#it's not really even that much of a sequel

[allthegothihopgirls]

alfred, who writes in a journal every day unbeknownst to the bats.

alfred, who's journals aren't marked by a period of time, or his own age, instead by the names of those he looks after. when dick is first adopted, and he knows this change is permanent, he puchases a new journal, despite his existing one being only 2/3 full. this one has a simple 'richard' written with a gold accent on the cover, a change from the last 8, titled 'bruce'.

alfred, who somehow makes journaling more of a logbook, albeit still personal. he's writing about himself, sure. memories of old friends, his travels, stories he's heard, things he has experienced.

but he mainly writes of them, the things they do, how they act. their character quirks that they haven't even picked up on yet themselves. the things he wishes he could tell them as a parent, instead of butler. the things they should know about those who've come before them. the regrets he has, and changes he's making. how they've molded him into a new person.

alfred, who will take all this information to the grave. until then, they stay packed in their respective boxes, some dustier than others, in the back of his wardrobe in the manor.

the contents of those journals aren't specific to each kid. everyone's within those pages. in tim's there's a lot about jason, and damian's has a lot about bruce. nothing's overly invasive in them, and the furthest it strays from the truth is when sometimes alfred admits to believing a different set of events to whatever he's been told, and even then he's probably right.

jason, who receives his journals prematurely. there's only 2, there should have been more. it's painfully obvious the cutoff, how it wasn't supposed to end there, but still it did. he receives them post-resurrection, convinced he doesn't belong in the world. his memories of robin growing fogged and becoming twisted.

he reads them and he cries, maybe it's because he forgot how much good there was in those times, or maybe it's because that's the determining moment in his new life where he decides that he really deserves and wants to live, because his existence runs deeper than being the robin who died.

frankly it's quite jarring for jason, to read about himself from another's perspective. as much as i love the idea of him and alfred getting along the best out of all the kids, he definitely distances himself for a while to process everything. he slowly creeps back though.

no one else gets to read their share until alfred's gone, and when they do it goes unspoken, no one pries to know anything outside of their dedicated journals.

jason, after hesitance and much internal conflict, drops off his own on dick's nightstand one night. receiving them back, two weeks later, is a silent affair face-to-face.

tim, similarly, on no one's accord but his own, gives jason his, to keep. he says something about how he doesn't think they were ever about him, and they seemed much more like a sequel. he also apologises, and mentions how he almost felt like he was intruding on something. but he understands now, he doesn't clarify about what.

[thankskenpenders]

After a recent interview where Iizuka said it was possible for IDW characters to show up in the games, I've seen some discussion about how the characters need to be introduced "the right way" for people who don't read the comics. And, like, this is obviously true to some extent. You want to convey why people unfamiliar with them should care about these characters, instead of just assuming everyone already knows who they are and their whole backstories and everything. (Anyone who's watched Disney+ Star Wars already has some easy examples of times where they were like "you guys already know this character from the cartoons, right?" and casual fans were completely lost.) But I think people are overestimating how much work this would actually take, especially people who argue that the characters need full-blown reintroductions in the games that depict their backstories all over again and treat them as characters Sonic doesn't already know

I think it's easy to forget that not everyone who plays Sonic games has played every Sonic game. Kids especially. Every single major recurring character in the games debuted before today's generation of Sonic kids was born, and as such every new game is someone's introduction to those characters. The games with the introductions for the Chaotix, Blaze, Silver, Omega, Cream, the Babylon Rogues, Fang, Mighty, Ray, etc. are straight up not available at all on modern hardware without resorting to emulation. To many people picking up Team Sonic Racing or Mania or whatever, those characters are already some random characters Sonic apparently already knows from some previous story. These are not things that every single person who picks up a new Sonic game is intimately familiar with. And yet the games don't feel the need to stop and recount their entire backstories every time they appear.

Also, like, even if you have played every single game, Sonic already has a long history of introducing new characters with little to no fanfare, often treating them as characters Sonic has already met. Core characters like Tails, Amy, and Metal Sonic were really just dropped into Genesis era sequels with no explanation for people who didn't read the manual (i.e.: most players). Sonic has a kid sidekick and a girl who has a crush on him and a robot duplicate now, just roll with it. The modern era would continue to do this with characters like the reimagined Team Chaotix, or Orbot and Cubot, who just appeared in the games one day with no setup. We got along just fine.

(This is to say nothing of the nature of the creative medium the IDW characters originate from, where every new comic arc is treated as somebody's first and supporting characters are periodically given reintroductions to get newer readers up to speed. We've been over Whisper's backstory multiple times now.)

