#honestly after getting so burned out earlier this year and being like a root vegetable over the summer

[thebirdandhersong]

perpetually annoyed at how weak my constitution has become

[audreyscribes]

Plants Make Better Company Than People (Poison Ivy x Reader)

Summary: You are a plant loving/fanatic as well as having an interest in poisons/toxins. You move to Gotham and become interested in the existence of Poison Ivy, and one day your paths cross.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Poison Ivy x Reader/You Fic I wrote a few years ago. I had planned to do a reader x villains fic series a while ago but never got past Ivy (for some reason).  Light Editing. Might as well post it cause why not. No specific pronouns were used in fic. The relationship between the reader/you and Poison Ivy can be platonic or romantic; the choice is up to you. Light alcohol is mentioned.

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You were a gardener that had moved to Gotham, where the work took you. You didn’t mind moving but it broke your heart, every time you had to abandon your little children behind. Like human children, a parent would worry if their child was being taken care. Being fed, being raised properly to their full potential and perhaps more.

You were fascinated with plants for as long as you could remember, being raised in a simple life. You preferred to be outside as much as possible, exploring the wonders of nature.

Overtime, you became infatuated with plants in a way. It was not as if you didn’t like humans but they weren’t exactly the best company at times. People had opinions and most of the time, if yours and their opinions didn’t match up-

Well, let’s just say you prefer venting to plants.

They didn’t protest as you humans did and you could always seek refuge in them. Hidden from the world that humans had built yourselves.

There were so many varieties and were constantly changing- ever so slowly. Adapting.

You learned a few things from plants as you got older.

When you were old enough of higher education, you studied Botany and learned how to use the medicinal properties of the plants.

That’s how serious you were with plants.

You studied off first as a florist while slowly building your own collection of flowers. You learned about them, their biology and their meanings, before offering your knowledge to others.

Then you became a gardener, to get more in touch with the plants and out of the confides of your greenhouse.

Then you slowly made your way up.

Now here you are at a botanical garden in Gotham.

You hadn’t spent much time here but so far, it was great. You had your own person greenhouse and lab for you to work in. Your colleagues were good, some more then others, and your boss was also a good one too.

That’s always a plus.

Compared to what you’ve learned about Gotham, the expectation of such nature was a bit unexpected.

On the other hand, your company was mostly plants then people so what did you know?

During your time in Gotham though, you became accustomed to the dangers there. The crime of gangs and drug cartels were here and there, being robbed, and of course Batman dealings with villains.

Compared to your quiet life, Gotham was a big change.

Though not all bad.

For example, there was Poison Ivy.

At first, you thought people were talking about the actual plant. Then you learned about that it was actually a villain.

A red head that was able to control plants and from the whispers here and there, you learned it was more than that.

Fascinating.

Perhaps that was why your boss commented on your arrival. How it was good to see someone new here, despite everything.

It appeared that Poison Ivy had a tendency to be attracted to all things plants and well- you know how it goes.

Instead of the opinion that your colleagues shared, you honestly wanted to meet Poison Ivy. She may have some rare plants or may share some of her own information with you. What was it like to have plants communicating to you? Were they like talking to humans with specifics or were they basic? Was is it like to have a hive mind of plants at your disposal?

There were so many questions you wanted to ask.

However, you weren’t careless.

Poison Ivy could have a reason to kill you, just for the plants. Although you may share her opinion, you still had the desire to live.

So you kept your questions and desire to yourself…

But what was the harm of talking to your plants?

The answer: There was a bit harm in that.

It happened one night.

You were focusing and monitoring the planets in the botanical garden. The security wasn’t functioning well and there was some kind of poison going around.

You and your boss, who was in their late ages, were fine.

Apparently, your boss had spent sometime with poison over the years so they were fine.

Your colleagues? Not so lucky.

None of them were dead but it could’ve been lethal.

You found them passing out one by one and you knew it was immediately. That was how your boss found you.

Grabbing medicine from the plants that you grew and harvested, grounding up and mixing them to make an antidote. Or to make your colleagues regurgitate the poison and building acid.

Whatever came first really.

Your colleagues were safe when the paramedics came. You gave your witness report to the police and paramedics, giving them details of the organs and what may have gone wrong.

