he said. He wanted to look you in the eyes when he said what he had to say, wanted to make sure you really heard him and understood that he meant what he said.

You turned back around to face him, looking down at him as he placed his hands firmly on your hips, pulling you forward to stand between his legs. Your brows were knitted in worry, looking down at him like you were going to burst into tears if he'd started laying into you. You really liked Rafe—it was too soon to say love but... you did—and that mixed with your people-pleaser tendencies made your stomach turn at the thought of upsetting him.

Realistically, you had no reason to be so nervous about his reaction. It was your body, you could do whatever you wanted to it, and you had gotten it before you two even got together, but your brain didn't really care about what was realistic; it only cared about worst case scenario and disappointing people.

"Baby, you are absolutely gorgeous, alright?" He said sternly, already aware that you were preparing yourself for the worst and probably working yourself up about it. "And, fuck, I mean this tattoo... it only makes you more sexy to me. You're fuckin' perfect."

Your cheeks heated up again, not with fear or embarrassment this time but at his compliment. You also visibly relaxed as the clarification that he wasn't mad soothed your nerves a tad. You let out a surprised giggle as he tugged you down onto his lap.

"You got any more sexy little tattoos hidden under these clothes?" He asked flirtatiously, flashing that panty-dropping smirk that made him look ten times more handsome, especially when he was gripping your thigh with one hand and holding you securely against him by your waist with his other.

"No," you smiled, tentatively wrapping your arms around his neck, not knowing if it was as attractive as it seemed in books. "Just that one. Sorry to disappoint," you continued, your voice soft as you bit your lip shyly—one of your many anxious habits.

"Mm," he hummed, dipping his head into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. "Shame," he murmured, placing soft kisses against your skin as you giggled. The tension in the room had completely dissipated, replaced by a lighthearted and flirty atmosphere.

Rafe knew you weren't ready to go further than just kissing, and he was going to wait for as long as you needed him to. Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't get horny at the idea of pounding into you from behind, your tattoo completely exposed for him to gawk at, but he knew baby steps were in order. He needed to get you okay with sex before he molded you into his little personal porn star.

                         ୭ৎ

author's notes .ᐟ   described my own tattoo as the one reader has, but if you have your own or want to imagine it as something else, feel free to do so! i just thought i should describe the tattoo for the story's sake <3

also, i know this is a little different from the giggly and jokey couple we saw in my other anxious!reader x boyfriend!rafe fic, and that is because this is toward the beginning of their relationship. reader is still trying to learn to be more comfortable with rafe enough to be herself and realize that he loves her, even it she doesn't like herself, and rafe has never done the relationship thing, especially not with a girl like reader, so he's still learning to express his emotions and be soft and warm with her the way he wants to and know she deserves.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

[snickerer]

I've started a Little Women inspired Azriel x Archeron!reader, if anyone is interested. This is my first time posting on Tumblr, so let me know if I'm missing something. I would love to hear your thoughts!

_____________________________________________________________

After abruptly putting down your pencil, you scrutinize the man lazing across from you.  As your sketch lies abandoned in your lap, you notice that his hair is slightly mused.  Likely due to the autumn wind that signified summer slipping away.  

“When are you going back?”  You finally ask as worry begins to work its way into your chest.  You quickly shove it back down.

“Soon,” Azriel replies simply, and you can’t seem to stop the exasperated sigh that slips out.  

“You’ve been saying the same variation of that for the past month, Az.  I’m not sure if ‘soon’ qualifies as an answer at this point.”

“Short answers keep me from saying the wrong thing.”  

“Rhys has been expecting you for weeks.  Why not just go and save yourself  the trouble?”

“Perhaps I’m looking for trouble,” he offers while quirking an eyebrow.  Despite the slight smile creeping its way onto his face, his eyes are assessing.  You find yourself playing with the picnic basket in between both of you and glance down at the drawing in your lap.  

“You are the trouble,” you reply blandly.  

“I would only cause issues if I went.”  His words seem to linger in the air and seconds pass before Azriel decides to continue, “I’d be a burden.”  The last words come out raw, as if they had caught on a wound that had not been given proper time to heal.  

“You’re not a burden,” you reply firmly before you even realize what you were saying.  And you subconsciously shift closer to him on the blanket.  

“Then I suppose I should stay here and not burden you for a little while longer.”  You bite down on your lip to stop an unlady-like grin from lighting up your face. If your mother could see you now.  As a cooling shadow snakes its way up your arm, it is almost indistinguishable from the charcoal smeared along your skin.  Promptly, you take a moment to wipe off the charcoal enveloping your hands onto your dress- completely staining the pristine cerulean fabric.  

Azriel leans forward and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.  His hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he speaks again.  

“Honestly, I’m beginning to think that you enjoy my company,” Azriel adds.  You feel your eyes widen slightly at the comment and shift away from him.  As your eyes flicker across his face while you quickly distract yourself by picking up your sketch and getting back to work.  

“What are you doing?”  You ask, suddenly, not bothering to look up as a wave of annoyance flares up in you.  

“Looking at you.”

“No, I mean what are you doing?”  You ask again and try to push down the bubbling anger that was threatening to rise to the surface.  Your brows furrow as you add, “You can’t avoid them forever.  They’re your family.”  

“What do you want me to do?” 

“This isn’t about what I want, Az.” You bite back.  Then, taking a long pause to rub your temples soothingly at the aching pain before continuing, “But you should go home.  Work.  Do something with yourself.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to tell me what to do,” he responds.  Azriel’s face was more guarded than before.  More conflicted too, if you were to wager a guess.  

“I never said that.  I said this isn’t about what I want.”  You answer as a wave of guilt begins to build.  Were you too harsh?  Your eyes lock as you study each other and the air around you begins to grow tense.  

“Here.”  You say, breaking the silence, and hold out your sketch to him. 

[ropebunnykant]

i've already talked about it a little here but i've got to talk about it more because there is actually SO MANY layers to the brothers getting physical injuries in ep7 and how it's being used to represent the betrayal.

agatha @bisonsclothespin pointed out their tags on that post here that the use of physical injuries to represent emotional hurt/betrayal has already been used in the show by way of fadel having a physical scar, presumably from some kind of stab wound, over his heart in reference to the way his ex likely hurt him. and i don't think it's a coincidence that bison ends up with a stab wound as well!

i actually find the choice in injuries to be extremely interesting when you consider the betrayals and how they impact the brothers individually. bison is stabbed, and fadel breaks his arm. for bison, this is the first time he has been through this kind of heartbreak and betrayal, and his injury is far less common than someone breaking their arm is. which is why fadel gets a broken arm, because this has all happened for him before.

additionally, a broken arm is going to take a lot longer to heal than a stab wound. a stab wound will likely scar, yes, and take time to heal, but depending on the break, a broken arm can take up to twelve weeks to heal, and even then you may need physical therapy after - your arm may never have the same function and strength it once did. it's an interesting parallel seeing as fadel is the one that is taking so much longer to heal!

i also think the fact that bison got stabbed in the stomach specifically is VERY interesting. because when it comes to betrayal, the more common phrase is to get stabbed in the back. but to be stabbed in the back, you have to not only not know it's coming, but it also often implies that you could assume at one point that person was on your side. that's not the case for bison and kant in any sense. kant was keeping this from bison for nearly the entire time they've known each other, he was never on bison's side. and not only that, but bison knew something was off. we see him questioning kant all the way up until ep5, we see him realize and recognize in ep4 that kant drugged him and then willingly close his eyes to that and give kant his heart anyways. bison wasn't stabbed in the back by kant - he was stabbed in the stomach, closing his eyes to it despite knowing it was coming.

the way the injuries are addressed in ep8 is also very interesting to me from this angle! with bison specifically, every single time that his stab wound started hurting was in direct correlation to when he's forced to acknowledge his feelings for kant - ie when kant is pouring salt on the wound by making bison acknowledge he loves kant while bison still doesn't believe kant loves him back! it happens first when kant tries to make bison say what he feels for kant and once bison shoots him down and insists he's not in a place to negotiate and that he'll die here, he clears his throat and that's when kant is able to recognize he's in pain. then it happens again after kant takes a protective stance for babe and explains why he actually took the job in the first place - there's more distance between that and when bison holds onto his stab wound, but given that we know one of the reasons bison fell for kant in the first place is because of the fact that he's a caring older brother, i don't think it's a coincidence that those are in the same scene. the next time it happens is IMMEDIATELY after bison gives kant the band aid and kant tries to get bison to admit he's worried about him - as soon as kant finishes, bison is holding his side again. bison's wound isn't brought up again after that, and i don't think it's a coincidence because after that, we get the penguin scene and then the reconciliation. the wound has healed.

while fadel's isn't brought up in the same ways throughout the ep, i do find it very interesting that only after style has managed to regain some of fadel's trust is when he helps fadel take the sling off. and then by the time they're in the bath, the cast is gone as well - and if we go off the trailer, it doesn't come back again, either. i said it in my tags, but i'm willing to forgive incorrect healing time when it's meant to symbolize forgiveness!

