#anyways i love this song it's kind of what love means

[kissmxcheek]

Flash & Focus pt.7/?? series masterlist ; part 6

pairing: clark kent x photographer!reader wc: 7k

series description: new to metropolis and the daily planet, you find yourself falling for your deskmate, Clark Kent, who you're convinced will never look your way. a rescue from attempted mugging becomes many late nights spent with superman on your apartment balcony... god why does he seem so familiar?

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, arguing, Lois Lane bff.

a/n: think.. the yellow dress from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Day.. but blue. ok thanks

---

Your apartment was too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not calm. Just still in that heavy, echoing kind of way.

Your camera bag was packed and by the door, ready to ruin your outfit and announce to the world that you were there for work, not because you actually belonged in that shiny, glittering world. Along with it, your press badge.

The dress Lois dropped off after work yesterday clung to you like a memory—cool, weightless, impossible to ignore. Pale blue, almost silver in the lamplight, and it slipped over your skin like water. You adjusted the straps in the mirror without really looking at yourself, then turned to smooth the hem where it kissed your ankle.

The low back crossed at your waist like a secret, like a silky armor.

You stared at your reflection.

Superman had kissed you. Held you. Looked at you like you were made of light and it still hadn’t been enough.

You hugged your arms around yourself, where his had rested yesterday—steady, warm, almost reverent. He’d touched you like he knew your soul. But he hadn’t let you touch his.

He was there, yes. In rooftop silences, in quick rescues, in shared glances that bordered on intimacy. He was always there but he was never really with you.

Not in the way that mattered.

You didn’t know what his apartment looked like, or what time he liked to wake up, or how he drank his coffee—if he drank coffee. You didn’t know what song got stuck in his head, or what his handwriting looked like, or whether he preferred dogs to cats.

You didn’t even know his first name.

But Clark…

You sat down slowly at your vanity, the chair creaking beneath you as you reached for your lipstick with hands that weren’t steady.

Clark.

You knew Clark.

You knew he organized his tie rack by color, but only wore the same four over and over. That he always cracked his knuckles before typing a big story. That he bought two newspapers every morning—one to read and one to underline.

You knew he kept a running list of books he wanted you to read, and always folded down the corner of the page he thought you’d love most.

You knew he kept a plant on his desk that never got enough sunlight, but he watered it every morning anyway—out of hope, or habit, or both.

You knew he called his parents every day on his way to work, even just to ask how the weather was going to be that day.

You knew the way his shoulders relaxed when he heard your voice. The way he softened around you, even when he didn’t realize he was doing it.

You knew him.

And he knew you.

Not just the polished parts. Not the work smile or the confident stride you put on every morning.

Clark knew your silences. Your insecurities. The way you tapped your foot when you were anxious. The way you got quiet when something really hurt. He noticed. He remembered.

He knew what kind of stories you wanted to tell. What kind of journalist you wanted to be. What kind of person you were fighting to become. And he made you feel like that version of you already existed.

Even after he let you down, even after he hurt you, he still knew you.

The lipstick hovered over your lips.

“I think I’m in love with him,” you whispered to your reflection.

It felt like a confession.

You didn’t mean Superman.

You meant the man with ink on his fingers and coffee stains on his sleeves. The one who missed your date and broke your heart and still made you smile even when you swore you were done.

You meant Clark.

Because just being there wasn’t enough.

Being known—really, deeply, truly known—that was love.

And he was the only one who’d ever really seen you.

You reached for your earrings, smiling faintly as you put them on.

And maybe, it wasn’t too late to see him, too.

---

The lobby of your apartment building was dim and quiet, lit only by the orange glow of a buzzing sconce overhead. You stepped outside and closed the door behind you with a soft click, before reaching down for your camera bag—its familiar weight grounding you. Your press badge swung gently from your neck, the Daily Planet logo catching the light as the sun set.

You stepped into the cool evening air and froze.

Clark Kent was waiting by the curb.

He looked taller tonight. Maybe it was the sharp cut of his charcoal-gray suit or the quiet confidence in the way he stood beside the yellow cab. His tie was a deep navy you'd only seen once, instead of the printed ties he often wore at the office. However, it was still slightly crooked in that perfectly Clark way. And in his hands, a bouquet of flowers—white tulips, sweet peas, a few violets.

Your heels clicked against the concrete steps as you approached, slower than necessary.

He looked up and could've sworn he stopped breathing.

His eyes swept over you once, then again, slower. More carefully. He blinked like he wasn’t sure you were real.

The bouquet dipped slightly in his grip.

“You’re…” he shook his head, letting out a breath. “You’re a vision.”

You hesitated at the last step, like he would disappear if you approached any closer. “I thought I was meeting you there.”

Clark straightened, his expression shifting—earnest, steady. “I wanted to do this right,” he said. “I should’ve picked you up last time. Should’ve knocked on your door and told you how honored I was to take you out. I should’ve shown up.”

You didn’t say anything. The city moved around you but all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears.

He took a step closer, flowers held out between you. “I can’t change what I did. Or what I didn’t do. But I’m here now. And I want to make it up to you,” he said. His voice dipped lower, soft and raw. “Because you deserve that. You deserve someone who shows up.”

Your eyes flicked to the flowers. Then to him.

And even though your guard was still halfway raised, even though the echo of disappointment still lingered in your chest, you took them.

The petals were soft beneath your fingertips. Forgiveness. Vulnerability. A peace offering wrapped in quiet beauty.

“Thank you,” you said, the words barely above a whisper.

A pause stretched between you, warmer this time.

Then you smiled toward him, eyes soft. “You clean up nice.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, gaze flicking down in that boyish way you knew too well. “You’re one to talk,” he said, eyes returning to you. “I’m still trying to remember how to breathe.”

Your stomach fluttered, treacherous and full of hope.

He reached for the door and held it open. “Shall we?”

You stepped inside, the dress brushing against your legs as you slid across the seat. Your camera bag settled at your feet, the press badge swinging from your neck as you adjusted the flowers in your lap.

He rounded the cab and climbed in beside you, shutting the door with a soft click.

The car pulled away from the curb and into the flow of downtown traffic, neon signs and city lights painting the windows in streaks of gold and blue.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Clark’s hands rested nervously in his lap. You glanced sideways and caught him looking again.

“What?” you said, not unkindly.

He smiled a little, eyes warm. “I was just thinking… this feels like a moment I don’t want to mess up.”

You turned to face him fully, flowers still resting in your lap. “Then don’t.”

He blinked, surprised by your honesty, then nodded once. “I won’t.” Clark smiled, a real smile that you hadn't seen for far too long, "I promise."

You looked at him a moment longer, searching his face. His tie really was crooked.

You reached over before you could stop yourself, straightening it with careful fingers.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched you, like your touch was something holy.

When you pulled your hand back, his smile had softened.

“I’ve missed this,” he said quietly.

You turned your gaze out the window. “So have I.”

Clark watched you against the blurring Metropolis lights, remembering all the ways he rehearsed this as the words died on his lips.

To get your attention, he reached out for your hand. The contact startled you.

"I-" He searched your eyes for some reassurance. "I want to tell you everything- I will. Tonight."

You smiled, "Okay," and turned back to the window, keeping your hand interlocked with his. You hoped he understood from your touch what you couldn't say with words.

That you loved him, that the wait would be worth it, if his explanation was too.

And for the rest of the ride, the two of you sat close, the space between you humming—not empty, not awkward, but full of the possibility of something beginning again.

---

The annual Metropolis Charity Ball was already in full swing by the time you arrived. You stepped out of the taxi with Clark by your side, matching Daily Planet press badges hanging over your hearts and your camera slung discreetly over your shoulder.

The venue was a converted museum ballroom, high ceilings and golden with old-world charm. The event was complete with glimmering chandeliers, sprawling velvet curtains, marble columns wrapped in lights. The place buzzed with Metropolis elite: politicians, CEOs, a few familiar celebrity faces, and far too many people who had unkind opinions about your work.

You moved through the crowd with practiced ease, your camera in hand. You snapped candid moments: a senator laughing too hard, a tech CEO shaking hands with a movie star, the mayor’s wife adjusting her husband’s lapel with carefully veiled annoyance. You didn’t pose anyone.

In your opinion, real was always better.

When you found Clark, coming towards you with two champagne flutes in hand, you were leaned to get a shot of the mayor shaking hands with the state senator in front of the lively jazz band.

“We’re here for work,” he said, offering you one of the glasses, “but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking it. “You’re feeling rebellious tonight.”

He chuckled. “Don’t tell Perry.”

You clinked your glass against his, the sound soft and crystalline.

"I won't have to, when you go and tear up the dance floor." You joked through a sip of champagne.

He looked over, uneasy, at the groups of couples dancing to the live band. "I'm...not much of a dancer."

Then you looked up at him. “So.”

He blinked, smiling. “So…?”

You sipped, letting the pause stretch. “So where’s this grand explanation I’m owed?”

There was teasing in your tone, but not all of it.

Clark faltered. “I… Yeah. I know. I just—”

“Excuse me,” a sharp voice cut through, and a small cluster of city hall aides materialized beside you, led by a man with a fake tan and a suffocating bow tie. “You’re the ones from the Planet, right?”

Clark straightened, and you tensed slightly.

“You wrote the piece about the infrastructure delays,” another aide added. “The one that conveniently twisted the mayor's words? The truth?.”

Your smile came slow and sharp. “If by truth, you mean the millions in city funding disappearing into ‘consulting fees’ and six separate delays being blamed on nonexistent supply chain issues, then yeah, I guess we did write that.”