Was it gas poisoning? It couldn’t have since there was constantly ventilation to let gas out. So it had to be directly ingested.

Batman had came and it was terrifying to see him.

Even more so when you had to talk to them.

With Commissioner Gordon and Batman, you were sweating.

It helped imagining them as plants.

Only a little.

You were questioned to how you weren’t poisoned and where did you learn how to make the antidote.

There was no need to lie since you could’ve been mistaken as the culprit.

So you told them.

How you were interested in plants and one time accidentally ate some poisonous plants here and there from your curiosity, you eventually developed a resistance to poison.

You kept that up when you found out herbal medicine and how some plants and how they were combined, could be medicine or poison.

Subjecting yourself to poison, to see how they affected the human body. How dangerous they were and to see if they could beneficial.

You may or may not have been a bit too eager when explaining.

However, you weren’t guilty.

You had an alibi from your landlady and your neighbours. After finding out the state of the garden and backyard, you had gave a hasty excuse to your boss.

Then you began to take care of the garden.

When you were asked why, you told them.                

There was poisonous plants in the gardens and they were affecting the vegetable gardens. When you were offered some by your neighbours and had a taste test, to taste the freshness, you knew the bitter taste.

That shouldn’t been right.

So you immediately told your neighbours to stop and looked into the garden. There were poisonous plants affecting the roots of the vegetables and there were some that could’ve been mistaken as an ingredient.

And there was somehow marijuana plants growing here and there- you didn’t want your neighbour’s kids being affected by ignorance.

So you spent some time getting rid and burning away all the poison and making antidotes for your neighbours.

After giving another report to the police, you were let go.

Now, here you were, at the Botanical garden.

You volunteered to watch over until they got a new security guard to come in. Your boss told you to be careful before they left- after all he still had to make a statement to the police and visit their hospitalized workers.

You spent the time watering the plants, trimming them, and preparing seedlings. You monitored them and when you were done with your rounds, you went to your lab.

You began to restock your ingredients from earlier before cleaning up. You passed time by inducing more poison to yourself to test your latest experiment and then made your way to your latest project.

A rare plant.

It was a tricky one indeed. The pH of the soil had to be right and the water had to be at the right temperature at the right time, as well at the air. If something wasn’t right, there was a small window of time before it died.

Shifting the light brightness, you wrote down your findings and made sure everything was right.

You spent most of your day and time to make sure the seedlings sprouted and helped them grow up.

You found out that this plant grew better if you played “Rite of Spring” by Igor Stravinsky, then the usual Beethoven and other composers.

Yes, you played songs for your plants.

So, sue you.

When you went to your lab, you could feel your latest experiment affecting you. You flexed your arm and noted your observation.

‘Slight numbness to nerves but still very conscious. Hindering of movements doesn’t seem obvious but requires more time to know. Oddly, I can feel my blood pumping faster like a stimulant. I wonder what happens if I used snake-‘

Then you heard the alarms going off when the windows broke.

You stood up and you could feel the tremor occurring underneath your feet.

Widening your eyes, you followed the movements to the center and found yourself at the rare plants.

You gaped at the sudden appearance of a giant plant and saw a red head, approaching the plant carefully.

It was Poison Ivy.

Your face felt heated and the questions you wanted to ask started to consume your thoughts.

You were dazed until you saw her about to pry the door open.

“WAIT!” you yelled.

Your body went cold when Poison Ivy looked at her.

‘Oh she’s very pretty’ you noted but you were sweating in nervousness.

“Oh, so there was one who didn’t get affected” commented Ivy, turning towards you.

You should be scared. You should be running and calling the police- or Batman!

But you decided not to.

“For those with regular resistance and at peak health, the poison that my colleagues were affected with would’ve worked. Not enough to kill but considering there were a couple of my colleagues who smoked and overdrink then necessary, it could’ve been.”

Poison Ivy was now interested as you as she sat on a giant leave. You noted how bouncy the leaf was when she sat down.

“Oh, so you knew the poison in them?” smiled Ivy, interestingly.

You walked a bit closer and opened a shelf, pulling out a container.

“As a person who regularly ingests poison, I know the effects of certain poisons affecting the organs and what kind of effects they have” you told her.