[venomwrites]

Inspired by @qvert's latest masterpiece because i was called out in the tags and that will not stand. Also on ao3

Dying is more peaceful than she imagined. 

It’s nice, nicer than she deserves after the things she’s done. There’s a linger of disappointment, like the aftertaste of a cigarette or a bad drink. She had been so ready to die. Right up until she found Vi in that cell. Until Vi shoved their mouths together and irrevocably rewrote all of Catilyn’s desires. Before that, the idea of dying was easy enough to imagine. She deserved it for all she had done. She could only hope that whatever part of her passed on was able to explain herself. She had tried. But she had fallen short. Like a novice shooter, she had struck the target but it hadn’t been a bullseye. That was alright though. As long as they gave her just a moment to hear her mother’s disapproving click. The arch of her eyebrow. Anything at all. If she could just have that she would go wherever was next. But then Vi had mashed their lips together and that sweet surrender turned bitter. She truly had tried to live. It was odd, none of her wounds seemed fatal but she must have miscalculated. 

Well it was one miscalculation. One of many, but she can’t even imagine the lifetime that stretched beyond her if they couldn’t salvage her eye. When her fingertips touch the skin though, there’s no damage. After another prod, she realizes there’s no skin either. Whatever she is, she is solid but not. She twists around and tries to sort through what she is seeing, but it’s very difficult. She feels as though she has many voices in her head, but they hum and move past. None actually register as she looks around. It’s baffling but they all feel equal in some strange way. Like everything that has made them them is gone. Scooped out. She has no idea what makes a someone a person if all of that is gone. She wonders if that is what death is. This strange surrender and scooping out. This return to something like light. It feels far more hollow than she would have expected. But if there are voices, perhaps one is that which she is looking for. It takes several tries to get her voice to work, but she is nothing if not determined. 

“Mum?” She calls. No response, just that same dull echo. Something like distant panic churns through her, “Mum? I’m here,” she tries again, twisting for any sign, “Mum it’s Caitlyn, are you here?”

For a moment there’s just silence. 

Then something collides into her and she’s falling. 

Caitlyn thinks she might scream but there’s no air in her lungs to scream with. She can’t remember when she took a breath last or if the need to breathe is even real. The sensation of falling is, maybe other things are as well. She’s been such a monster. Such a failure. Of course the peaceful place she was in is not where she belongs. Perhaps she is meant to fall for the rest of whatever is happening. Existence? Eternity? Caitlyn doesn’t know. She can do nothing except tumble through the impossible light. Just when she is half convinced there is no end to this, scenery roars up around her and Caitlyn barely has enough time to brace herself for the impending impact. Except everything goes molasses slow and instead of a hard landing she finds herself standing on solid ground. 

She doesn’t recognize this place. 

She recognizes vague elements of it. It’s like someone took all the cells in Stillwater Hold and the Bunker, jumbled them together and spit this place out. There were no sensations in the place of light but there is nothing but sensations here. Bruises appear and heal, mildew and mould tickle her nose and then are replaced by the smell of old dust. It’s an overwhelming nightmare that makes her dizzy for a moment as she fights to get her bearings. Her fingers wrap around the bars as she peers down an impossibly long hallway. Somewhere at the very end she thinks she sees the light of the elevator, but her eyes can’t seem to focus on it without it moving away. Caitlyn wonders if this is where she will exist for the rest of time or if this is another temporary place. If the next will be worse. She manages to draw in something resembling a breath and thinks to call for help. 

“Don’t!” A voice whispers. 

The hairs on Caitlyn’s neck stand up at the harsh, desperate whisper. She would know that voice across time and space. That voice has been inked into her marrow. Caitlyn made her peace with her own death. But not with this one. This was the death she wanted to prevent above all others. Some part of her screams in denial but she’s still not certain she can make a sound. And even if she can, the voice told her not to. 

When Vi asks, Caitlyn cannot deny her. 

Slowly she turns around but whatever she’s expecting, it’s not this. Vi is standing behind her but it’s not her Vi. It’s not even the broken Vi she dragged up from the depths of the earth. This Vi is only recognizable in parts. The scars on her face, the pink of her hair, the color of her eyes. Everything else is radically different. She’s whip thin. Painfully thin. Her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is runny. Her hair is shaved on both sides in an severe undercut, the kind that requires another pair of hands. There are no tattoos on her. Not even the VI under her eye. She’s bare faced, inkiness and utterly terrified. The prison garb she’s wearing is shockingly clean and cuffed several times at the ankles. It hangs off her slender frame. Her hands are wrapped but she’s bled though them already. Her hands twitch between wrapping tight around her middle, swiping under her eyes or nose or lifting up near her face. It takes a moment before something fractionally relaxes on her. 

“If they hear you they’ll beat you,” she says in that same desperate whisper and the panic in her eyes breaks Caitlyn’s heart. 

This isn’t her Vi. 

“We’ll be quiet,” Caitlyn whispers and Vi relaxes a little more, “I’m Cai—“

“No names,” Vi says, “they don’t like that. I’m 5-1-6,” she says in a horribly rehearsed way, “but some of the guards call me Pink.”

“I’m Cupcake,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi’s eyes light up. 

“No way,” she says, “I get my sister a cupcake for her birthday every year. It’s like having a whole cake to yourself,” her face falls a bit, “I was saving up for it before—“ she stops herself from speaking and her eyes go panicked like she’s said too much. Her hands rise up, “I don’t have any money the guards took it.”

“I don’t either,” Caitlyn offers, holding out her hands to show she isn’t armed, “I just got here. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks,’ Vi says and chews her bottom lip, “I think. It’s hard to tell.”

A few weeks. Caitlyn feels sick. A few weeks and ten years to go. She’s one of the few who has seen Vi’s file. Caitlyn has no illusions that the file only scratches the surface. The file is horrific and it is only what people bothered to write down. Or what they were forced to. Stillwater Hold is notorious for having incomplete files. If the guards are not ignoring others atrocities, they are pretending not to have committed their own. It’s a hellish place. It was before Caitlyn had any idea how hellish it truly was. Before she even knew Vi her skin crawled at the thought of it. She had been nervous on that boat ride over. Only her own stubbornness got her off when even the captain of the boat leered at her. Everything in her screams to get Vi out. To save her. But she is fairly certain that she is not in the past. Not really. 

“You’re very strong,” Caitlyn says, coming a little closer, “saving money for your sister’s birthday like that. You’re going to survive this.”

Vi makes a tiny noise before she grabs her arm and twists away. Like even that noise will send the guards running towards her. Maybe it did in the past. Maybe it will now. Caitlyn doesn’t know how she will witness that knowing there is nothing she can do to help. Not really. 

“I don’t want to,” Vi whispers to her and a few tears break free, streaking down the grime on her cheeks. 

They’re close enough for Caitlyn to reach out and take Vi’s hand. Vi’s fingers are limp in hers. It’s horrible, the last time Vi’s fingers felt like this she was dying. Dying but still fighting with everything she had. There’s no fight in this Vi’s blue-grey eyes. She’s terrified. Even though she’s trying to protect herself the gentleness of Caitlyn’s touch seems to break something in her. One of her hands digs into her arm and her fingers weakly tighten around Caitlyn’s. Her lip trembles as she hangs her head, her eyes slamming shut. She tries to breath but every breath trembles. Caitlyn squeezes her hands back and her lips part. 

“I—“ she sucks in a tortured breath, “I want my mom,” she sobs, “I want my mom.”

Her body gives out and Caitlyn dives forward, drawing the trembling girl into her lap. One of the best things about Vi’s hugs is how all encompassing they are. How you’re blanketed in her embrace. Caitlyn doubts this slender thing could wrap her arms around her shoulders. She curls herself into Caitlyn’s warmth with a choked, horrible sob. Caitlyn tries to imitate Vi’s embrace and presses her into her shoulder. This Vi wraps her arms around her own middle but she turns her head into Caitlyn’s neck. Her tears and uneven breaths break Caitlyn’s heart as Vi tries to find comfort in her embrace. 