Clark tried not to laugh. He failed.

The first aide’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s cute," he sauntered up to stand inches away from you, "the way you show up here, mingle, thinking you belong because of the plastic tag hanging around your neck.”

Your camera strap shifted on your shoulder as your brows lifted.

The air tightened.

Clark stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “Hey. If you’ve got a problem with the reporting, file a complaint with our editor. Otherwise, maybe try having a drink and not harassing my partner.”

There was steel beneath the word partner, and even you weren’t sure if he meant professional or not.

The aide blinked, thrown off. “Right. Of course. Wouldn’t want to upset the press.” He walked off in a huff, his colleagues following like ducklings in overpriced shoes.

Clark exhaled and looked down at you. “You okay?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been told worse.”

He gave a small smile, but his heart was hammering a little harder than it should have been. God, you were fearless. Sharp without being cruel. And beautiful in a way that made his ribs ache.

Before he could say something—something dumb, something true—a voice to your left caught both your attention.

Senator Lucille Grant. Chair of the city’s public transportation committee. Talking to a lobbyist you didn’t recognize. She was leaning in close, speaking under the music, unaware you were listening.

“…the whole bid was rushed, but he signed off anyway. We told them the concrete wasn’t up to code, but if they’re cutting the ribbon next week, that’s on them.”

Clark’s eyes flicked to you. You already had your phone out, voice memo recording.

He stepped in casually, lifting his press badge. “Senator Grant—Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Mind giving me a quick comment on the mayor’s involvement with the North Corridor expansion?”

She stiffened. “This is hardly the time—”

“You were overheard saying the mayor ignored safety warnings,” you said lightly, almost sing-song. “That sounds important, something civilians deserve to know, wouldn't you agree?"

Senator Grant’s jaw clenched. “Off the record.”

You smiled like a shark. “In a room full of journalists?"

She muttered something about damage control and walked off in a flurry of rich perfume.

Clark turned to you, eyebrows raised. “That was fast.”

“She gave us more in ten seconds than we got two weeks of city hall hearings,” you said. “And look over there—”

You nodded subtly toward the far end of the ballroom, where two construction execs were talking, pale and tense. One of them glanced toward the stage where the mayor was now stepping up.

“They don’t look like men confident in their boss,” you added.

Clark gave a low whistle. “This might be bigger than just a delay.”

“Think we just found our next front page.”

You both turned toward each other at the same time, the noise of the ballroom falling away just a little.

Clark's stare was intense, but his smile matched yours, that of a child's—ecstatic, buzzing.

You cleared your throat, still smiling. “We make a good team Clark,” you said.

His expression softened. “We always did.”

And for a second, the warmth in his eyes wasn’t professional. It was personal. Admiring. A little in awe.

You looked away first, heart thudding.

Then the lights dimmed, and the mayor took the stage and adjusted the mic with a smile polished to a shine.

He opened with the confidence of someone used to applause. “Good evening, everyone. It’s an honor to welcome you to this year’s Metropolis Charity Ball. Thank you for your continued support and generosity—tonight’s contributions will go directly to rebuilding critical infrastructure across the city. Roads, transit, community shelters… we’re making great progress.”

You shared a look of disbelief with Clark.

You raised your camera, snapping a few obligatory shots of the mayor, the crowd, the banners behind him.

“And, of course,” the mayor continued, “we’re grateful for the continued protection and partnership of our city’s greatest hero—Superman.”

Your finger hesitated on the shutter.

You dropped the camera slowly to your side, trying to keep your face still.

The applause rose around you, but your body didn’t move. Your grip on your camera tightened.

Clark shifted beside you.

You didn’t look at him.

The mayor kept talking—something about gratitude, about vigilance, about being one city under the watchful eye of its guardian—but the words had already blurred.

You weren’t sure why it hit so hard.

Maybe it was the mention of Superman in this sea of polished, powerful people. Maybe it was knowing how the world admired him, praised him, trusted him… while you felt so betrayed by him.

Or maybe it was just the memory—his hand on your back, his mouth on yours, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and how easily he’d vanished afterward.

Clark’s voice was soft, just above the music and applause. “Do you want to step outside?”

You didn’t answer right away.

You just nodded and let him guide you out through the side doors, away from the cameras and the crowd.

---

The two of you found yourselves stepping out the side doors of the museum, past velvet ropes and towering columns, and into the quiet hush of the gardens.

The air outside was cooler now. Crisp. Night had fallen fully, and with it came a soft breeze that rustled the dark leaves overhead and made the lantern-lit trees shimmer like something out of a dream. Strings of golden fairy lights looped along the hedges and wound around the marble pillars, their glow warm against the cool stone paths.

Neither of you spoke right away. You just walked slowly together, side by side, your heels clicking softly on the pavers. You could still faintly hear the jazz band inside—muted saxophone, the low hum of a bass—but it sounded a world away.

You crossed your arms lightly over your chest, more out of instinct than chill. Finally, you broke the silence. “How well do you know Superman?”

Then, quietly: “Better than people think.”

You nodded, uncrossing your arms. “Yeah. Me too,” you murmured.

Clark looked at you for a long moment. The kind of look that searched deeper than skin, like he was trying to read the questions you hadn’t asked yet.

The air shifted between you. Something warmer. Heavier.

The jazz music inside swelled—slow, romantic, aching.

Clark’s hand brushed yours once, then again. On the third pass, you let your fingers hook with his for just a moment.

It sent a little static zip up your spine.

He smiled down at you, a bit shyly. “You were amazing in there,” he said softly. “The way you handled the aides. The quote you caught. How fast you noticed those councilmen sneaking off.”

You glanced sideways at him, trying not to smile. “Well, we are supposed to be working, remember?”

“I know,” he said. “You just keep impressing me.”

You let the silence bloom between you for a second, feeling the hum of it settle low in your chest. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You slowed near the edge of the garden where a low stone wall bordered a shallow fountain. Tiny lights were woven through the greenery above you like stars tangled in branches.

Clark turned to face you. “I used to hate events like this.”

You raised a brow. “Because of the dancing? Or the company?”

He laughed, quietly. “Because I never knew how to be. Either I had to pretend I was smaller than I am… or pretend I wasn’t anyone at all.”

You tilted your head. “And now?”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “Now I don’t mind them so much.”

That pulled a soft breath from you. Your gaze dropped to his lips, then quickly flicked away.

“I- I think,” he said, stepping just a little closer, “that it has something to do with you.”

You blinked.

“I’m serious,” he murmured. “You walk into a room, and, and everything shifts. You make people want to be honest. Braver. More themselves.”

You swallowed hard.

“You’re… Gosh, you’re smart, Y/n. And funny. And too clever for your own good. And you wear your heart on your sleeve in a way I only dream of doing. And- and I am really not good at this,” he added quickly, his voice cracking with something a little nervous and a lot vulnerable. “But I just—I wanted to say it.”

Your voice was smaller than you meant it to be. “Say what?”

“I think I’ve been scared,” he said. “That if I let you see all of me… you’d realize I’m not the person you’ve built in your head.”

You looked up at him, and the ache in your chest was impossible to ignore.

The saxophone inside hit a long, low note.

Clark reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow. “Dance with me?”

You hesitated, just for a breath.

Then you nodded.

He pulled you in gently. One hand found the small of your back. The other slid into your palm, warm and steady. You swayed beneath the lights, surrounded by the rustle of the trees and the distant murmur of music. There was no one else out here. Just the two of you.

You leaned into him without thinking and rested your cheek against his chest. His heart caught. Clark tightened his hold around you.

“I thought you didn’t like dancing,” you said.

“I don’t,” he said. “But I like dancing with you.”

You let out a soft laugh. Your eyes fluttered closed, just for a moment.

And then, quietly, you said, “You still haven’t told me what happened that night."

The words hung between you like mist.

Clark’s breath hitched. His hold on you shifted, just slightly. “I wanted to,” he said. “So many times, more than you know. I’ve replayed that night in my head over and over, trying to figure out what I should’ve done differently.”

You tilted your head up to look at him and meet his gaze.

“I should’ve told you everything.”

He swallowed. “But I didn’t. Because if I did… I didn’t know if you’d still look at me the same way.”

He paused. He could hardly hear the soft music over your quick beating heart.

The two of you stopped swaying, just stood in the warm, twinkling lights as Clark held you to his chest.

“And now I think I was a coward.”

“Clark—”

“I’ve lied,” he said, “about who I am. About who I’ve always been. But I can’t keep doing that anymore. Not with you.”

“I don’t understand,” you whispered.

Clark shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath before giving you one last look of love.

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

“I’m Superman.”

You paused. Then began to laugh—sharp, startled. “Okay. That’s funny, Clark. Almost had me.”

He didn’t laugh with you.

Your smile faded.

He just… looked at you. With that same softness. That same quiet weight.

You stared up at him.

You reached your hands up to his face, just like you had done so many times before, and stopped to cup his face. You rested your fingers gently, brushing his cheek with your thumb, as if love could save you from what was about to come.

"Y/n," Clark's voice was heavy and quiet.

Slowly, you pulled the frames from his face.

He didn’t stop you. You slid them off gently—half expecting him to make some joke, to laugh, to break the spell.

But he didn’t.

Your vision blurred slightly. You blinked to adjust your gaze. And, for the very first time, you saw him clearly.

It was him.

It was him.

Superman.

You stumbled back a step, glasses still in your hand. “No.”