Again, obviously I do want characters like Tangle, Whisper, and Surge to show up in the games with compelling introductions that do the characters justice, but I think people are overthinking how much effort that actually takes. You do not need a whole elaborate adaptation of Whisper and Surge's backstories in the games just for them to have a cameo. You can have Sonic already know them, and if the details are even relevant you can convey that stuff in other ways - brief exposition in the dialogue, context clues, in-game character bios, new stories that showcase their important character traits without 1:1 recreating the stories that have already been told, out-of-game promotional videos and animated shorts like the ones they did to get people up to speed on who the hell Fang is, etc. This is pretty basic stuff when writing for a long-running multimedia franchise.

[sixosix]

religion's in your lips

third year to timeskip!hinata x fem!reader, a tad suggestive

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

You don’t join Shoyo’s outings often; most of them are volleyball-related anyway, and you didn’t want to get in the way. But right now, it’s just the third years, and Shoyo had begged so sweetly with round eyes that you would be cruel to even think about denying him.

Kageyama sits on your other side, stiff and polite, jostled here and there by Shoyo pressing up against you. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi sit on the other side of the table. Conversation is light and comfortable. They don’t exclude you even when talking about practice matches and lineups—Yamaguchi asks you about your own club ever so often, too.

Yamaguchi claps his hand, forcing everyone’s attention on him. Except Shoyo, who’s busy tracing stars on your hand. “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend? I heard they’re releasing a sequel of the one we watched back in first year.”

Yachi emits a wordless sound of excitement, easily agreeing. Kageyama and Tsukishima begrudgingly agree at the same time, then sneer at each other. Then they all turn to you and Shoyo.

Shoyo grins. “Sorry, I got plans already.”

“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.

“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.

“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”

Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.

It takes about two years to prove you wrong.

When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.

His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.

But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”

Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.

But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.

It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.

You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”

Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”

“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”

“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.

He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.

Helpless to his whims, you obey.

“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.

He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”

You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.

“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”

“There’s no alcohol here.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”

“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”

You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.

“Did you miss me this much?”

“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.

Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.

“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”

It’s Heitor’s fault.

Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.

Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”

Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”

It’s Heitor’s fault, and Hinata is eternally grateful for it, seeing your wide-eyed face beneath him like this. He loves it when he surprises people, but yours might be a different kind of thrill that he’s already addicted to.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Feral 2

Minors Do Not Interact!!!

Warnings: brief mentions of arranged marriage, threats of harming an animal (it's a joke but the reader takes it seriously), and several references to slavery

The silly little cat fic is getting a sequel because someone commented that Feyd not liking Friz would make him Friz's favorite person.

"Get him." Feyd said firmly.

Y/N snorted out a laugh. Ever since the wedding she had gotten very comfortable around him. He liked that. He wasn't a fan of a certain flea bag getting that comfortable though.

Friz had a new habit. A habit that annoyed Feyd to no end. Anytime Feyd sat down somewhere, Friz would climb up on the back of the couch or chair, and rub against the back of Feyd's head. Normal he would just ignore the beast until the creature got bored, but with Friz's newfound affections came a fun new fact. Something about the combination of Friz's fur and Feyd's skin created a bit of static. Every damned hair the cat shed stuck to his head like it was glued. Only showering or a lint roller would get it all off. Every damned time he left his rooms he had to triple check himself to make sure he wasn't walking around with cat fur on his head. Y/N was admittedly helpful about the situation, often going over him with a lint roller before he left.

Friz seemed to have an endless supply of fur that fell off of him at the slightest touch. The beast didn't seem to have much fur when you looked at him, but it was a cowardly deception. Y/N had taken an undercoat brush to Friz while Feyd watched, horrified at the amount of fur that kept getting brushed off of him. It was never ending. And after Y/N was done, a giant clump of furballs next to her to prove she'd done it, Friz looked no different. And still she'd on the couch that evening during his nap time.

"The maids scramble about to keep this place as fur free as possible." Y/N explained to him, throwing the fur into the incinerator. "I've no idea how they do it, I think they use some sort of hand rake that works kind of like the undercoat brush."

"Remind me to increase their rations." Feyd grumbled.

Which brought Feyd back to his current predicament. Friz was standing in the back of the couch, rubbing against his head like he owned it. Y/N held out her hand, offering pets to Friz.

The tomcat promptly gave her a warning hiss.

"It's out of my control." Y/N said.

"And you're sure we can't shave him?" Feyd pressed.

"He'll get sick. Giedi Prime is already so cold, I can't let him freeze without his coat." Y/N explained.

Feyd opened his mouth to say that wasn't the worst outcome he'd ever heard, but went silent when he felt it. On the back of his head. Something warm, wet, and scratchy. It touched him briefly, then disappeared for a split second before touching him again, and again, and again.

Y/N grinned from ear to ear. "Aw, he's grooming you!"

Feyd growled, crossing his arms in what definitely was not a pout. "I am cleaner than he has ever been."