“I know you do,” Caitlyn whispers, thinking of how when Vi was stabbed she only wanted to go home, “one day this will all seem like a bad dream.”

“How?” Vi sniffles, “they won’t let me out.”

“One day someone is going to come and get you out of here,” she says, “and you’ll wind up in the big shiny house you always looked at when you saw the Fireworks at Progress day. You’ll have everything you could possibly want for the rest of you days.”

“I won’t die here?” The small voice asks. 

“No,” Caitlyn says, “you don’t die here. You’re strong—you’re so strong. You become even stronger in here. And that strength saves so many lives.”

“Do I find my sister?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn says, “you find her. You find yourself,” Vi’s lips shift up, “and you find so many others. People come together because of you. People who never thought they would.”

Vi is quiet for a moment and then sniffles. She slides off Caitlyn’s lap. She still looks scared but there’s a determination in her eyes now. A bit of the Vi she knows and loves, shining through. Caitlyn grasps her hands and looks into her blue-grey eyes. They seem almost colorless in this place. Like they were the night they first met. One day Caitlyn will know every blue in them, but right now they must be grey. 

“You are so loved,” she says, “promise me you will never forget that. Hold onto it.”

“I’ll hold on,” Vi says. 

There are footsteps suddenly. Pounding towards them. Caitlyn opens her mouth and tries to push Vi behind her, but she’s falling again. Slower this time. Monstrous shadows starts to darken the cell but Vi stands tall. Her shoulders square. Her fists raise up as she faces this impossible evil. Before they get her she turns around and grins at Caitlyn. It’s the smile Caitlyn loves. That devil may care one that says this is gonna be fine. She’s got this. She winks at Caitlyn and it’s like Caitlyn can see her growing up in this hellish place. She’s older when she turns back. Ink has started to decorate her skin and her arms are broader. It’s not her Vi, not yet. Closer but not there. But this Vi grins all the same at Caitlyn. 

“I’ll hold on,” she says. 

Time jumps again and Caitlyn is somehow away and unaware of every horror. Every moment. The shadows are gone except the ones the bars create. There’s a dripping sound that Vi uses to thump her fists into the wall. It’s her Vi. The determination is full on her face, but Caitlyn can see a weariness there. One she wasn’t aware of when they met. Vi loses the rhythm and presses her forehead to the wall. 

“How long do I have to hold on?” She mutters and opens her eyes to lock with Caitlyn’s. 

Caitlyn’s not sure how to answer. When even is this? There’s more hopelessness in Vi’s face as she looks at her. A weariness that guts Caitlyn. She’s so tired. She has every right to be exhausted. The way she strikes the wall is listless. Like she has nothing left to give. Caitlyn scrambles to find the right words. It’s harder with this world weary Vi. Somehow she can stand though. She presses her hand to the nape of Vi’s neck and tries not to wince when Vi pushes at the wall. She shies away from the touch like it’s a strike but she doesn’t move to the sides. She doesn’t actually try to get away. 

“Keep holding on,” Caitlyn says, “please.”

“I can’t,” Vi gasps out, “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Caitlyn counters, “I know you can. Hold on. I’m almost there.”

Vi looks at her with one miserable eye but then Caitlyn hears the sound of her own boots. They both turn at the precise steps, the ruffle of pages, the catch of an unsteady breath. Suspicion and worry echo on Vi’s face. She doesn’t know who this is but she can tell they don’t belong here. No-one comes down here alone. Vi listens for a moment longer and then squares her shoulders. If they’re here for her, if this is some new hell she’s going to face it. It’s written all over her face. Even before her grey eyes drag over to Caitlyn’s. 

“I can’t for much longer,” she says, “but for now,” her lips quirk up, "I’ll hold on."

Over Vi’s head Caitlyn watches as she walks into view. She looks so much younger. It’s hard to imagine she was ever this person. But she was. She is. Vi glances at her and then at that Caitlyn. Her Caitlyn. Even though she doesn’t know it, she can’t know it. Neither of them know what is about to happen to them. How this moment will irrevocably change the course of their lives. The cell tugs and fades and blurs. Caitlyn feels the skin under her hand shift and change as a watercolor Vi appears to stare at her Caitlyn and the Vi under her hands finally becomes hers. 

“Cait?”

They clutch each other as the watercolor world gives way to that endless place of dark and light. They don’t exist anymore but Caitlyn is certain they are together. She would have to be truly unmade to not know the feel of Vi’s embrace. Vi’s shoulders heave but they are her Vi’s shoulders. Thick with muscle and the weight of all she has been through. So impossibly strong. Caitlyn pushes her head into her shoulder and digs her fingers into Vi’s trapezius, the one that shifts more easily. 

“Fuck, Cait,” she breathes into her shoulder, “you’re here.”

“Yes,” Caitlyn says. Vi’s head comes up and finally looks around, “wherever this is.”

“We’re not dead,” Vi says with more confidence than Caitlyn is expecting. Her eyes inspect Caitlyn’s face and narrow at the surprised look, “how bad?”

“What—“

“How badly are you injured?” She asks, worry starting to show on her face, “Cait is it—“

“Nothing felt fatal,” Caitlyn says quickly, “some fractures, a puncture wound in my gut. My eye was injured as well,” she tries to keep the list honest and vague. But Vi looks crestfallen all the same, “I’m alive,” Caitlyn says firmly, “Mel is with me. Where are you?”

Vi looks at her and Caitlyn watches her face fall. It’s like being back in that place with the child version of Vi. She looks so heartbreakingly young and lost. Caitlyn cups her cheeks and strokes her thumbs under her eyes. In each other’s embrace it feels like the emotions come faster. Stronger. Caitlyn wants to let go but she cannot. Not when Vi turns her face into her palm and whatever they have for hands tightens around her waist. 

“I’m at the Hexgate,” she says, “with sister and my dad.”

Caitlyn feels the same horror she felt when Maddie cocked the gun. Vi is with her dad. Again. She doesn’t need to say it, Caitlyn can tell from the look on her face. It’s not a happy reunion. How on earth could it be? She saw what her dad looked like after the blast. She can’t imagine what Ambessa and Singed did to him since. She’s on the ground bleeding somewhere and Vi is up high with her father. The fact she has Jinx with her is a cold comfort. The best case scenario here is that Vi watches her father die for a third time. Even though Caitlyn has seen untold horrors in her head, they pale in comparison to the prospect of this. Caitlyn is powerless here in any way that truly matters. But that doesn’t stop her from pressing her fingers into Vi’s cheeks and pulling her attention back to her. 

“Hold on,” she says. Vi’s brow furrows and Caitlyn has no idea if she heard her in the hell that was her past, “just hold on. I’ll find you. I need you to hold on until then.”

Vi takes a breath and looks at her with that beautiful determination. 

“I’ll hold on.”

Something is pulling them apart, no matter how much they cling to each other. Vi spirals away and just shouts across the universe. 

“I’ll hold on! I promise!”

[allllium]

Master Plan Pt. 2

Jason x reader fake dating

~ This is a little short but the next one will be longer

~ WC: 899, They discuss a fake background

~ Jason is anxious about your plan

"Why do you plan to do? Walk in, say we're dating, and expect them all to believe it? Out of nowhere?" You ask him in confusion, Jason knows his family very well and he knows they wouldn't fall for it.

"Well what do you want to do? They won't believe it either way."

"Don't be such a downer."

"I still don't know why we're doing this. It seems dramatic."

"Yes it does that's exactly the point Jason."

"None of this makes any sense." He rolls his eyes and walks into his bedroom. You follow closely behind him.

"It makes perfect sense. Seeing your family will help you feel better, Jason whether you want to believe it or not. And this way, they'll all be so thrown off by the announcement of our relationship, they won't ask about other things. You can spend the next few weeks playing pretend and healing without their overbearing questions."

"Yeah, I guess I can see it that way." He sits down on his bed with small sigh.

"Hey." You sit down next to him, "Everything will be okay."

"I know, I would just like it to be okay now, not however far along."

You pull his hand into yours to comfort him. You've been friends for so long that small touch like this doesn't bother either of you.

"We'll work on it."

"Why are you so instinct on helping me?"

"Because we're friends, believe it or not I enjoy your company. When you're not being so mopey that is."

"Hey I am not mopey." He quickly defends.

"If not mopey then what are you?"

"Something else that's not mopey." He admits quietly.

"That's what I thought. Now backstory." You pull out a piece of paper from one of the notebooks Jason has on his dresser.

"Do we really need a backstory? Just tell we started dating a little bit ago."