“Please,” he said gently, stepping forward.

“No,” you said again, louder. Your breath was starting to come quicker. “No. No, no—”

“Hey—” He tried to reach for your arms, your shoulders, but you backed away.

You were starting to hyperventilate. Your chest rising too fast, your hands shaking as you stared at the glasses in your grip like they were poison.

“You can’t—Clark, you can’t be him—Please,”

“It’s still me,” he said, voice quiet but urgent. “I’m right here. Just look at me—”

“I am looking at you!” you snapped, voice thick with tears. “I’m looking at both of you at once and I don’t—I don’t know how to make sense of it!”

He tried again, softly, “Please—can I just—”

“Don’t touch me!” you choked, backing away another step.

Clark froze, his hands hanging useless in the space between you. His face was stricken.

“You lied to me,” you whispered, “every day that I've known you, you've lied to me. You let me talk to you like you were different people. You let me—God—confide in both of you.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, “I swear I did—”

“But you didn’t!” Your hands curled into fists. “You let me believe Clark Kent didn’t want me. You let me sit in that restaurant alone like a fool while you were out being—being this. You let me cry to you! About Clark!”

He took a step closer. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

You laughed through your tears. “Well, you did.”

Clark looked like he was swallowing broken glass. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know, if I told you everything, if you’d still want me.”

Your voice cracked. “You let me fall in love with you.”

He stopped cold.

“What?” he said.

You were breathing too fast. Tears streaking your cheeks.

Clark’s mouth opened slightly. His entire body stilled.

“You love me?” he whispered.

You just looked at him and something in your expression broke him.

He stepped forward like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed to say something, fix something, do something—but you took another step back.

“I don’t know who I love,” you said. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m still the same man. The one you talked to in the breakroom. The one who got nervous asking you out. The one who kissed you on that rooftop and has regretted leaving you minute since.”

You shook your head. “I can’t do this. I can’t—Clark, I need—I need time to think. I need space.”

He reached for you one more time. “Let me at least call you a cab—”

“I don’t want anything from you, Clark.” You said, and it seemed to burn your tongue to say his name.

That sentence hung in the air like smoke.

You turned and walked away, fast and unsteady. Past the fountain. Past the lights. Toward the curb.

When the cab pulled up, you climbed in and gave the only other address you could remember besides your own.

You couldn't go home. You couldn't be in your living room where he held you as you cried, couldn't be in your kitchen where you shared midnight snacks, couldn't be in your bed where he lied you down to sleep. You, especially, couldn't be on your balcony where he kissed you senseless.

You didn’t look at him until the door shut.

And when you finally did glance back—

Clark was still standing there on the curb, tears in his eyes, hands slack at his sides, glasses gone. Watching you go.

You looked down at your hands to find his glasses still pressed tightly in your grip.

Tears blurred your vision again.

You turned your head toward the window as the cab drove off into the dark.

---

The cab rolled to a stop beneath the flickering streetlamp outside Lois’s apartment building. The city had hushed to a whisper, forcing you to sit in silence, in the gravity of your pain.

And then there she was.

Lois stood at the edge of the sidewalk in leggings and a hoodie, arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked up the second the cab pulled in, already moving. She didn’t wave, didn’t say your name—just opened the door and knelt beside you like she’d done this a thousand times.

You didn’t speak.

She didn’t ask.

Her hand curled around yours, warm and grounding, and without a word she helped you out of the backseat, one palm pressed steady at your back.

Your shoes dangled from one hand. Clark’s glasses from the other. You were still in the pale blue gown—the one that you felt nothing but joy in hours ago. Now, it just felt like a costume. Something you’d worn in a version of your life that didn’t exist anymore.

Your press badge and camera hung heavily on your side.

Lois led you up the steps slowly. Neither of you rushed.

Inside, the familiar creak of her apartment door opened into the kind of chaos only Lois Lane could live in. Piles of notes and newspapers arranged like sacred offerings across the coffee table. An old couch with a faded quilt that had somehow survived three apartments, a dog, and two breakups. Fairy lights hung lazily across one window.

It felt like home.

She closed the door behind you, slid the chain lock into place, and turned to face you.

You were still standing.

Barefoot. Blinking. Trembling.

In a motherly way, she guided you to the living room.

“You need tea,” she said. “Or something stronger.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The electric kettle clicked on with a quiet hum, filling the small apartment with soft noise.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch and stared at nothing.

The glasses were still in your hand.

You turned them over once. Then again. Then pressed them to your chest like that might anchor you.

Lois returned with two mugs of steaming tea, one for you and one for herself. She set them on the table and sat down across from you on the floor, like she had when the two of you were nineteen and cramming for finals. You didn’t speak. You just stared at the swirl of steam, waiting for the tea to cool.

But all you could think about was Clark. Superman. Clark being Superman, the two men not being two men after all, just one person. One person that you still, even after everything, loved deeply.

You started to cry again—ugly, shuddering sobs that felt like they came from the soles of your feet. You curled into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if that could hold everything in.

Lois dropped down beside you, her hand running softly up and down your back.

You tried to explain, to form words between the gasps. “He’s—he’s—he lied—he let me—Lois, he—”

“I know,” she said quietly.

You froze.

Your sobs hiccupped to a stop. Your tear-streaked face turned toward her slowly, almost accusingly.

“What?” you whispered.

Lois swallowed, her expression unreadable. “I know. About Clark. That he’s Superman. I’ve known for… a while.”

You blinked.

For the first time since the reveal, since the heartbreak and unraveling of your entire understanding of reality, you felt something new:

Anger.

"You knew?” The words came out sharp. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

She opened her mouth, but you were already sitting up—shoving off the throw pillow, pushing your feet down like the ground could anchor you.

“You’re my best friend, Lois! How could you do this to me?”

“I—”

“No. No excuses. You had a million opportunities to tell me and you chose not to. Every single time!” You stood now, trembling. “You let me pour my heart out to you. You watched me fall apart over both of them, and you just—what? Sat there and lied to my face?”

“I didn’t lie,” she said gently. “I just didn’t tell you.”

“That’s the same thing!” your voice cracked. “Lo, I told you everything. I asked for your help. I told you I felt like I was going crazy because I couldn’t figure out why I felt like I knew Superman, and I did! I did, and you knew why, and you said nothing.”

“I know,” Lois said, voice soft, pained. “I know, and I hate it. I hated every second of it.”

You shook your head, eyes burning. “God, you could’ve stopped me from getting hurt. You could’ve said something, anything, and instead you just—just let me spiral."

“I wanted to,” she said, standing now too. “I wanted to so many times. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

You stared at her, vision blurred again. “I trusted you.”

“And I never stopped trusting you,” she said, stepping closer. “I trusted you to survive it. I trusted that when he finally told you, it would mean something. Because it does. Because he chose to tell you.”

“That doesn’t make this okay. At all.”

“I’m not saying it does,” Lois said. “I’m saying I know it hurts. I’m saying I’m sorry. But I also know he loves you. And I think—God, I think you love him, too-”

“Of course I still love him!” you shouted.

The words exploded out of you like a shattering glass. Sharp. Sudden. Too loud in the quiet apartment.

Lois didn’t flinch. She just stood there. Staring at you.

And you stared right back.

Both of you locked in place—eyes wide, breath held, as if the air between you might snap.

The silence after was so thick it rang in your ears.

Then your shoulders slumped. The strength drained from your spine. And with a heavy exhale, you sat back down on the couch like your legs couldn’t hold you anymore.

Your voice, when it came again, was quieter. Rough. Broken.

“It’s not about whether or not I love Clark. Superman. Whatever.” You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I know I love him.”

You looked up at Lois, eyes glassy, face raw. “I just don’t know how to trust him.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know that kind of lie—no matter how well-intentioned—feels like it rewrites everything. Like suddenly you have to go back and reevaluate every word, every look, every moment.”

You nodded slowly, jaw tight.

“But here’s the thing,” she continued. “Clark has spent his entire life hiding who he is. All of who he is. He didn’t do it to hurt you. He did it because he’s afraid.”

Lois held your hands in hers. "You're...different, Y/n. You walk around with your heart on your sleeve, you're an open book. You're so trusting and, and good."

You tried to drop your head in your hands but Lois knelt down in front of you,

“Vulnerability doesn’t come easy for him, not the way it does for you. He’s spent years trying to protect everyone else. But he’s never let anyone protect him. Not really. Not like this. Not until you.”

You stared down at the glasses still in your hand. Your fingers curled tighter around them.

“I know he should’ve told you sooner,” Lois went on, her voice a little quieter now, more intimate. “And I’m not saying you have to pretend it didn’t hurt. But,"

You looked at her.

She held your gaze. “He’s trying. Really trying. To be open. Honest. Vulnerable. With you. The way you’ve wanted him to be.”

You felt your chest twist at that. Your own words echoed back to you—two months of asking for something real. And now that it was in front of you, broken open and vulnerable… you didn’t know what to do with it.

“Don’t turn him away now,” Lois whispered. “Not when he’s finally giving you everything you asked for.”

You exhaled slowly, slumping further down into the couch, your whole body deflating. The silky skirt of your gown pooled around your legs, the remains of something once glamorous.

You looked up at the ceiling, tears drying on your cheeks, voice barely a whisper.

“Love is hard.”

Lois sat down next to you and leaned her head gently on your shoulder, her hair brushing your bare skin.

“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s really good too.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then, her voice came light and mischievous:

“So… are you gonna tell me about the kiss?”