“You know how to make poisons? Well, that’s interesting” commented Ivy, getting off from her seat.

‘Keep your cool- maybe someone will come soon now that the security has been triggered’ you thought.

“Certain plants can be used as medicine but the wrong combination can be lethal” you said, walking closer to her.

“You’re not some regular botanists, are you?” asked Poison Ivy, raising her hand.

You watched as the plants around you started to react as a vine wrapped around her arm.

“I like humans but plants make better company” you confessed while shrugging.

That was the truth.

“Indeed…” agreed the Villainess.

You yelped when the vines started to grab you and lift you in the air. Your arms were restrained with your legs and they were getting tighter.

“I appreciate the chat but I need to take this child away” said Poison Ivy before making her way over to you. A leaf grew underneath her, and it raised her up like a platform.

You felt her drag a finger from the side of your cheek and bring it underneath your chin.

You could feel the poison Ivy gave you and you could feel it happening then-

“Nothing?” she said confused.

You were confused then you realized, “Oh yeah the snake venom” you commented.

“You gave yourself snake venom?” said Ivy, a bit shocked.

You shrugged, “I left the venom in the snake wine that I have. Alcohol no longer stimulates as it usually does…unless I drink a barrel though that’s out of my usual pay raise.”

Ivy looked at you and you coughed awkwardly.

There was silence and then you shifted, trying to ease out of the bindings. Now with the stimulates in you, this was getting uncomfortable for the situation.

“If you want to take the child away, you better use that container. It should regulate the environment and keep it in good condition until you plant it-“ you rattled off awkwardly, trying not to look at Ivy.

“You’re going to let me take it her?” Her voice unamused.

“Call the child they/them- it is a bisexual flower” you deadpanned.

Ivy looked and nodded, “Yes, it is. My mistake, thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome” you responded out of instinct.

Ivy walked down and took the container from the ground and opened the door. There was a hiss of air before the door behind her closer and the second door opened.

You watched as Ivy took the child safely and transported into its carrier. Sealing it nicely and activating the conditioned environment, you watched her leave.

Or about to.

Before she stepped onto her giant plant, she turned to you.

“I didn’t get your name-“

You responded by giving her your full name.

“Well, toodles (y/n)~” she said before disappearing.

And then there was darkness with the plants started to take over you. Buds of flowers appeared and they seem to fall into themselves.

Then the petals opened and pollen like material shot out at you.

“Well, this’ll be a nice way to die” you lamented out loud.

‘I shouldn’t have spoken out loud…I just ingested god knows what’ you thought to yourself.

You could feel yourself blackening out. Your body becoming warm and woozy.

‘Well at least the plants could use the nutrients in my corpse and grow into something…Not a bad way to die I guess-‘

You blacked out after that.

You dreamt of a world where nature had taken control of the planet again. Giant magnificent trees with animals milling around, instead of humans.

There were small towns but co-existed with nature, respecting them-

Then you woke up on the floor. There was something over you and it was black. You looked around and saw Batman, kneeling by you.

There was also an oxygen mask on you.

Huh.

He must be really prepared.

“The police and paramedics are coming. What happened?” he questioned.

“Poison Ivy….poisoned the others and came to take away the…” your mouth felt dry before you shakily pointed to the room near you. “Took the child away with her”

‘No numbness in nerves. Heart and lungs operating as usual. Head clear, dry mouth-‘ you noted as Batman raised you up and took off the mask.

You accepted the water given and felt better.

“You shouldn’t have survived” commented Batman.

You re-adjusted your sitting and moved your sore neck. “Resistant to poison, remember? Though I haven’t had much luck with breathing in poison then opposed to ingesting them.”

You chuckled and looked at the cocoon of plants you were once in.

“I didn’t expect to be alive honestly” you said honestly.

Batman stared at you and allowed the paramedics to take you.

You felt fine and almost normal but for the Gotham-ites, probably better to keep to yourself.

After the incident of Ivy, you didn’t hear much anymore. You were on paid leave and were ‘recovering’.

The botanical garden was being rebuilt and upgraded.

You were checked on every time and you hid your make-shift lab from them. No need to make things more complicated then necessary.

Now here you were, in the garden on your apartment, tending to it. After the incident, you were selected to make sure which plants would go together, and taught your fellow neighbours.