"Oh no. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. That means we're creating a backstory and answers to any questions they might ask."

"You've certainly thought this through."

"Yes I have because I want this to work. You realize if it doesn't they'll make fun of us for the rest of forever?"

"Which makes me wonder even more what you're real motive is for doing this?"

"Is it wrong to want to trick your family?"

"Not at all." You also want to help him in any way you can, it's what friends do.

"No that makes no sense." You're quickly learning not to take any of his words seriously. He's disagreeing with basically everything you say.

"Yes it does Jason." It's been almost an hour and you've gotten almost nothing done.

"No it doesn't. I would never do something extravagant to ask someone out." He shrugs and takes a chip from the plate on the coffee table.

"Why not? Relationships need a certain type of romance and work."

"I'd rather celebrate with a quiet night at home and a homemade dinner."

"Fine, we'll say that."

"What else?"

"I don't know. What do you think is appropriate for your family to know?"

"Nothing. My relationships are none of their business." You aren't surprised by his attitude with this. He doesn't like telling them anything about his personal life.

"Jason." You say sternly. Despite his words, there must be something he's thinking of. He knows how his family is.

"They'll probably ask who made the first move and when we realized our feelings."

"That's good, now you're thinking."

"So what do we say?" He asks with an uncaring tone.

"Well Jason, when did you realize you're feelings for me?"

"I felt some hatred since the moment I met you if that counts." He smiles like he's pround of himself.

"That's not nice. If you don't take this seriously, I'll have no choice but to make everything up myself and I'll make it so embarrassing for you you'll never want to leave the house."

"I'll tell them it's when we were-" He takes a pause. "Making dinner together for Alfred's birthday."

"That makes sense. Good job." He rolls his eyes.

"What about you?"

"I'll say the same. It'll mean more."

"Alright then."

The two of you fall into a strange silence and you can't pinpoint why. Of course it's been very awkward trying to talk about things like this. Making up lies about feelings neither of you have.

The whole time you're talking, he can't seem to keep eye contact with you longer than a split second. You want to ask him what's wrong but you know it's weird enough with the tension in the room and he'll probably not respond well to any personal questions.

The rest of the night is spent working on a backstory well enough to fool Damien and Alfred. Unlike Bruce, they both focus on the small details when it comes to stuff like this.

Dick and the others won't be a problem because they'll be so happy with Jason having a actual relationship.

You tell Jason all of this and by the way his body immediately relaxes you can tell it eased a lot of his nerves.

You start to question whether or not this is something you really want to go through with. You're scared it could ruin your relationship with him if it goes wrong but on the other hand it truly does seem like his best chance.

[biblical-chronicles]

Marked

_____________________________________________

where Liam's tattoo makes you feel things [18+]

_____________________________________________

Liam hadn’t even dropped his bag properly when you launched yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him over with the force of your excitement. “You’re home!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled against his neck as you hugged him tightly. His familiar scent wrapping around you quickly.

“Alright, love, don’t knock me over.” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you slightly off the ground. “Missed me, then?”

“Of course I did,” you replied, leaning back to look at him. His face, though tired from the tour, lit up with a grin that made your chest ache. “You’re never leaving me for that long again, by the way.”

“Is that so?” he teased, setting you down gently. “Guess I’ll have to bring you with me next time.”

“You better,” you said, swatting his arm playfully. “But right now, you’re staying here, and I’m not letting you out of me sight.”

Liam laughed, pulling you in for another kiss, soft and warm, and full of everything he couldn’t put into words. You barely noticed him steering you toward the sofa, but soon enough, you were sitting beside him, your legs draped over his lap.

“I’ve got summat to show you.” he said suddenly, his voice laced with excitement.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “What kind of something?”

“Just... hang on.” he said, starting to fiddle with the waistband of his jeans.

Your eyes widened. “Liam, what the hell are you doing?”

He grinned at your panic but didn’t stop, undoing the button and shimmying the denim down just enough to expose his upper thigh. There, nestled just above the curve of his knee, was your name inked in bold, dark letters.

You stared at it, blinking rapidly as your brain struggled to process what you were seeing. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you finally said, your voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Is that... me name?”

“Yeah,” he said proudly, leaning back like he’d just unveiled the Mona Lisa. “Got it done while we were on the road.”

“Liam,” you said slowly, your hand covering your mouth as you tried not to laugh. “Are you mental? You know that’s permanent, right?”

“’Course I do,” he said, his grin never faltering. “That’s the whole point, innit?”

You stared at him, a mixture of exasperation and affection swirling in your chest. “You realize you’ve tattooed my name on your body forever?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, meeting your gaze. “Just like us. Stays forever.”

Your laugh burst out before you could stop it, and you shook your head, feeling equal parts amused and touched. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Always aim to please.” he said cheekily, but the sincerity in his eyes softened the moment.

You slid off the sofa and knelt in front of him, pulling his jeans down a little more to inspect the tattoo properly. It was clean and crisp, the lines healed well enough that you could see the detail clearly. Your fingers hovered over it for a moment before you finally traced the edges lightly, still not quite believing it was real.

“You’re an idiot.” you said, though your tone was more affectionate than anything else.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice low as he watched you. “But I’m your idiot.”

You looked up at him, shaking your head again but smiling. “You know, this is actually kind of sweet. Insane, but sweet.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips warm and firm against yours. “Worth every bloody second.” he murmured against your mouth.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand still resting lightly on his thigh. “You’re lucky I love you.” you said, smirking.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “More than you know.”

Your fingers lingered on the tattoo, brushing over the ink with featherlight touches as if testing its reality. The fact that your name was permanently etched on Liam’s skin sent a wave of warmth through your chest.

“He’s branded himself for you,” a voice in your mind whispered. “Yours.”

You bit your lip, eyes darting to his face. Liam was watching you with a lazy grin, though his cheeks held the faintest hint of a blush, like he knew exactly where your mind was heading. You felt your pulse quicken.

“You know,” you said softly, voice low and thick with intent, “this is kind of hot.”

Liam’s grin faltered for a second, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Hot?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, sitting back on your heels and letting your hands slide higher up his thigh. His jeans were still bunched low, and you tugged them further, exposing more of his leg. “You’ve literally got my name on you, Liam. It’s like you’re claiming me... but also like you’re mine.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his confidence wavering under your sudden intensity. “I mean... I don’t mind the idea of bein’ yours, love.” he muttered, voice cracking slightly.

“Oh, I know you don’t,” you teased, smirking as you climbed back onto the couch and straddled his thigh. “But you like being told, don’t you? That you’re only meant for me?”

Liam’s breath hitched, his wide eyes flickering with recognition and something more. His hands twitched on the cushions as if unsure whether to hold onto you or stay obediently still.

“Come on, say it.” you coaxed, straddling him and rolling your hips against his thigh slowly. The fabric of your lingerie creating delicious friction between you two. “Admit it—you like it when I praise you.”

He let out a shaky exhale, his head falling back against the sofa. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice dripping with need. “Yeah, I do... I love it.”

You grinned triumphantly, leaning forward to nip at his jawline before whispering in his ear, “Good boy.”

His hips bucked instinctively, and a deep moan tore from his throat. You laughed softly, a little breathless yourself, and pressed your palms to his chest, keeping him pinned in place.

“You’re so easy to wind up,” you teased, rolling your hips again, a little harder this time, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips.

“Yeah?” Liam rasped, his voice hoarse as his hands finally settled on your hips. His grip was firm, but he didn’t try to control your movements—he let you lead. “S’pose that’s ‘cause you know how to drive me mad.”

“Do I?” you asked, feigning innocence as you ground down harder, picking up a rhythm that had you both panting. “Or is it just that you’re obsessed with me?”

“Both,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly on the word. His head tilted forward, and his lips ghosted over your neck before he groaned. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

You leaned back, taking off his shirt and dragging your nails lightly down his chest, leaving red trails on his skin. “Look at you,” you murmured, your eyes dark as you took him in. “All flushed and desperate... just for me.”

“Always for you,” he said, his hands trembling slightly on your hips. “Only you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your stomach flip, and for a moment, you paused, leaning down to kiss him deeply. His lips parted eagerly beneath yours, his tongue meeting yours in a messy manner. When you pulled back, both of you were gasping for air.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered, grinding down harder as your fingers threaded through his hair and tugged gently. “Such a good boy, Liam.”

The praise sent another moan ripping from his throat, and his hands tightened on your waist as his hips bucked involuntarily. “Fuckin’ hell, keep sayin’ that,” he begged, his voice raw with need. “Please.”