You groaned and grabbed the throw pillow beside you, smacking her squarely in the side.

She yelped. “Hey!”

You grinned through your tears. “You are the worst.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You both burst into laughter, loud and messy, the kind that cracked something open inside you and let the light back in.

You covered your face, half-laughing, half-hiding.

Lois nudged you. “Okay, but seriously. He’s so handsome. Like, unfairly so. Even when he’s trying to play it down with those dumb glasses.”

You shook your head. “Don’t even start.”

“I mean, broad shoulders, big hands, stupidly soft hair?"

Lois ran her hands through her hair dramatically, mocking Clark. You put Clark's black frames on her face and fell back in laughter.

She removed the glasses and returned them gently to you.

As she did, she leaned closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Bet the kiss was really good.”

You covered your face. “Lo.”

“I’m just saying, if the man kisses as well as he writes—”

“Lois!”

She grinned, unapologetic.

You were still laughing, still breathless, when it quieted between you again. Not in a sad way. Just peaceful. The kind of quiet that lives in a room between people who really, truly know each other.

Your laughter softened, and you found yourself looking down at Clark’s glasses again. Your thumb traced the frame, slow and careful.

Your voice came out smaller than you expected.

“I love him,” you said. “I know I do.”

Lois didn’t say anything for a second. She just leaned her head back onto your shoulder and let you speak.

"I just don't know what to do with it."

---

You slept at Lois's that night. You never even thought about going home.

Once the tears and giggles stopped, Lois opened her phone to order some Thai food from the last place in Metropolis still open at 1 am. The two of you sat on her bed sharing Pad Thai, sticky rice, and a bottle of red wine.

Your gown—the once-stunning thing that had seemed so perfect when the night started—now hung limply on a plastic hanger in her tiny, overstuffed bathroom.

Instead, you donned an old college sweatshirt that you're sure she stole from you at one point. Soft from too many washes, faded letters reading DUKE JOURNALISM CLUB, and heavy in a way that grounded you.

You ate with plastic chopsticks and drank from mismatched mugs, red wine staining your lips and warming your chest.

For the first time in what felt like days, you were full. Not just from food, but from the feeling of being understood. Safe.

Halfway through your pad thai, you turned toward her, squinting with mock suspicion.

“Wait,” you said, pointing your chopsticks like a weapon, “you never answered my question.”

Lois blinked, feigning innocence. “Which question?”

“How the hell did you figure out Clark is Superman?”

She snorted and grabbed an egg roll. “Ugh. I didn’t figure out anything. The idiot revealed it to me on accident!"

You gaped at her.

“Okay, okay.” She laughed. “It was… honestly so dumb. We were at the Planet late one night, back when we were interns and covering the Riverside arsons. I was being annoying—like, purposefully annoying—and I stole his glasses off his face because I wanted to prove he could barely see without them.”

You choked on your noodles. “Lois.”

“He slapped his hands over his face! And then said, ‘Lois, give them back.’ And I swear, the second I looked at him I just froze. It was like someone flipped a switch in my brain.”

You grinned.

“I made him float two inches off the ground just to prove it.”

“Of course you did.”

"He was so embarrassed,” she said, proudly. “Which was wild. Because he literally flies.”

You laughed, hard. “That’s it?!”

“That’s it,” she said smugly. “Then he made me swear not to tell a soul."

You shook your head in disbelief. Then you both got quiet.

“You’ve been sitting on this the entire time I've been in Metropolis,” you said, voice low.

Lois’s smile faded. She looked down at the food between you.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I wanted to tell you. So many times. But it wasn’t my secret. And I knew the second you fell for Clark…” she glanced up at you, eyes soft, “that this would hurt. But I also knew that it would all be worth it.

You looked away. “Well, it hurts."

“I know.”

You sat in silence for a moment.

You curled against the headboard, legs tucked beneath you, watching the city lights blink through her window.

Your voice came softer this time.

“Do you think he’s okay? Right now?”

Lois tilted her head.

“I think he’s miserable,” she said honestly. “But also… hopeful. I think he’s just hoping you’ll still be there. That you’ll see him now. All of him. And not run.”

You nodded slowly, heart squeezing.

“I think I already saw him,” you whispered. “Maybe even before I realized it.”

She smiled and reached over, pulling the blankets up over both of you. The chill in the air didn’t feel so bad now.

"When you decide what to do," Lois stopped to look at you knowingly, "because you don't have to decide right away, okay? You don't owe him anything."

She stopped to sip her wine. "I'm with you. Whether you decide to forgive him and elope-"

"Lois."

"or hate him forever! I'm with you."

You let her words settle, warm and solid like the blanket draped over your legs. Lois leaned back into the pillows, one arm flopped across her forehead in mock dramatics, already half-asleep. But your mind stayed stubbornly awake.

You nudged her. "Lois,"

"Hm?"

"How did you know I was coming here? After the ball?"

Lois turned, half-lidded and tired. "Clark called me. Wanted to make sure you weren't alone."

The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic far below. You tilted your head toward the ceiling, watching the way the light from the street glowed soft and golden.

You hadn’t meant to fall for him—not Clark, not Superman. Certainly not both.

But here you were, heart aching, eyes sore, stomach full of lukewarm pad thai and a truth too big to ignore.

You still loved him.

You loved the way Clark always looked at you like you mattered, like every word out of your mouth was worth remembering. You loved the way he fumbled with his glasses when he got flustered, the way he offered his coat like it was second nature, the way he always asked how your day was and truly wanted to know every time.

You even loved the way he’d lied, in a strange and twisted way because it meant he was human. Flawed. Scared.

Just like you.

And God, hadn’t you always been a little scared too?

You’d spent so long holding yourself to impossibly high expectations, unsure if someone like him could ever truly want all of you. The messy, insecure, stubborn parts, the parts that got jealous or cried too easily or pushed people away too quickly.

But he had seen you, really seen you, and still stayed.

Now it was your turn to decide if you could do the same for him.

Was loving him worth the risk of getting hurt again?

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging.

Maybe.

Maybe loving Clark Kent meant accepting all of it. The secrets. The cape. The fear. You knew love wasn’t supposed to feel perfect all the time. But maybe it was supposed to be brave. Messy. Honest.

And maybe if he was finally willing to be vulnerable with you, you could be brave enough to be vulnerable with him, too.

After all, you’d spent all this time begging for his truth. And now you had it. Raw, cracked wide open, messy as hell—but real.

All you’d ever asked from him was honesty.

Now he was offering it.

How could you stop loving him now?

You shifted on the mattress and looked over at Lois, already snoring softly beside you, tangled in the blankets.

You smiled, faintly.

You didn’t have an answer yet. Maybe you’d still wake up tomorrow and feel angry. Or hurt. Or tired.

But for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were in the dark.

---

a/n: big reveal. drama. love. it's a very 'will she or won't she' type beat.

god this part my favorite. definitely. fav line: You even loved the way he’d lied, in a strange and twisted way because it meant he was human. Flawed. Scared.

hope you guys liked it:)) not much left until the series is done and then i'm gonna start working on my requests! requests are OPEN for more clark/superman fics, headcanons, thoughts, or just to yap about him

much love🪷🪷🪷 pls reblog and comment if u liked

taglist: @liuralibrar @icybarness @angel-dust-cb @crbpoetry @aim-formyheart @lavendermoons222 @10hrs26mn @linambc @casalucard @ticklish-leafy-plant @asteria33 @tati-the-fangirl @g4rb4ge-dump @yourmyonlyobsession @voidsxntry @my-little-secret-diaries @britttzy267 @nothere2478 @hagarsays @otakusimp1 @twsssmlmaa @kitten-daisy @qardasngan @writerreal @please-help-this-little-lesbian @brillitos-azules @selfishlycalculatingvisitor @pleasecallmeunhinged @materialgirl-97 @ldrfanatic @bellegirl16 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @khxna @rorysbrainrot @smolivin @screamingplastictoenail88 @slayerofthevampire @kneelarmhstrung @227777777333 @ifilwtmfc @loftilyviolentthunder @justp3achy03 @animegamerfox @nina-from-317 @sizzlingkryptonitetale @arcaichive @bamitzzsam @bellascrap @dntdltkss @livbonnet @scorpio-echo @bloodiedlusts @corenswetwife @lanasdolll @kai59999901 @ivegotdaddyissues @americanboz0 @ayy1234567 @jenneric2003 @areleine @turtle-in-a-tornado @keiralovesmoony @smellybad @shortandb1tchy @i1ovedeanwinchester @lando-scales @lilac-and-cherries @bananaminion678 @azrielsbbg @annabethboleyn @odevote118 @the-hist0rian @cyntsvmv @novausstuff @lecwife @reiofsuns2001 @renaeant @sleeplessskeleton @nanamilkbread @after8hore @abasnail28 @vanessalovesonedirection @annieaniya @nixandtonic @rhiannonhippiegirl @dvdsniffer @negasonic-teenage-asshole @jsjajsjsnannzjisjs @andriannag @booknerd62529 @imsonotweird @gwcses @infinitepersuasion @dreamer7black @sofia-1d @dazecrea @adoringanakin

comment to be added to the taglist💕

---

[milanmona]

How to manifest physical appearance changes?

Okay hello i'll be giving advices/method ideas today bcs i am the best mentor you're ever gonna see and i am such a pretty girl🎀🎀

1)Act like a narcissistic nepo baby

I am not saying they are bad people or smth but they have common traits. They think they are the best so they deserve the very best, they think everyone and everything should be serving them, they KNOW they are beatiful and nothing can change their mind, they think in their own favour, they live in abundence mindset bla bla you get the point i am talking about adapting to their mindset so you can improve your self concept and confidence.