"You know, cats only groom things they consider to be family. And since you're new to him, and have no hair, he might think you're a kitten!" Y/N giggled. "A poor, cold little kitten with no hair."

A little meow from behind him assured the both of them that not only could Friz understand them somehow, but he was committed to this entire bit.

"I'll toss you to the slave pits." Feyd threatened the cat. "They're usually half starved. They'll tear you to-"

"Feyd." Y/N snapped. "If you speak to him like that again, you'll need to go to your own room tonight."

Feyd took a deep breath, gently reminding himself that his wife wasn't from Giedi Prime, that she was softer than him, that she wasn't going to take kindly to even joking threats. "My apologies. Is there some solution to his shedding I have overlooked?"

"Well, regular baths would help." Y/N said. "Right now I can only manage about one every two weeks, but if I could give him longer bathes where I really get in there and scrub him, it'll knock a lot of fur off."

Feyd narrowed his gaze at Friz as the cat jumped into his lap. "Consider it done."

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, SMUT (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, parenting, mental health struggles, eating disorder, self doubt, body image issues, daddy kink, angst, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant/ baby logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Extra Extreme Warning! This chapter focus on mental health struggles and body image issues (depression and ed) It’s a little dark so if that is at all potentially triggering to you please be advised and do not interact.

Chapter 19 - Can't Do It Anymore | ‘Ours’

“I can’t do it anymore!” You screamed with tears running down your face. You were grown but you felt like a little girl. Your mum standing in front of you in your bedroom angry as she's ever been. 

“Stop! Stop it, We’re going.” She demanded. She was stern and not going to back down. It was the summer before you left for university. A fresh 18 year old eager to get away from the exact scene unfolding in front of you. Your mum was forcing you to attend a gala event she had every year. She was intimidatingly kind but often kept her feet firm in her way of tough love. You loved a good party, maybe a little too much but forcing a smile and talking about what your college courses would consist of next year to business men that stood too close and inappropriately inspected every inch of you. It was a secret to everyone but your mum and Winnie and even they pretended they didn’t know. The way the sheath dress hung off your body reflecting back at your mum in the mirror only amplified the skeletal arch of your spine.�� 

“Fine… you want me to go. I’ll fucking go.” You murmured brushing past her heading straight to the en-suite of your room. You chugged a liter of vodka you'd dashed under the sink and popped one too many of your prescribed xanax in an unprescribed way. You collapsed in the bathroom before you could make it out of the house, ruining your night, your mum's prized annual gala, and probably Winnie’s perception of you forever. She had gone to your bathroom initially to steal some of the new blush you had gotten. She was met with something entirely different; finding you laying on the floor. They rushed you to hospital in an ambulance.  

“She’s extremely malnourished.” The attending doctor spoke calmly to your parents outside the room in the corridor. Your dad’s gaze narrowing at you laying in the harshly lit room. Your mum’s face pulling into disgust and shock, offended the doctor could imply something like that.

“She’s just thin. Please.” She scoffed, taken aback that you could be anything but fabulously waift. She hated the way the doctor infered she had not taken care of you somehow. She had given you everything, look at you, you were gorgeous but the hospital gown wasn't exactly chic.

“Ann Marie… listen to them. She’s killing herself. Enough.” Your dad quipped. They loved you in their own ways; your dad thought of you like little girls, your mum as if you were her little dolls. Things slowed after the incident and there was a much closer eye on you. Your mum still pushed, your dad still pulled, and Winnie sat somewhere in the middle. You got relatively healthy, at least enough to pass on scales and keep the chaos at bay but things bubbled under the surface. Suppressing anything that may rock the boat of familial perfection. You and Lauren had just returned to Manhattan after a weekend out east at your parents when she found you in your own sick. Chase had come over the night you returned from the beach. You and Lauren lived together and she wasn’t keen opening the door to see him but he was handsome and a good fuck so she shrugged it off. It wasn’t really him exactly… it wasn’t him. Chase sucked no shadow of a doubt but you couldn’t blame him. It could’ve been any man.  It really could’ve been anyone but you just happened to fall into his terribly mean arms on one night you blacked out and found yourself waking up in his bed. The tectonic plates of the earth shifted, mentally handcuffing yourself to this awful person.

“Still the same for me?” He’d ask you ahead of coming over. He kept tabs on the size of your clothes, the condition of your skin, the way your hair fell. You didn’t eat all day and he fucked the daylights out of you that night after you confirmed you had kept the circumference of your waist just the same as he liked, anything to get him to like you. He shoved his cock down your throat until you were sobbing, he didn't like you, he liked the high of using you. “You want me to love you, Y/N? That’s all you want? Take my fucking cock and I’ll think about it.” He’d mock you, railing into you from behind. You hated that your body craved him. That’s all you thought about. How? How do you get someone like this to like you? Why did you want it so bad? You did it all for him with zero return except for the brutal fuck he'd deliver. Lauren called Winnie sobbing. She knocked on your door early the next day curious to see how the night went but you were there limp in your bed sick.