You smiled wickedly, leaning close to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Anything for me good boy.” you purred, your words punctuated by another sharp roll of your hips. 

You leaned back, your hips grinding down harder against him as a sly grin spread across your face. Liam’s head tilted back, his neck straining with the effort to keep his composure, though it was clearly a losing battle. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the flush creeping up his cheeks made him look impossibly vulnerable, completely at your mercy.

“Oh you're so beautiful.” you whispered, your voice low and teasing as your fingers trailed down his chest, playing over the slight sheen of sweat. “All wrecked already, and I’ve barely even started.”

His lips parted, a shaky breath escaping them, but he didn’t respond—he couldn’t. His eyes flickered to yours, dazed and dark with need, silently begging for more.

You let your fingers glide down his arm, grasping his hand gently and raising it to your lips. “You like watching me, don’t you?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a taunting edge as you slowly parted your lips and took two of his fingers into your mouth.

Liam’s eyes widened, and a low moan escaped him as your tongue swirled around his fingertips, wetting them thoroughly. You made a point to hollow your cheeks slightly, dragging his fingers out with an audible pop before kissing the tips. “That’s right,” you murmured, your gaze locked on his. “Good boys don’t look away.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, his voice hoarse as his hips bucked beneath you again. “You’re unreal.”

You grinned at his reaction, leaning forward until your lips brushed his ear. “Unreal, huh?” you teased, your breath hot against his skin. “And yet, here I am, and you're mine.”

“Yours.” he echoed, the word breaking into a desperate groan as your hips ground down harder. His hands moved higher to hold your waist, trying to steady you—or himself—but you swatted them away.

“Ah, ah,” you scolded, smirking as you sat up straighter. “Hands to yourself, Liam. You don’t touch until I say so.”

The sharp command sent a shudder through him, and his hands dropped obediently to his sides, gripping the cushions as if to keep them from wandering. “You’re bloody killin’ me.” he muttered, his voice deliciously strained.

You laughed softly, leaning down to kiss him, slow and steady, your tongue teasing his before pulling back. “Oh, love,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. “We’re just getting started.”

Without warning, you spat lightly into his open mouth, watching as his eyes widened in shock before darkening further. “Swallow.” you commanded, your voice firm, and he obeyed without hesitation, his throat bobbing as he did. “Good boy.”

Liam just moaned, and you felt his thighs tense beneath you, the sheer effort of holding back driving him to the brink. “Please,” he begged, his voice raw. “Need you so bad.”

You hummed thoughtfully, as if considering his plea, before reaching down to drag the lace of your panties aside. The feel of his length, hot and throbbing against your core, sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t resist rolling your hips against him once more. “You need me, huh?” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Then beg for it.”

“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Please, love, let me feel you. I’ll do whatever you want—just need you.”

His desperation was quite intoxicating, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a moment longer. “Good boy,” you purred, taking off his underwear and guiding him to your entrance with deliberate slowness. “Now, let’s see if you can be as good as you sound.”

The moment you sank down onto him, a moan tore from his throat, and his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes squeezing shut. The stretch and fullness made your own breath hitch, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

“Eyes on me,” you commanded, your fingers gripping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “I want to see that pretty face when I ride you.”

Liam’s gaze locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with lust, and he nodded, captivated. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “Anything for you, love.”

With a wicked grin, you began to move, setting a pace that had you both moaning in tandem, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. “That’s it,” you murmured, your fingers digging into his chest. “Take it like a good boy that you are.”

You rocked against Liam’s lap, the friction and heat building, every movement drawing gasps and moans from both of you. His hands gripped your hips tightly, though he still let you control the rhythm, his face a mix of pleasure and vulnerability as you moved.

As you leaned closer, you cupped his flushed face in your hands, forcing him to look at you again, your lips hovering just inches from his. “You’re so beautiful, Liam,” you murmured, your voice low and reverent. “Do you even realize what you do to me? Those eyes… that smile. It’s not fair.”

Liam’s lips parted in a shaky gasp, his pupils blown wide as he held your gaze, his chest heaving. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “You… you’re…”

“Perfect,” you interrupted him, your thumb stroking his cheek as your hips rolled harder, grinding against him. “You’re perfect, Liam. The way you look at me, the way you touch me… no one even comes close to you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I didn’t even know I needed.”

His breath hitched, his hands trembling slightly against your skin as he gripped you harder. His hips bucked up, and the desperation in his movements made you smile. “That’s me good boy,” you whispered, leaning down to press your lips to his ear. “Taking it so well. So good for me.”

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers finally digging into your waist as he let out a low moan. “I love you.” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven.

You pulled back slightly, your hands trailing down his chest, your nails lightly scratching over his skin, leaving faint red lines behind. “You deserve this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “All of it. You deserve to feel good, Liam. You deserve everything. I love you so much.”

His lips trembled as he tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked moan, his head tipping back against the cushions as his eyes fluttered shut. You leaned down, pressing kisses along his jawline, his neck, and the column of his throat, savoring the way his body reacted to every touch.

“You’re the best, Liam,” you murmured between kisses, your lips brushing against his heated skin. “The way you take care of me, the way you’re always there for me… you don’t even realize how incredible you are, do you?”

He let out another broken sound, his hands sliding down to your thighs as his grip tightened, his breathing ragged. “Love… you’re… fuck,” he stammered, his voice cracking with emotion and need.

“Shh,” you whispered, bringing a finger to his lips. “I know. I know, love. Just let me take care of you.”

You shifted slightly, your movements more deliberate now, grinding down against him, his body jerking beneath you as a desperate moan sounded from his throat. His hands flew to your hips again, trying to slow you down, but you weren’t having it.

“Don’t hold back,” you said firmly, leaning closer so your lips were barely brushing against his. “I want to hear you. Every single sound. Don’t you dare hide it from me.”

The command made him groan loudly, his hands trembling as they slid up your thighs. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “You’re too much, love. Can’t handle it.”

“Yes, you can,” you countered, pressing a kiss to his lips before pulling back to meet his gaze. “Because you’re mine, Liam. My good boy. Aren’t you?”

His response was just a breathless, “Yeah. Yours. Always.”

You smiled, your fingers trailing down to his lips, pressing two of them into his mouth. “Good boy,” you said softly, watching as his eyes widened slightly, his tongue brushing against your fingers. “That’s it. Just like that.”

The sight of him completely at your mercy, his face flushed and his eyes dark with need sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice full of admiration as you began to ride him harder. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

His moans grew louder, unrestrained, filling the room as your praises poured over him. “Fuck, love,” he managed to say, his voice shaking. “I… I love you so fucking much.”

You paused for a moment, your chest tightening as you looked down at him. “I love you too.” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him, your hands framing his face as you poured every ounce of your emotion into it.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as your bodies moved together in perfect harmony. Each shift of your hips drew a sharp gasp or a deep moan from him, his head falling back slightly as his eyes locked onto yours, full of unrestrained vulnerability and passion.

“Fuck,” Liam rasped, his voice trembling with raw emotion and pleasure. “Love… you’re… you’re everything.”

You leaned in closer, your forehead brushing against his. “So are you,” you whispered, your voice shaking as your movements became more desperate, grinding against him with increasing urgency. “I mean it, Liam. No one—no one—comes close to you.”

Your words seemed to spur him on, his hips bucking up to meet yours, his grip on you tightening as his breathing became more ragged. “You’re too good,” he muttered, his voice breaking as his head tilted back. “Too fuckin’ good.”

“And you’re perfect,” you countered, leaning down to nip at his jaw, your teeth scraping lightly against his skin before soothing the spot with your tongue. “My perfect, most beautiful boy.”

The praise sent a shiver through him, and he let out another moan, his hands sliding up to cup your waist as his body tensed beneath you. The sound of his pleasure pushed you closer to the edge, your pace quickening as your nails dug into his chest, leaving faint crescents in his skin.

“Liam,” you moaned, your voice thick with need. “I’m so close.”

“Me too, love,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “Fuckin’… can’t hold it…”

You leaned forward, your hands framing his face as you forced him to look at you, your gaze locking onto his. “Let go, Liam,” you murmured, your voice a mix of a plea and a command. “With me.”

With a final roll of your hips, the tension that had been building finally snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name. Liam followed moments later, his body shuddering beneath yours as his moans filled the room. His hands clutched at you desperately, pulling you closer as you both rode out the waves together.

As the pleasure faded, you collapsed against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both struggled to catch your breath. Liam’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to the top of your head.