2) Editing your photos and assuming it's how you look like

Okay this is a little embarrassing but it works. If you have the talent you can edit your selfies or you can use snapchat which is what i did. You're going to look at that photo of yourself and assume its how you look in real life. You can also choose a selfie you with makeup on and assume its how you look bareface. You can also use facetune? i think.

3)Daydreaming with your df/db

Play your fav song and daydream abt yourself with your desired appearance (maladaptive daydreamers are gonna love this hehehe🥳) I usually do this by daydreaming about myself in a familiar situation or place bcs i think it's more "realistic" but those are my own assumptions at the end of the day, do your own thing.

4)SATS (State Akin to Sleep)

This is a pretty common one but it works so why not include it? I recommed choosing one scene (maybe a desired scenario) of you having your df/db and replaying it over and over again till you re asleep. (there's a higher risk of you dreaming abt the thing you were imagining right before falling asleep so choose carefully.. idk i dont trust some of you 💋)

5)Revision????

Idk if this is revision or not but i play old memories in my head with me having my desired appearance and it works so you can try too. Again idk if this is revision? BUT IT WORKS SO FORGET ABT IT 🤗😋

!!MOST IMPORTANT PART!!

You're beatiful as you are. Now you are probably thinking "yes ofc anyways" or smth but no i mean it. Because you should know this, beauty standards are always gonna change, and you will never be good enough. You will never think you're flawless. İn the day we live in even having "smile lines" (idk what that shit is) is considered a flaw like come on. The system is designed to make you want to change yourself, to make you think you're not good enough so they sell more products for your non existent "flaws".

Love yourself like you're one of a kind baby, because you really are

[busanlove9597]

As an extension to your comment about his comments about his "type" over the years, I'd also add that interview/red carpet (can't remember now) where they ask him his celebrity crush and he kind of tip toes around it with the "I know face but not name" and then they ask what movie and he says "I know the movie but not the movie name". It could have been for a multitude of reasons, but it was obvious he didn't want to answer the question.

Also, I'm curious on your thoughts about gay slang. For example jungkook using "closet" as part of his personal production name. Or that listening party where he read the question "top or bottom" and answered top and then laughed. Or that tiktok he deleted that he captioned "I go the other way" after denying having a gf earlier in the day during a listening party. Despite him listening to gay artists, watching gay media, and having released blatantly sexual songs in English, I feel like the fandom is heavy on the "he didn't understand/he misunderstood/he doesn't know english slang/its just the language barrier". Its possible of course, just curious what you thought of it all!

okay but this is genuinely such a good ask and one of my favorite rabbit holes to fall into!

let’s start with the crown jewel. my personal roman empire. golden closet.

yes, the official story is that his studio was literally in his closet. and golden, because he’s the golden maknae. but the accidental double meaning? he really called it golden closet. not just a closet. a glowing, sacred closet. like he really woke up and said “this sounds cool” and casually dropped one of the most charged words in queer culture right into his brand identity 😵‍💫

and it’s not even just the name. let’s not pretend the content of golden closet films doesn’t feed directly into this energy. it’s the whole vibe. the golden closet felt like this quiet, private inner world: soft, romantic and deeply curated. a place where he could say things out loud without actually saying them. i mean… that’s kinda 🫳🏼

people love to say “he just meant it was his closet”. and well, they’re technically right. but the fact that he didn’t have to mean it for it to still land like this. not everyone names their studio something that accidentally sounds like a metaphor for personal revelation. he could’ve called it literally anything. and he went with golden closet. idk. sometimes a closet is a closet. and sometimes a closet is A Closet.

that’s what makes it feel so real. he’s always coded things this way: layered, indirect, subtle but intentional.

and then the “top or bottom” moment 😵‍💫 we’re not moving past that one. that was blatant. he read the question out loud. paused for half a second. then said “top” with no hesitation and laughed. not nervously. not like someone who accidentally walked into something. it was the laugh of someone who knew what he just said and was fully entertained by the chaos of it.

and then people rushed to say he didn’t understand it… this is jk, who has said he’s not innocent and knows everything. a grown man in the music industry. constantly engaging with western media, listens to western music, spends time in western fandom spaces, has released english songs with adult themes. do we really think he doesn’t know what “top or bottom” means? let’s be serious.

it’s not even about catching him in anything. it’s just the fact that he’s not denying, deflecting, or even flustered. he just does it. says the thing. lets it sit. giggles. and keeps it moving.

i genuinely think about it all the time because that’s not a slip-up. that felt like a choice. that’s a man who knows he can say things with just enough ambiguity that he never has to explain himself. and the fandom will do the explaining for him anyway. but we’ll get into that later.

and then there’s the “i go the other way” tiktok. which, in context, was him flipping a trend and captioning it (in korean) with something like “i do it the other way.” on its own, totally harmless. i believe nothing about the original wording was particularly loaded. but this was right after he’d denied having a girlfriend during his listening party so the timing already felt cheeky. and when fans translated the caption into english, it suddenly read like a very familiar queer-coded phrase.

to be fair, this one has the most plausible deniability in my opinion. the caption only felt suggestive after translation, and it could’ve easily been about the trend itself. but the part that makes it suspicious? he deleted it. fast. and that’s what makes people spiral. if it really was just a trend and nothing more, why take it down?

it’s like he’s always operating in this exact gray area: saying just enough to make you wonder, and then letting the ambiguity do the rest.

and i do think part of why he can do this is because the fandom gives him a built-in safety net. the minute anything veers into loaded territory, there’s always someone saying “he didn’t mean it that way” or “he doesn’t understand the slang” or “he’s just silly and innocent.” it’s like this protective wall that lets him push boundaries without having to explain himself. and honestly? i think he knows that. i think he uses it to say the things he wants to say, without getting boxed in.

and all of this is before even getting into the “i know face but not name” / “i know movie but not movie name” celebrity crush moment… which has exactly the same deflecting energy as saying your ideal type is iu when everything about your actual preferences points in the opposite direction. like we’ve been here. we’ve seen the patterns. we know the dance. always skating just past the point of saying anything real. and that same energy shows up everywhere else too.

it doesn’t have to be “proof” of anything, but it’s just so rich with possible meaning.

[http-tokki]

my heart - clark kent

~clark kent x fem!reader ~ tags: david!clark kent, mid-2000s era, friendship! This is a friendship fic about being friends with clark as a teen! IT'S PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP BECAUSE THEY ARE TEENAGERS! ~ w/c: 2.9k ~a/n: not proofread! Forgive a girl for using real bands, i was an emo lil kid. Honey is a replacement for y/n. anyway heres the song i used ily first superman fic, kinda nervous

part 2 coming soon.

Smallville 2006

“I think it might be a little too…” 

“A little too what? Loud?” You reach for the dial on the CD player, twisting it down to a more acceptable level of volume for the small space. The sound of the man screaming dwindles to a faint screech as you comb through the disk folder, looking for a specific mixtape from months ago. 

“No, just a little too scream-y” Clark cringes and reaches over to the stack of CDs beside the portable boombox, rifling through the albums. “It’s not bad, it’s just not-”

“The Mighty Crabjoys?” You can’t help the sardonic raise of your eyebrows, and while you don’t really mean the dig at your friend, it is funny to have Clark listen to the music he always claims to love. 

“Well, no one is the Mighty Crabjoys because that kind of talent can’t be replicated, but-”

“Okay, okay.” The music stops with the press of a button, the CD popping up from the player with a soft click. “How about this?” Another disk is placed in, the one you had finally found from the folder in your lap, and begins with a bright opening of guitar and drums. 

Clark stops his searching, rolling onto his back so that his head hangs over the edge of the bed. 

“It's the perfect way to listen because all the blood is in your head.” He had one said late one afternoon as you went through the latest album of The Used.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, dude.” You had shaken your own head at the absurdity of the thought. Surely the more blood that was in your head, the more of that weird wooshing you’d hear, right? 

“It works for me,” Clark had shrugged, or at least attempted to in his awkward position, and that was the end of that. 

Music fills his small bedroom, the sounds of actual punk rock echoing slightly, hopefully not enough to disturb his parents in the kitchen, but there are no complaints, no shouts of turn it down! So you keep the volume up, but finger hovering over the decrease button just in case.

Hanging out at the Kents isn’t something new. A tradition you had built in the early years of middle school after you had both bonded over the love of Star Wars. It wasn’t as if you weren’t friends before that, you knew of each other from class and the walk home, occasionally saying hi or bye as your paths intersected but on some random day in the middle of spring, when the sun was beginning to stay out longer, the friendship had solidified itself with a small Yoda pin on your backpack. When the gift from your older cousin from out of state caught the eyes of young Clark,  he rushed up to you, cheeks bright red from running and hair wild, and demanded to know if you also liked Star Wars and where you had gotten the pin. The rest of that afternoon was a blur of excited babble about your favourite movies and characters, and for some reason, neither of you had stopped babbling since. Four years and one Yoda pin as a Christmas gift later, you had all but become inseparable. Attached at the hip to the point where when people referred to you, it was always “you and Clark.” Never one or the other, a packaged deal, and you liked that, and so did Clark.

“Okay, this one is a lot better.” Clark nods along to the beat, fingers tapping against one another in time with the drums. “Who is it? They sound familiar.” 