It provided some nice activity for the kids, for school and otherwise, learning how plants worked and how it was beneficial.

As you watched the kids do a science project on plants, you got the water pail ready.

“I see you’re recovering well” said a voice.

You didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

You smiled to yourself before getting a bucket of compost and went to the garden plot.

“I have paid leave but it’s been boring…mostly” you noted, before mixing the soil with the compost. ‘Whoops, accidentally got a worm- back in you go buddy’.

“You’re helping the kids?” asked Ivy, standing over you. She looked off to the side as the kids were writing and drawing in their journals.

“They want to make a garden for their school- a good idea really” you said casually.

You got up and dusted the dirt from your pants and your hands.

You turned to Ivy and smiled.

“How may I help you Miss Ivy?”

And that’s how you had a relationship with Poison Ivy.

As your employer and otherwise.

[hockeysweetheart]

I can name a thousand reasons why I love Peeta Mellark this is one of them...

He can bake duh...and prob can make some other wonderful things besides just baking..Growing up as a baker  he knows a lot about bread and damn we all know he makes stuff extra special for Katniss.. Hot guy would be like hey look at me I would be like no shut up that one over there good looking and can bake sold... 

But his stuff is almost to pretty to eat honestly... but inside would taste so damn good you don’t feel so bad respect that 

Below is the whole bread story enjoy 

  It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for school, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one. On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope. I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck. All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain. There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life. By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions. We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive.

I had just turned away from Peeta Mellark's bruised face when I saw the dandelion and I knew hope wasn't lost. I plucked it carefully and hurried home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim's hand and headed to the Meadow and yes, it was dotted with the golden-headed weeds. After we'd harvested those, we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until we'd filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread. "What else?" Prim asked me. "What other food can we find?" "All kinds of things," I promised her. "I just have to remember them." My mother had a book she'd brought with her from the apothecary shop. The pages were made of old parchment and covered in ink drawings of plants. Neat handwritten blocks told their names, where to gather them, when they came in bloom, their medical uses. But my father added other entries to the book. Plants for eating, not healing. Dandelions, pokeweed, wild onions, pines. Prim and I spent the rest of the night poring over those pages. The next day, we were off school. For a while I hung around the edges of the Meadow, but finally I worked up the courage to go under the fence. It was the first time I'd been there alone, without my father's weapons to protect me. But I retrieved the small bow and arrows he'd made me from a hollow tree. I probably didn't go more than twenty yards into the woods that day. Most of the time, I perched up in the branches of an old oak, hoping for game to come by. After several hours, I had the good luck to kill a rabbit. I'd shot a few rabbits before, with my father's guidance. But this I'd done on my own. We hadn't had meat in months. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something in my mother. She roused herself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Prim had gathered. Then she acted confused and went back to bed, but when the stew was done, we made her eat a bowl. The woods became our savior, and each day I went a bit farther into its arms. It was slow-going at first, but I was determined to feed us. I stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets, sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet. Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and you're dead. I checked and double-checked the plants I harvested with my father's pictures. I kept us alive. Any sign of danger, a distant howl, the inexplicable break of a branch, sent me flying back to the fence at first. Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our district. On May 8th, I went to the Justice Building, signed up for my tesserae, and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Prim's toy wagon. On the eighth of every month, I was entitled to do the same. I couldn't stop hunting and gathering, of course. The grain was not enough to live on, and there were other things to buy, soap and milk and thread. What we didn't absolutely have to eat, I began to trade at the Hob. It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side, but people had respected him, and they accepted me. Game was game after all, no matter who'd shot it. I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town, trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks as well. The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels. The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasn't around. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey. The mayor had a passion for strawberries. In late summer, I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up handfuls of the roots. Small, bluish tubers that don't look like much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato. "Katniss," I said aloud. It's the plant I was named for. And I heard my father's voice joking, "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve." I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my toes and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top. That night, we feasted on fish and katniss roots until we were all, for the first time in months, full. Slowly, my mother returned to us. She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter. People traded us or paid money for her medical remedies. One day, I heard her singing. Prim was thrilled to have her back, but I kept watching, waiting for her to disappear on us again. I didn't trust her. And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. Prim forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again.