For a few moments, the room was silent save for the sound of your mingled breathing. Finally, you lifted your head, your fingers tracing over the sweat-dampened skin of his chest. “Well,” you said, your voice soft and teasing, “I think it’s only fair that I tattoo your name on me now. Right?”

Liam let out a breathless laugh, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he grinned at you. “Don’t be daft,” he said, though his eyes sparkled with affection. “But… if you’re serious…”

You laughed, leaning down to kiss him again, soft and lingering. “We’ll see,” you murmured against his lips. “I just might be.”

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hope you lot enjoyed this little piece of media xx

big thanks to @shes-thunderstormssss for the wonderful idea, was a pleasure to scribble down, can't wait to hear what you thought x

love ya all !!

[spoilerssweetie13]

Hi, I've been meaning to reply to this. I just haven’t found the time to sit down and write a whole essay, hehehe. I'll start off by saying I definitely get where you're coming from, but here's just my two cents on everything:

The Doctor has, at one point, been President of Gallifrey, and given how Time Lords are, I don't they would allow someone "less clever" than them to lead them. The Timeless Child isn't supposed to make the Doctor special. If anything, it makes them a victim of abuse dissected like lab rat by their own adoptive mother over who knows how lifetimes. The Timeless Child does not negate their choices. Instead, I feel adds to them. They are alien even to this universe but chose to save it time and time again. In a sense, if they hadn't been kidnapped the DW universe would have died a billion times over, isn't that beautifully fucked up in its own way?

Davros once asked Twelfth why he ran from Gallifrey, and under this new context of the Timeless Child, you realize, "Oh shit that's what he was running from." That's what they are all always running from. I also saw another post on here that said that the Time Lords "granted" Eleventh more regenerations to cover their own tracks, and that makes so much sense. The Time Lords don't do anything unless it benefits them. When you see the whole show under the lens of Timeless Child, all the pieces start to fall into place. It's definitely a different viewing experience. It becomes so much darker, and I think that's part of the appeal of the Timeless Child for me.

The Doctor did always feel like the adopted child of the family; Timeless Child just confirms it. But they will always be the Doctor, because the Doctor is the name that they chose for themselves, their empathy and and love for humanity has nothing to do with where they come from, and that was true even when we thought they were from Gallifrey. It's all about their choices, and they will always choose to be the Doctor sorting out fair play throughout the universe, no matter their origins.

Ever since I watched the Fugitive Doctor episode, every time someone new would pop up on screen, I would go is he the Doctor, is she the Doctor, [ominously whispers] are we all the Doctor? (Joking, but seriously, the paranoia did set in!) To me, Timeless Child isn't taking the Everyman-ness or Everywoman-ness away but adds to it by saying literally anyone and everyone can be the Doctor. You don't have to be born on Gallifrey to be the Doctor; hell, you don't even have to be from the DW universe, so we could all very well be the Doctor, lol.

Extended lore says Time Lords used Looms to procreate so I don't know why the Doctor wouldn't know who the Susan's parents are, unless it hasn't happened yet because of timey-wimey stuff [shrugs] probably will never happen now because of the retcon. :( Marrying a werewolf is crazy but it's the Doctor, so I'm not even surprised.

It's funny that I don't like the Bi-genration for the same reason that you do like it. That it's a one-off and will never happen again. To me, it feels too convenient compared to the Timeless Child. Love it, hate it, want to purge it from your memory, the Timeless Child will always be a part of the show's history, it's essentially a infinite money glitch, a way for the show to go on forever. See, what really gets me is that Fourteenth will just drop dead at one point, and Fifteenth will just get all his memories and be like, "I'm healed now." That feels too convenient. To me, that's messing with the established rules just as much as Timeless Child. If we're talking about closure Fourteenth and Donna should've gone back to The Library and Fourteenth should've used his "resemblance" to Tenth to his advantage to confuse the Vashta Nerada and somehow save River without time collapsing in on itself (but that's just the Doctor/River shipper in me speaking). To me, Donna just getting her memories was closure enough.

RTD said he didn't want to make a mockery of drag by putting David Tennant in Jodie's Whittaker outfit. Mind you, her outfit was specially designed so anyone can wear it. What's so feminine about trousers, a shirt and a coat? It seems to me that it was just done in bad faith.

Bigeneration is just as lore-changing as the Timeless Child. And yet no one shits on it because their precious RTD wrote it. If Chibnall did something like this, y'all would have your pitchforks at the ready. The double standards in this fandom, I swear. RTD is allowed to retcon Doctor Who, but heavens forbid Chibnall even try.

The Doctor is no longer even a parent because of him. David Tennant is a good actor, but I'm tired of people pretending like he's the face of Doctor Who. The whole point of the show is that the Doctor has different faces, and we should love them all—not regress backwards.

We deserved to see the Fourteenth Doctor in Thirteenth's clothes, and not for everything she is to burn up and die. The Fifteenth Doctor deserved his own regeneration scene like every other Doctor, without Fourteenth randomly sticking around because of RTD's inability to let go of the characters he wrote.

At least the Timeless Child added something more to the Doctor's story. Bigeneration took something away: the emotional impact of the Doctor's regeneration - having to say goodbye.

[ironstrange1991]

Defender Strange's hands headcanons

Warnings: None

Word Count: 450 words

A/N: Hey guys! I found these headcanons lost in my google docs, I think they were written while MoM was still in theaters. I just think they're too cute to leave rotting there. It's very short, but I hope you like it ;)

- After the accident Defender Strange had a long time to adapt with the new reality involving his hands. He went through the entire healing process that led him to practice the Mystic Arts and overall his experiences are not very different from our Doctor Strange.

- However, he handled the whole process more calmly and dealt with his limitations faster. It doesn't mean he accepts his hands as they are. He just learned to let it go and use magic when necessary to keep them steady.

- Defender Strange never wore gloves to hide his scars. Although he finds the scars abhorrent and considers the tremors in his hands a weakness, the idea of ​​wearing gloves never even crossed his mind.

- When he met you his relationship with his hands changed a little. He started to feel a little more bothered by the tremors when you were around. He hid the tremors with magic at first. He was ashamed of his hands when you were around.

- For him it was quite strange when he realized that you had a kind of affection for his hands. He didn't know how to deal with the fact that you were always holding or stroking them and watching the scars closely. Sometimes he disguised it by trying to distract you and pulling his hand out of yours. You knew why he did it and it made you sad.

- Over time he got used to your way of showing affection for his hands. When they hurt, and there were days when they hurt more than other days, you massaged them and as if by magic the pain went away. You used to hold them between yours, sometimes take one of them to your face, or give them kisses.

He couldn't help but find all these gestures adorable.

- He realized you had a kink in his hands. Something about their size or the way they were always warm. He didn't ask exactly, but he proceeded to use it to his advantage. In the way he touched you, or the way he held you. He also used to massage you, of course he couldn't apply pressure on the massage, but you always loved having his hands on you.

- The truth is that you helped him to really accept his hands and not feel ashamed of them. You even said it was sexy the way he used them to do magic. He wasn’t used to do it when you were around, not if he could avoid it, and definitely not more than necessary, but when he did, you liked it.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

DEFENDER STRANGE MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Tag List: @person-005 @kinavet @pxanonymous16-blog @spideybv28 @slytherinqueen4life @asgards-princess-of-mischief @ironstrangeheart @butchers-girl @loverofallbroken @pinkthick @anadlockfan @thealleydog

@withalittlehoney @thelostsmiles @aphroditesdilemma @bobateadaydreams @classickook @d0ct0rstrangewife @lykaonimagines @geeky-politics-46 @hobimysolecito @kakashibabe02 @xourownsidee @newtsniffles @dragonqueen89 @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @bloodyflowerrr @strangeions @dementeddoll @dontmindme262

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[diamonddaze01]

고맙다

pairing: ljh x reader genre: hurt-comfort (kae im sorry) | wc: 1.4k warnings: none | rating: pg a/n: for my 400 follower celebration -> @ylangelegy lyrics lab + “i wanted to become your tomorrow so i lived in the today” (thanks) // this is a (kind-of) spin off to us, again (but can be read alone) // kae i am sorry dont hurt me it ends well i swear.

The rain was soft but constant, like a whisper that hadn’t yet learned to quiet down. The sound of it tapping gently against the windows filled the silence of Jihoon’s studio, his hands frozen mid-task as he watched you from the doorframe. You stood there, not quite sure whether to step inside or remain in the hallway, as if the space between you and him was more than just the width of the door.