“Paramore. I was playing it the other day.” You reach for the small paper that was slipped in behind the CD. “They’re new, I think. I got it from one of the girls in my maths class.” 

Clark hums, turning over onto his stomach and coming to rest his chin on folded arms. “I like the singer. She sounds cool.” 

The intensity of the song picks up, and the first screams filter through the speakers. You're already smiling wide-eyed when Clark looks over at you, surprise etched into his forehead as if slipping in another song with screaming was the ultimate betrayal. 

“It’s good, right?” Excitement and apprehension bite at your gut, nervous that your friend won’t like what is slowly becoming your new favourite band. “This is the only song with screaming in, but you said yourself that you like the singer-”

“I never said I hated the screaming, I just don’t gravitate to it.” Clark is defensive as he reaches out and plucks the paper from between your fingers. He reads the list scrawled in messy handwriting. 

“That’s not very punk rock,” you grumble, attention turning to the stack of disks your friend was rummaging through. 

“Never said I was.” The retort is quick, annoyance there but not in a foul way, more akin to a fight between siblings.

“You say it all the time!” you whine, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re Clark-I’m Punk Rock- Kent.”

Clark makes a face, clearly unimpressed with you, but brushes it off quickly. “I’ve never once said that about myself. If anything, I’ve said I'd LIKE to be punk rock, but I've never said I am. You need to get your hearing checked.”

“My bad,” you deadpan and quickly rectify your earlier statement. “Clark - I’d like to be punk rock- Kent.” 

“Thank you. If you’re gonna insult me, get it right,” he flashes you a victorious smile but is quick to change the subject.“What’s this song called anyway?”

“My heart.” 

—

Smallville 2008

The first fight between the two of you is brutal. 

A full week of no communication. No calls, texts, IM, nothing. It’s stupid, the reason for the fight. It was something about a CD being kept for longer than you had given him permission to. A ridiculous reason to argue because never up until that point had you had a limit on the borrowing time, and you usually wouldn’t. You’d let it go and eventually ask for it back when you remembered about it again, but Clark was getting on your nerves, and so you snapped. Right in the middle of the hall, in front of everyone, you all but lost it at him as you tried to reach into his locker to retrieve the disk, only to be shoved away by his shoulders. It wasn’t hard, hell, you’d gotten into stronger fist fights as kids, but it was his blatant refusal to give it back that had you seeing red. The fight was public and loud and embarrassing, and while you did end up walking away with your album, the hushed whispers that followed you were not worth it. The apology came later. After your pride had settled and you could finally admit to fault. Clark also apologised for respecting your boundaries and belongings, and then you were fine. Two months of friendship as if the fight never happened, uninterrupted happiness and security in having your friend back, but then football season started. 

Clark had been picked for the team, the new starting quarterback, and suddenly, you were on the back burner. Left waiting after school because he forgot to text you that he had training, Saturday's lonelier cause he would be on the field, walks home quietly without the rambling of Clark, and a rift had begun to grow. It was the kind that happens as you get older and your opinions and hobbies change. You were quieter, more cynical, and opted for hiding in the library or drama room instead of attending assembly or PE and Clark, well, he was Clark Kent. Super bright quarterback who was nice to everyone and had captured the hearts of almost one hundred per cent of the girls in school. It was hard at first, the afternoons spent walking alone because he had football practice, but it was okay, Clark was still your best friend, and he promised he would be till you both left this small town and even after. You felt stupid holding onto promises made years ago, when you were both young and naive, interests and dreams still the same, but it was hard for you to make friends, so you weren’t in the habit of isolating yourself from the ones you already had. 

The second fight happened for an even more ridiculous reason, but it was months in the making. Weeks of unspoken tension and heartache boiling and bubbling over, burning both your skin raw. Some guy had asked you to the dance, and while you aren’t one for dances because they are preppy and horrendously uncool, you were considering saying yes. Not because you liked the kid, not a shot in hell, but he was in your class and he was always nice to you, and Clark sure as hell wasn’t interested in spending the night holed away watching movies with you anymore. 

“So you’re going?” Clark’s question is curt, more of a tone of interrogation rather than friendly interest after you had shared the random story, an awkward attempt at filling the silence that had been ever-present between the two of you in the last week and a half. “I thought you weren’t interested in stuff like that.”

“I’m not,” you shrug and kick the rocks at your feet. “But I'm not gonna sit at home alone for another Saturday, so I might as well go.” 

Gravel crunches as Clark halts beside you. “What's that meant to mean?” 

“I’m just bored of sitting home alone, so I’ll go and make friends, branch out.” You turn, dust kicking up. 

“Is that a dig at me? Cause we don’t hang out anymore?” 

“No. I know you’re busy, so why not go out and make some new friends? Can’t hurt.” 

You don’t know if it's hurt or anger furrowing Clark’s brow. Maybe a mix of both? You hadn’t initially set out to hurt him, just stating a fact of your current reality, but maybe you had a point, maybe there was some part of you that was upset that your only friend had basically traded you in for a new group of kids. It was expected, inevitable, so why were you surprised that the day had come? 

“That was really mean.” Clark frowns, tone indignant. 

“I didn’t mean for it to be,” You start, ready to launch into an apology for the indirect assault, but anger replaces the remorsefulness, and you find yourself lashing out. “But if you are taking it that way, maybe I did.” 

“Why are you acting like this?” 

“Like what? Hurt because I haven't hung out with my supposed best friend in over a month? I don't know Clark, that would hurt, wouldn’t it?” Venom fills each word, and you are fueled by spite and jealousy and something you can’t quite place. 

“You know I'm busy with football and-” Clark pulls back from the offence and instead opts for defensive measures with crossed arms over his chest. 

“Too busy to pick up a phone and call or text?” 

This hits home. 

Clark frowns, jaw muscles feathering as he clenches his teeth. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, man. You’re not there, and I need new friends, so I’m trying.” You shrug, turning back on your heel to continue on home. 

“So we're breaking up?” The question has you pausing. 

Breaking up. Kinda funny to use that term, but this most definitely felt like a break-up, worse in fact. Clark was meant to be with you forever, far more important than any boyfriend because he was your person, your other half, your best friend, and while boyfriends have come and gone, Clark was there through it all and this hurt way hell of a lot more than any break-up. So maybe it was. Maybe this was your break-up. 

“If that’s what you wanna call it, sure.” Your shoulders feel heavier than before, the weight of your words compounding on you. “Drop my CDs off when you can, alright.” 

There is no response from Clark, not even the sound of his footsteps chasing after you as you walk away and while you hoped, so deliriously aching hoped your friend would reach out just once more, to grab your shoulder and turn you around to pull you in a hug, that doesn’t happen and just like for the last two months, you walk home alone. 

-

You’re interrupted from your crying later that night with a knock at your bedroom door. With red eyes and an aching throat, you open, expecting to see your mother there, checking on you for the thousandth time, offering a hug or ice cream or whatever remedy would aid you and your broken heart, but how do you fix a heart when it feels like half of it is gone? 

Excuses and dismissals are poised on your tongue as you open your door, ready to turn your mother away, but instead, you are greeted with a box that she holds. Red shoe box covered in stickers and magazine clippings of bands you like, you instantly recognise the box as yours, and your heart sinks further. Clark has dropped off your CDs. The final nail in the coffin of your friendship. Your mother whispers the explanation that Clark had knocked as asked for you, and upon being denied both entry and access to you, he had given the box over to your mom to act as courier. 

“You guys will work it out, I promise.” She presses a kiss to your forehead as you take the shoebox, and while it offers some comfort that your mother, who has never been wrong, says that, the facts before you do not line up with her reassurance. 

Pictures of Gerard Way and Pete Wentz cover the top; hastily drawn cartoons and doodles scribbled in black Sharpie litter the free space in between photos, a stupid collection of all your crushes on members of the bands that fill the box. It’s lighter than you remember, but maybe you’d given him less than you thought. Crawling back into bed, the soft light of your lamp illuminates a small halo of light, the soothing sounds of Hayley Williams crooning lowly in the background. Your heart is pounding as you lift the lid, unsure why it is, maybe because you know this is the end, maybe you are worried he has kept some of your CDs out of spite? Maybe you- 

Inside the box is a single CD. Not one that you had given him, none of the familiar covers staring back at you. Just one plain, silver CD with your name scrawled on it in Clark’s messy handwriting. 

A scrap of paper accompanies the disk. 

Play it. Please. 

Wiping tears from your cheeks, you reach towards your bedside table, the player skipping as you lift it. The swap is quick, and while you are eager to hear what's on the mysterious CD, you find yourself pausing as your finger hovers over the play button. What could possibly be on this disk that he couldn’t say out loud a few hours ago? What was so unspeakable that he had to encrypt it on a CD-ROM and deliver it directly to your house? 

The CD begins with a soft click of the play button. 

“Hey, Honey, Umm. I’m really not sure if this is going to work; we haven’t done this in a while, so I kind of forgot how to make mixtapes, but I’m gonna try because I, well, I want to say sorry. I could have said it before, I should have, but I think I was too upset at the fact that I was about to lose you, and my brain just stopped working. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for everything else. I’ve been the worst friend in the entire world, worse than the worst friend. I don’t have any excuses, I just-I got swept up in everything and I let you slip through the cracks cause I, well I think I got so used to having you around, got so used to having you with me that I thought you would just be there, that you would be right beside me like we used to be that I didn’t realise I had to make sure you were there. I’m sorry, Honey. I am sorry a thousand times over, no. A million times over. And I will say it until we're old because I will never stop being sorry. You’re my best friend in the entire universe. I’ve never had someone who knows me like you do, who has been my friend like you, and sometimes I think that maybe we were once the same person, but got split in half because you are just that, my other half, and I let you down. I’m sorry.” 