It had been months. Maybe half a year? Jihoon had lost track of time the moment you’d asked for a break. The day he left your apartment was still a vivid blur, a moment he replayed in his mind over and over, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. There were a thousand reasons why he’d never reached out. A thousand excuses he fed himself to make it feel like it was just something that had to happen. But in the deepest part of his chest, the place where he kept all the things he wouldn’t say aloud, he still missed you. He still felt your absence every time he walked into the studio, every time he poured a cup of coffee, every time he sat down to write music.

And now you were standing there, a few feet away from him. The ghost of what once was, the thing he’d never let himself forget.

“Can we talk?” Your voice was a little shaky, but you stood there with an open vulnerability, as if you had prepared for this moment even though you were uncertain of the outcome. Your eyes darted between his, as though you were trying to gauge how much of him was still the person you once knew, and how much of him had changed.

Jihoon didn’t respond right away. He didn’t know if he could, not without giving in to the feeling creeping up his throat. The one that said maybe, just maybe, you were still something worth fighting for.

“What’s there to talk about?” he finally muttered, his tone a little too cold, a little too detached. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. He had spent so long building walls around himself, convincing himself that you weren’t a part of his present anymore. He couldn’t afford to let that slip.

You took a step forward, your eyes soft with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Jihoon. Maybe... maybe I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

There it was—the thing he never let himself think about too much. You asking what happened was like peeling back a scab that had barely healed. He couldn’t ignore the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him when you brought it up, couldn’t ignore the fact that he had failed you in ways he hadn’t even fully realized until now.

Jihoon looked away for a moment, unwilling to meet your gaze directly. He knew what you wanted—what you were hoping for—but he didn’t know how to give it to you. The pieces of him that had been holding onto you were all tangled up in regret. “What happened?” he repeated softly, almost to himself. “I don’t know. I thought maybe if I... kept my distance, kept working, it would get easier. But I was wrong. I guess we were wrong.”

Your face softened, as if your heart had just cracked open a little, just enough to let him see it. “I thought about it, Jihoon. About what we were, what we could have been,” you said quietly, stepping closer, just enough to bridge the gap but not enough to make him feel cornered. “And I thought maybe... maybe I wasn’t the right person for you, or maybe you weren’t the right person for me. But now, standing here, I don’t think I can just keep pretending that’s how it works.”

Jihoon let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk as he tried to find words that wouldn’t sound weak. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to admit how much he missed you. How much he had wanted to fight for you, but had kept telling himself that time would heal everything. That you were just another chapter in his life that needed to be closed, but the more he tried to lock it away, the more it kept coming back.

“I kept thinking... maybe if I just moved forward, if I just stayed focused on what’s next, I’d stop wanting you. I’d stop thinking about you. But that’s not how it works, is it?” His voice was softer now, as if all the bravado had slipped away, leaving only the truth.

You shook your head slowly, the motion so familiar, so comforting, that Jihoon almost didn’t want to look away. “No, it’s not. We never really... gave ourselves a chance to be in the present, Jihoon. We kept thinking about the future, about what we could become. But maybe... maybe we should’ve just focused on today. On what we were, what we still could be.”

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. There it was—the words he had never been brave enough to speak. The ones that had been sitting at the back of his mind, waiting to be freed. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I never gave you the chance to be with me like that. I thought I had time, thought I had all the time in the world to make things right, but... now I don’t know how to do that.”

Your eyes softened, but there was something else in them, something deep that he couldn’t quite read. You took a deep breath, as though you had made up your mind about something, and it was in that moment that Jihoon realized you had never really stopped caring. Not even after everything.

“I was so focused on tomorrow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain, “that I forgot to appreciate the moments we had, the moments that mattered right now.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Maybe I did the same.”

You stepped closer, closing the space between you both, and this time, Jihoon didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, the touch almost tentative, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, your fingers intertwined, and for the first time in months, everything felt... right. Not perfect, not neatly wrapped in a bow, but real.

Jihoon’s eyes dropped to where your hands held his. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “Can I kiss you?”

The question caught you off guard, and a tear slipped down your cheek as a soft, incredulous laugh bubbled out of you. “Yes, you idiot,” you said, your voice breaking as you reached for him. “Please kiss me.”

And then his lips were on yours. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate—it was grounding, steady, and filled with all the things neither of you had the courage to say aloud. Your warmth, the familiarity, the way your hand cradled his cheek—it was everything he hadn’t realized he missed.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. “I missed you,” he murmured, the words so quiet they almost melted into the sound of the rain.

You smiled through your tears, your hands still resting lightly on his cheeks. “I missed you too, Jihoon.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, the silence between you no longer heavy, but comforting.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Jihoon asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he needed to hear it, needed to know if there was a chance for them.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with something like hope, but also like you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “We take it one step at a time,” you said softly. “We don’t rush. We just... we just live in today. Together.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, the truth of it settling in his chest like a quiet storm. He had spent too long living in the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. Maybe it was time to stop looking ahead, to stop worrying about tomorrow, and just... live. With you. Today.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, Jihoon held you like you were something he didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of his life trying to. One step at a time, he thought. Today. Together.

[zephyrsobsessions]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @insomniaflarrow (my first tag in one of these!!! Thank you!!!)

Sharing another bit of Don hit Loki with a wrench cause I've been writing it so much and really like how it's coming along! Wanted to show a bit of Loki's perspective this time!

“It’s alright,” Loki waved his hands dismissively, “I deserved it.” Loki admitted, realizing how he had probably sounded. “It doesn’t look too bad.” Mobius grimaced, the hand that was on Loki’s shoulder now hovering near his injured cheek. Loki chuckled, easily detecting Mobius’ lie. “Yeah, alright.” He rolled his eyes, and then with a flick of his wrist, healed himself. He opened his mouth to adjust his jaw, checking that it was back in place, but quickly noticed the disbelief flash across Mobius’ face, followed by several other emotions that Loki could instantly name. It only took Loki a moment to realize why Mobius was so shocked. Because this was not his Mobius, therefore he did not know that Loki was the god of mischief. “Uh…” Was all that Loki could muster, once again finding himself speechless. It wasn’t often he didn’t know what to say.

I don't know many people who write fic, so here's a couple no-pressure tags: @distracteddream and @gloriouslokiuss! (Feel free to let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next one!) And even if you aren't tagged, feel free to tag me in it anyway, I love seeing what people are writing!

[wowzees]

no matter what

lando norris x reader

y/n is not used!

a/n: this is a short story from uni- i have to make a collection of them

the one i posted earlier was also one, but these have not recived feedback from my professer or have been majorly edited. enjoy!

High school felt like the longest four years of my life. Days blurred into each other, routines became a way of life, and I thought I had everything figured out. I was one of those kids who had his group of friends, the sport he played, and the classes he took, all laid out in a neat, predictable order. Nothing ever really changed.

And then, there was her.

She’d been there from the start. The girl who wasn’t just a friend,she was something more, though I never said it out loud. We’d grown up together, laughed at the same inside jokes, gotten in trouble for the same stupid things. She knew me better than anyone else, maybe even better than I knew myself. She was the one I could count on for anything. She was the one who could make me laugh on days when nothing felt right. When life got heavy, when there was uncertainty about my future, she was the one I turned to. And I thought that would never change. Or maybe I didn’t think about it at all. Why would I need to? She was always there, like a constant in my life, something I could rely on. But looking back, I see the warning signs. Small things that I chose not to notice. 

At first, it was little things— how she stopped coming to my house after school everyday. How she stopped calling me for big milestones. It’s easy to ignore changes like that. Until they hit you all at once. And then, it was too late.

Without her presence, I started hanging out with the kids from my soccer team more, and more. I told them about all my problems with her. Their solution? They wanted me to prank her. I wanted to fit in. So, I agreed.

Maybe I was too busy with soccer, or maybe I just took her for granted. But somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing her the way I always had. I saw how my actions hurt her. But, somewhere along the way i stopped seeing that. I stopped seeing how my actions hurt her.

But I didn’t think much about it at the time. After all, things had always worked themselves out between us, right? I guess I never thought I’d lose her, guess I thought that she’d always be there.

How wrong I was.

And seeing her now after graduation, getting ready to go to college and saying goodbye to friends for one last time, I can't help but remember a time when things were so much simpler.

Age, 7. Grade, 2

“Lan, wait up” she yelled, peddling her feet. I slowed my bike down and turned to face her. 

“Hurry up! You're being slow.” she peddled faster. Too fast. I watched in slow motion as she rides over a rock, flies through the air as if it’s molasses, then falls in what seems the same way a feather falls through the air. Then promptly crashes into a trashcan, scattering trash all around and on top of her. 

I quickly stopped my bike and ran to her. She was sitting there, covered in trash from the trash can, pouting. As I stood over her, and saw her covered in trash, I almost laughed. “Stop! It’s really not funny” she sniffled, though she now seemed a little happier. 

“I've bin waiting for this to happen” I joke, hoping to make her laugh.

“It's really not that funny” she snorts while giggling.

 “Yeah, well you’re still laughing” I argue. As she struggles to her feet, I realize I should probably help her. As I move to put her arm around my shoulder, she shoves me off. 

“I don't need your help, butthead” she says, crossing her arms and stares at me with her lips pursed. 

“Sorry, man, chill.” I say, not really understanding why she didn't want help. 

“I got worse when I first started playing volleyball, it's just a little scrape on my knee. It’ll heal” 

"Ok "I mumbled, feeling a little stupid.

As we walked home, we talked about silly things, like how funny she looked covered in trash, or about the people we didn't like at school. Before we parted ways, she threw her arms around me and pressed a quick, fleeting kiss that was gone as soon as it started to my cheek. “Bye Lando! I'll see you tomorrow at school!” she said over her shoulder as she ran home.

“Bye” I yell, after she had already disappeared into the house, my cheeks still red.

She had always been brave in her own way. Whether it was running into a trash can then getting back up with a skinned knee and no tears, or hiding her fears behind that stubborn smile of hers, she never changed. She was always the same, brave girl I had known since I was a kid. I wish I had known then how much that bravery would change the course of our friendship.

Age, 12  Grade 7.

The ferris wheel creaked more and more the higher up it went, carrying us higher, and higher into the night sky. Below we could see the rest of the fair, all the people enjoying themselves just like we are.

Her posture was slumped, and she was practically shaking on the little metal bench that lines the side of the carriage.

“Are you scared?” I ask. This wasn't a very normal occurrence, and I was honestly a little surprised. 

“What? Me? No! Of course not. I don't get scared” she responded, her voice shaky, and honestly not very convincing. 

“Hey, it's okay if you are scared. We all have things we are scared of; it doesn't make you weak.” I say in a soft tone, understanding when to tease and when to be comforting. 

“I'm not scared.”

“Yeah? Good, me neither. Honestly, it's really nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. It’s really nice being up here.”

“I guess it is pretty nice.”

“It's really pretty,” I say with a sigh.

“It is,” she responds with an airy voice.

Little did I know that while I was staring at the sky, she was looking at me.

Ever since that night on the ferris wheel, I had developed a liking for stars. She learned more about stars for me, though I didn't know that then. I thought it was just a coincidence, not something carefully planned. Ever since then, we would spend nights under the stars together, gazing upwards.

Age, 15. Grade 9.

“And that one’s named Altair” she said, pointing up at the brightest star in the sky.

“How do you know this?” I ask while chuckling.

“I learned it when I was in 8th grade for my science fair project. I won.”

“I know, you’ve only told me like a million times.”

“I have not!”

“Uh, yes you have.”

“Excuse yo- wow, it's like, really cold.”

“Here,” I say, shrugging my sweatshirt off. “Take it.”

“No, it's fine really. I don't need it, I’m fine.”

“If you don't take it, I’m actually gonna go insane!”

“Fine” she huffed, sticking her tongue out at me. “Thank you.” she mumbled.

“You're welcome.”

“Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“We'll always be best friends, right?”

“Of course we will. No matter what.”

“No matter what.”

Back then, No matter what seemed like an easy promise to keep. Before our future became closer and closer, before I found out she would be going to Yale. No matter what seemed like an easy promise to keep under the soft lighting of the stars, but under the fluorescent lights in the highschool hallways, and the pressure from the guys, the promise broke apart. 

“Hey Lan!” she exclaims, coming up to me “Hey,” I respond. “Where are your glasses?” I ask. She has always loved her glasses. She always said it gave her more personality, though I disagree. She has plenty of personality already. 

“Oh, I just switched to contacts for volleyball! It's too impractical to have to play without being able to see, ya know? Do you like them?” I actually think that she looks stunning with or without glasses, but since my friends from the soccer team are with me, I just say 

“ I dunno man, it kinda makes your eyes look too close together.” I feel absolutely terrible as I practically see her deflate. Her normally radiant smile disappears, her shoulders begin to tremble, and her eyes go glassy. At first, she didn't say anything. I could practically see her brain thinking of ways to respond. She was trying to act relaxed about it, but I knew her well. She doesn't do relaxed about these types of things.

 I hear the boys snickering from behind me, making stupid comments about how “he is so right” and “how can she not see that herself?” and “why does she talk so much?”. I'm actually about to turn around and tell them to shut up, and that I am the only one allowed to tease her like that, but before I can, she says something.

“Oh. Well, uh, I should be going to class. I'll see you later, Lando,” she mumbles. Her normally confident posture seemed impossibly timid and shy. Her posture didn't say ‘see you later’.  It said ‘leave me alone’.

While she walked down the hallway, the only thing I could focus on was the fact that she didn't call me Lan .

The next few days, I tried finding her, though she kept on avoiding me. Finally, I found her sitting outside at the tables, eating her lunch alone.

“Hey” I greet softly, sitting down at the table outside. 

“What do you want?” she responded, her tone sharp. She was wearing her glasses again.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said on Tuesday.” I say, barely audible.

“If you're going to say something, say it louder.”

“I wanted to apologize for what I said.” 

“Do you? Do you really? Or is this just another sick prank you and your friends are playing on me, huh? I stood there and took it in tenth grade, when you made fun of my brother, who, by the way looks up to you, in the cafeteria. I stood there and took it in eleventh grade when you texted everyone from my phone things that I would never, ever say about someone and especially TO someone, posted things on instagram that I would NEVER post, and then humiliated me by making me think that you were seriously hurt, then jump up and say “it's a prank” after i started crying? I even stood there and took it when you told me that my eyes were too close together! The one thing you know I'm insecure about, and you make fun of it? You’ve changed Lando! You and your stupid friends have made high school horrible for me! And even though you've been rude, and you've been mean, and you've in general been a nightmare to be around, I'm still in love with you, and I have been for the last 10 years! And I'm done with this! I will not, will not sit here and let you bully me because I’m your ‘best friend’! I stayed your friend because I thought you would notice me! I thought you would realize, but you didn't! And I’m done waiting, okay? I’m done. Bye, Lando.”

By now, she was crying. Before I could respond to her and apologize, I hear laughing and jeering coming from behind me. I turn around and march over to where the boys are standing. They chuckle upon seeing me, and I absolutely lose it.

“Are you guys actually stupid? You made me lose the most important thing in my life, because you ‘thought it would be funny’? She is worth more than you guys will ever be. She was a better friend, a better athlete, but most importantly, a better person than you guys! I’m done with y’all.” 

I turn back to where she was standing, but she's not there anymore.

The next few days, I look for her. I see her a couple of times, but she always manages to avoid me. 

One night, as I’m packing for college, I hear someone knocking on the front door.

I run down the stairs, thinking it’s the pizza I ordered for me and my sister, but it’s not. It’s her.

“Uhm, I just wanted to return this.” she says, handing me my sweatshirt that i gave to her 3 years ago. “I just thought I should return it before I leave for Yale.”

“When do you leave?” I ask, fearing the answer.

“Tomorrow.” 

The second I hear that word, my world stops. I hazily thank her for bringing the sweatshirt back, then slam the door. I vaguely remember stumbling up the stairs, and sitting down on my bed, my mind running a thousand miles a minute.

 I’m going to have to live without the person who was there for me at every problem, at every bad game, at every milestone in my life, and I lost her because of my own mistakes. I lost her because I let those stupid kids influence my decisions. I lost her because I didn't know how to communicate my feelings. And now, I’ll never get her back.

I was right. I never got her back. And deep down inside, I knew I was never going to get her back. I knew this when I met Emma. I knew this when I proposed to Emma. I knew this when I invited her to our wedding. But that truly, did not prepare me for when I saw her.

“And do you, Lando Norris, take Emma Sand to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish till death do you part? ” asked the priest, his voice echoing through the church that held all of our friends and loved ones. 

“ I do.” 

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. After years of knowing her,  I could almost hear her thinking ‘that should have been me.’

And I feel horrible and disgusting and gross thinking this on my wedding day, but I'm inclined to agree. It should have been her. And it would have been, if not for my own stupidity.

And seeing her, brought me right back to all those years ago. And made me wonder; what happened to ‘no matter what.’