The tears continue to fall, nose running and bottom lip quivering as you feel the universe tilt back into equilibrium. 

“I don’t know if you remember, but years ago we were listening to new CDs and you played this song and as much as I don’t like the screaming, it just stuck with me and whenever I listen to it, I think about you and how much you mean to me. I love you, Honey, and I’m so sorry.” 

Clark’s staticy voice stops, and the beginning notes of the song begin to play. 

You flip the note in your hand over, and in Clark's awful handwriting are the lyrics to the song. 

This heart, it beats for only you.

[leseigneurdufeu]

things that happen in Camelot (1998) and thank you @currentlycryingaboutlancelot for the deeply cursed rec.

literally a song about standing up for justice and right and fighting for what you believe in while the video shows Merlin running away from the battlefield.

Merlin casually implying that teenage Arthur is the father of a bunch of orphaned mice he sired while wildshaping.

Vivian, who's an immortal but third age looking lady, says upon receiving a newborn Arthur that "her sister, Morgause" will teach him when he's of age. Cue him falling in love with Morgause as a young adult, she looks to be his age.

Merlin kidnaps Arthur during his wedding night

Arthur pulls the sword out of the stone and doesn't look impressed that the blade glows. During the whoel scene, the dialogue is drowned by the triumphant music. Not on purpose.

Vivian is still speaking (indoor voice) at the harbour when Merlin magically makes the boat leave. Vivian (on the deck) keeps talking (indoor voice) to Arthur (on the boat) (the boat that's halfway across the sea by now)

Arthur has suddenly grown a beard and procured armour and weapons.

Arthur and Lancelot have stereotypical evil-king-and-vizier conversations which are supposedly establishing them as good guys.

Arthur is elected king by a delegation of three peasants, one of which a child.

Merlin appears and tells Arthur that his knights are right, he does need a queen! his knights nor anyone else ever mentioned a queen.

Arthur is married to Guinevere, which is shady af since he's already supposedly married to Morgause.

There's a song about Camelot which makes it look like living in that place is living in a gothic horror novel.

The animation constantly looks like this whenever someone moves.

Meleagaunt sounds like a cockney-speaking extra from My Fair Lady.

Lancelot's first reaction to being seen (gasp!) holding hands with Guinevere is to try and murder his host under his own roof.

Vivian scolds Guinevere (who by this time has been married to Arthur for 20 years) and tells her "if you can't be faithful, at least try to be kind", as if Guinevere had been anything but kind.

that dialogue sure can be random! and the music going with it!

so let's see if i got this right. Your plan to trap Lancelot is to. Violently bang at the doors of Guinevere's bedroom and yell "come out lancelot" multiple times. I mean. I guess it can work but it seems a bit overkill to present it as "setting a trap".

Guinevere, hearing people angrily yelling "come out Lancelot": oh no it's me they want

ARTHUR LAYS SIEGE ON LANCELOT'S CASTLE WITH ONE(1) CATAPULT

LANCELOT ANNOUNCES HE WILL BECOME A MONK. And then says it won't help anyway. Why suggest that then.

Camelot is lost and will never return. Says the guy who was still in Camelot, a castle still solidly standing, like a week prior. That still stands since the battle is happening at Lancelot's place. I know he means it in a figurative way but why not say "the round table is lost"?

Reprise of the song from the beginning in a more melancholic tune except it has never been used to show the righteous fights of Camelot, just Merlin fleeing with baby arthur under his arm, so it's kind of a weird choice.

honestly it could be a banger of a song if put on the proper video it's a shame it's on these badly animated knights charging each other over a plot hole.

On his deathbed, King Arthur invests of his powers the man who just started a war in the middle of the negociations of a peace treaty.

[femme-plant-mom]

@the-ineffable-parker requested:

42 for Nico: "Unsweetened Lemonade" by Amélie Farren

This song's lyrics are!! Gold. I mean, I kind of love it as a general demigod song, but there are some great Nico lines: "I don't like confrontation, but I'm staring at the sun / I won't quit until my eyes go red, I'll finish what's begun" - I actually don't think Nico will start a fight if he doesn't have to, I think he likes using other methods (especially as he gets older and less angry), but by gods he will finish it! "I was either gonna die at 12 or 90-fucking-3" / "I didn't die at 12, I guess I'm here 'til 93" - I mean? Come on! He's both 12 and 93 all at the same time (well, not actually, but you get my point), plus, yeah, thought he would die young, but has the skills to stay alive until he's old. "Everything I used to love decayed over the years" - his mom, Bianca, the Italy he knew, basically anything in recognition of his parenthood?? "It's pathetic how you think you're being smart / Worthless parents make stupid kids, the apple never strays / Your conscience never compromised, and ego never pays" - Octavian. Nico's opinions on Octavian up and down and sideways. And I love that the slightly unsettling lyrics are against this kind of peppy tune? Nico may be pretty on the surface, but if you talk to him, he's a little weird!! a little unsettling!! Idk, it's a fun little song!

89 for Will: "Would You Go With Me" by Josh Turner

Listen! I swear there are actually relatively few country songs on this playlist, but I went through a thing while/after reading Ch. 19 of Will Solace and the Socialites of Olympus University, and that put a bunch on the playlist in a row, so really!!! This is Stella's fault. Anyway, I picture Will listening to this song while growing up in Texas: windows down, radio blasting, his mama's voice singing along. Fields and cows are flashing by, and he's happy. This song is all about staying by someone's side through the highs and lows and just little parts of life/following/traveling with someone: "Would you go with me if we rolled down streets of fire? / Would you hold onto me tighter as the summer sun got higher?" It's also basically a proposal?? "If I gave you my hand, would you take it / and make me the happiest man in the world?" and "I love you so, so would you go with me?" And, as always, I'm thinking about Solangelo and them following each other anywhere and being devoted to each other for the rest of their lives. (This song is also on my Naomi Solace playlist!)

Okay, my “Will Solace” and “Nico di Angelo” playlists both now have at least 115 songs each. Send me a number and a playlist name or “both”, and I’ll tell you which song is at that number and why I put it on the playlist!

[gen-is-gone]

This is perhaps bitchy and uncharitable and certainly almost a year late to really be complaining about but fuck it, we complain anyway.

Yes, I am still unreasonably upset about Sutekh clinging to the side of the TARDIS since The Pyramids of Mars, and upset because I was sort of foolishly hoping we might get some actual characterization fallout from that addressed properly this series, which of course isn't going to happen. And the reason I'm upset about it while it seems fairly few people care all that much is because it's a litmus test for the degree to which any given person sees the TARDIS as a character in her own right. And it's fairly obvious now that rtd doesn't, or at least, only does when it suits him.

Because the thing is, if the TARDIS is a character, is a person, then the manner in which Sutekh uses and usurps her, and the ambiguity in whether it was consensual ('seduction' vs 'coercion') becomes extremely important to the Doctor and the TARDIS's relationship, and the TARDIS's characterization as a whole, both going forward and echoing back. Like bearing in mind that what actually happened is so ambiguous, what Sutekh being 'there the whole time' even fucking means, that trying to pull a point out of it is almost an exercise in futility from the jump, but to borrow some wildly inadequate or perhaps even inappropriate language, it's the difference between whether the TARDIS has been cheating on the Doctor for more than half the length of their entire relationship, or whether she'd been being (sorry) raped that whole time and the Doctor just hadn't noticed.

And yeah, evidently it was too much for me to hope that there would ever be any kind of real emotional or plot-relevant followup about that, because, again, that requires you to see the TARDIS as a character whose choices and emotions and relationships matter beyond their immediate relevance to the plot. And this isn't new by any goddamn means. This isn't actually the usual split between the traditionalist and the avant-garde camps. The TARDIS's sapience and autonomy do not begin with The Doctor's Wife; this is established (more or less) in The Edge of Destruction, the third ever serial in the history of the show, all the way back in nineteen sixty-fucking-four.

And y'know, yes, it would still be a big deal if Sutekh jumped on in Wild Blue Yonder (as would make way more logical sense) rather than Pyramids; the ambiguity of consent that the show either doesn't care or lacks the stomach to address would still be a blow, but it wouldn't have the unutilized capacity to fundamentally alter the relationship between the two longest-running characters in the franchise if it was the span of a season, rather than thousands of years in-universe and nearly five decades in real life. And not to be conspiratorial or assume categorical bad faith on rtd's part, but yeah, it's hard not see that particular unnecessary detail as a petty response to Moffat and Chibnall's own continuity-and-paradigm-altering retcons, and an attempt to get his own shot in.

And it's just. Never gonna get talked about, huh. 'Cause it doesn't actually matter, right? 'Cause it's not like the TARDIS is really a person, right?

[ducktracy]

(OBLIGATORY "i thought of something funnier than turning 24. turning 24 in 2025" JOKE HERE)

and, once again, this is stuck in my head. i'm going to take Daffy's very true-to-his-character advice and "study hard in school" and "live by the golden rule"

[astranauticus]

乌野学长 - 种果无果 (Fruitless) Translation

种果无果 - Fruitless

笑着 笑着

Smiling, smiling

你脸庞一闪而过

your face flashes past

忧伤 快乐

Sadness, joy

此刻全都粉碎了

all are crushed, in this moment

我的心去哪了

Where has my heart gone?

谁把它流放了

Who has exiled it?

为何你不再爱我

Why don't you love me anymore?

为何你转身忘了

Why have you turned your back and forgotten?

咬碎了 咬碎了

Crushed, crushed between your teeth

用真诚许的承诺

Those vows we made so sincerely

为何我抱头哭着

Why am I crying with my head in my hands?

任你有关击溃我

Anything tied to you could destroy me

浪费了 浪费着 大好年华的我

Wasted, wasting, the prime of my youth

你是我亲手种下的 我却用一生啊

You are the seed I planted myself, yet I am using my whole life

偿还着 偿还着 为何花开却无果

repaying, repaying, why do flowers bloom yet no fruits grow?

你是我亲手种下的 为何天意夭折

You are the seed I planted myself, yet why must our time be cut short?

天难应此劫难躲

The heavens won't listen, this disaster is inescapable

(suona interlude)

你是我亲手种下的 栽满了爱意的

You are the seed I planted myself, full to the brim with love

他们说 他们说 你定要好好的活

They say, they say, you must live on happily

你是连通我血液的 倾尽我此生的

You are connected by my blood, I would give my entire life

怎么会 怎么会 就任它甘心沦落

How could I, how could I, just let it end like this?

你是我亲手种下的 我却用一生啊

You are the seed I planted myself, yet I am using my whole life

偿还着 偿还着 为何花开却无果

repaying, repaying, why do flowers bloom yet no fruits grow?

你是我亲手种下的 为何天意夭折

You are the seed I planted myself, yet why must our time be cut short?

天难应此劫难躲

The heavens won't listen, this disaster is inescapable

你是我亲手种下的 栽满了爱意的

You are the seed I planted myself, full to the brim with love

他们说 他们说 你定要好好的活

They say, they say, you must live on happily

你是连通我血液的 倾尽我此生的

You are connected by my blood, I would give my entire life

怎么会 怎么会 就任它甘心沦落

How could I, how could I, just let it end like this?

[edge-oftheworld]

I don’t really talk about it much on here because I’m extremely lucky to be able to understand exactly what’s going on in my body, but it’s scary to live for years as someone who Gets Things Done in a way your peers don’t really understand, be putting effort into so many things you care about, and then suddenly lose the ability to do not only that but also basic tasks overnight after a deadline, and bit by bit after many. it’s scary getting really irritable sometimes to the point of violence, just when you were meant to be celebrating the rewards from your hard work, the only impact of the work you did that you can see is that you overdrafted your ability to do anything. including have a basic conversation without getting grumpy or crying. and your body is going to make you pay it back with interest, you already know that, but you don’t know how to start filling yourself back up. you’ve only ever enjoyed being on the grind, hard at work on exciting things.

I don’t know how many of you have been through the kind of burnout that’s years of needing 12hrs of sleep a night but with terrible insomnia, waking up to what feels like a hangover for weeks on end with little relief then rinse and repeat without having a single drink, feeling too sick to eat and needing to exercise to emotionally regulate but being unable to, anxiety that doesn’t come from worry but you’ll pick that up too at some point, dissociating every time you try to do mentally taxing tasks that you’re PAID for so it takes an hour of grounding yourself just to get five minutes worth of productive concentration, falling asleep the minute you feel a little safe by being in the presence of loved ones. but I suspect I’m not the only one.

I’ve had songs for the energetic and angsty times leading up to this. for the exasperated times and the brain fog and the times where all my limited energy is tied up in feeling things. that I need to, need to acknowledge, but it’s overwhelming and I live in a haze for weeks as a result of. songs telling of the kind of youth I wish I had, even when I was sold something else. songs for the months spent as a teenager trying to be there for my friends, worrying for them, distracting me from worrying for myself, trying to cling on to positivity and hope amongst it when I had to choose to make a discipline of always seeing that. I’ve had songs for healing and when healing is harder than expected and songs that have the right level of musical complexity to capture the layers of everything that’s happening in my head, making it sound good, telling me it’s gonna be okay.

I don’t know how I could ever say thank you for this. but I do know that I see parts of myself in the people behind these songs, of course I do, and I worry for them as a result and ache for them because it’s hard enough to feel this way when no one knows me or feels the need to control me or mould me into what they think I should be. I’d do anything to keep them all healthy and happy and all of their loved ones too and I don’t think it’s strange as a fan to take that seriously. I hope we can understand the need to treat them gently, and to while not questioning their privacy and the fact that they’re never going to tell us everything they go through, listen to our intuition when we catch something we relate to and treat what they’ve shared with us or hinted at with the dignity we would if someone we love told us something vulnerable. be kind in our expectations and be intentional in the fan culture we create because it does make its way back to them.

and the same goes with all of you. we’re bonding over the same things. I know a lot of this fandom is in the stage where interpersonal relationships are hard. we don’t mean to be grumpy of frustrated but we are. and I’m sending love to all of you. we can get through this together. it’s what they’ve always longed for isn’t it?

[halojalex]

admittedly i do feel a little surprised to see Lisa listed as a feature but its also not TOO surprising?? idk but I hope its good, bcus i really enjoy the original and sequels/remakes make me nervous kdlsldk

oh i’ve no doubt it’ll be good! just from the snippet we got to hear it already sounds like it’ll be so good, and i’m sure lisa’s part will be good too, it just seems odd when you think about it, specifically the part she’ll be singing

[rotatedaxis]

such love for "you're begging for tissues, all you get is confetti" like, you're in need of something so simple but you're given this ineffectual thing that can't actually help you at all. it just reads as your needs are forgotten or minimised to their smallest possible point and if that isn't being treated seriously then it's mocked or can be dealt with by something small. in line with the song, your nose is bleeding and the best thing for this is tissues, but all you have is confetti, just this little thing that really isn't going to help whatsoever but it's all the help you're gonna get. And the way this comes just after "but [your friends are] all bloodsucking vampires", just adds bc it's like, well they're getting something out of your struggles but you, it's safe to say, are not having a good time. it gives this impression of people taking joy in your suffering but acting as though they aren't or are doing the absolute barest minimum in giving something that might help but, in reality, doesn't, if anything makes it worse, emotionally-speaking.

and maybe it's just me, but the whole thing feels very defeated. like whoever the character of the song is, has just been putting up with all sorts of crap for however long and is just exhausted by it all, but cover it all up "wave hello 'cause nothing's wrong" and take their "heart off of their sleeve" and just act carefree and like everything's okay when nothing is, just bury it all, they don't "get tragic" anymore (perhaps suggesting that they, along with taking their heart off their sleeve, they don't show any of their emotions anymore)

. again, maybe it's me, but "i'm gonna die before you, it's the first race that i'll win" doesn't inspire a particularly hopeful ending and maybe that ties in with being carefree and "hectic", suddenly - people who know it'll be over soon tend feel okay about it, without getting too deep into it right here right now.

maybe, the whole lot reads as a bullying narrative. talking about giving the kids "something to shout back / as the books fall out of my rucksack" and not being "everything to everyone", by trying to please everyone you please no one, so that type of people-pleasing behaviour never worked out for our character, and just resulted in, at least, teasing. "I don't take my phone off silent anymore" could suggest, if you follow this theme, that they don't want to see what people are sending them or saying to them, so you could call them but they probably won't see it or notice. And then, of course, "while your friends sing happy birthday / but they're all bloodsucking vampires" suggests fake friends and people who turn their backs when you're in need, when you'd give them your time and energy and care - they act like they care, shallow things like singing happy birthday, but won't actually help when it's needed, like our character's nosebleed for which they 'beg' for tissue, but all they get is confetti. (and the word beg suggests that they're really trying to get what they need, but to no avail, so they just have to make do with what they can get their hands on)

anyway. I don't know how much or how little sense any of this makes. all I know is all you get is confetti is an excellent song that has me in a chokehold (despite only being out for not even 5 hours at this point) and it deserves to be heard and read into and loved.

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

I want to thank my Lord and savior Tom Cardy for posting a song that has the exact vibe I wanted for the relationship of ps8!Lance/ps8!Allura with an oc I have for this au

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

How can a man and a woman ever get it so wrong? And they call this madness love Same thing time and again, we fall then break up And the world can't get enough

We say "I love you, but do you love me?" We fall apart 'cause we disagree This is a song about you and me About falling in love, then we want to be free

But this is not a love song It's about many things, the hurt it brings But not a love song It's about me and you, what love will do And how we seem to hold on when love is gone It's a song about love, but not a love song

Looking for another love, it's got another perfume It's not the one we talk about Because the way that I see it, this don't mean too much If when we cry, then we just move on

We say "I love you, but do you love me?" We fall apart 'cause we disagree This is a song about you and me About falling in love, then we want to be free

But this is not a love song It's about many things, the hurt it brings But not a love song It's about me and you, what love will do And how we seem to hold on when love is gone No, no no, no no, no no no Love, love, love song Love, love, love song But this is not a love song But this is not a love song But this is not a love song But this is not a love song

And how we seem to hold on when love is gone It's a song about love But not a love song Love song, love song, love song Love song, love song, love song

But this is not a love song But this is not a love song Love song, love song But this is not a love song But this is not a love song No, no no, no no Love song, love song But this is not a love song But this is not a love song No, no no, no no Love song, no, no no, no no Love song, no, no no, no no

This is not a love song No, no no, no no, no no no This is not a love song

How can a man and a woman ever get it so wrong?

[yuusakuhanazawashole]

[huccimermaidshirts]

.