“Well she’s breathing right? Jesus Christ! What did you do last night?” Winnie screamed freaking out that Lauren had found you like this and yet simultaneously angry with you. This was the second time someone was finding you like this. 

“I don’t know I… I.. she was with fucking Chase last night… fuck!” Lauren cried. The problem wasn’t Chase, what you ate, or your mum, the problem was you. You did it on purpose but no one mentioned it to you. No one said it. Ignorance was bliss. You were discharged again and everything moved on. Texts from Chase still coming in oblivious to the state he walked out on you in despite Lauren’s barrage of messages to leave you alone. You just threw your phone off the bed feeling just the same as the days prior only now slightly  more weak. You curled on your bed just wanting it all to fade away until morning the broke, the annoyingly bright sun refusing to lend you the peace you so badly craved. Why did you want him to love you so badly? Did you really hate him or yourself for being with him. Either way, you just wanted to be loved, that was abundantly clear. You walked into your parent’s kitchen in an oversized t-shirt sleepily and groggy. They made you move back with them for a few months to rehabilitate. 

“Trent Alexander Arnold has pinned one in for Liverpool!” The echo from the TV in the connecting room blasting in the late morning as you reached up into a cupboard. 

“Get in! Come on” Your dad yelled cheering. His loud booming voice making you jump. He heard you fumble the glass of water you were trying to get yourself so he turned to you mid-celebration. “Y/N, you okay? Come watch with me. The kid I swear... He's amazing” He shook his head in disbelief at the goal just scored by the man who would eventually ask him to marry you. A glint flashed in your eyes. 

“He’s cute…” You mumbled to your dad coming over to sit with him analyzing the camera’s close zoom on Trent’s face. His lips curling into the same dimpled smile your daughter had now ricocheting around in your mind finding its permanent home to replay on a loop. 

“Talented.” Your dad corrected you as he looked on more impressed with the tactical skill than Trent’s looks.

“Sure” You rolled your eyes and pulled your legs up onto the couch. Wrapping your arms around your knees.

“About your age you know?” Your dad informed you. That was interesting. You wondered what Trent’s life was like? This stupidly attractive stranger on the TV. You were the same age crying over a pathetic Manhattan party boy last night. Your mind wandered and you began to wonder if Trent lived a life anything like Chase and all the other boys surrounding you; using looks and status to blow through girls and money on nights out. You cocked your head looking a bit closer at his eyes and you felt your heart involuntarily softening. Imagine if he was really really sweet. “How we feeling today?” Your dad intruded the delusions seeping into your brain. You hummed lost in your own thoughts. “Can’t even conjure up a lie for me today?” He laughed sympathetically and quietly turning to face you. 

“Nah.” You finally gave him half an answer. Your eyes fixated on the game now waiting for the camera to catch glimpses of the boy you might’ve just fallen in love with. What if he was nice?  What if he was nice to you? God, if he was nice to you you'd love him forever, and you did. He had a chock hold grip on your heart. 

“Want a beer?” Your dad cut your thoughts off once more. You furrowed your brow confused what he was asking you. 

“Dad?” You snapped out of your reverie about a person you didn’t know feeling stupid imagining a world you didn’t live in, you didn’t deserve that, and certainly the boy flashing across the tv wasn’t going to be the one to give it to you. 

“It’s 8 pm where I am right now.” Your dad laughed again dreaming he was back at Anfield’s stadium tonight instead of on your family’s couch. You hummed, finally wrapping your head around his sentiment. “Let’s go on your thanksgiving break.” He cooed. 

“To?” You turned your body towards him on the couch for the first time taking your eyes off the screen in minutes. You were interested in anything he was offering that might potentially whisk you out of your current place in the world. 

“To Anfield. You’ll love it” Your dad assured you. Loving anything right now felt like a cruel joke but of course you’d go.  8 pm under the floodlights of Anfield with the beer your dad wanted so desperately you watched admiring the boy who would end up being nicer to you than anyone ever had been. 

You changed for the match and you definitely didn’t look good. Winnie FaceTimed Teddy and Dianne for you as you rushed around your hotel room. You did the best you could to not burst right into tears looking back at the cutest face you’d ever seen in your life. The bright wide eyes gleaming mirroring Trent’s exactly seeing her mummy. It was wrong but you hadn’t even responded to any of Trent’s messages from last night yet this morning. You didn’t tell Winnie that. You couldn’t. You couldn’t answer all the questions he had and you didn’t want to answer any more of hers. Honestly, you didn’t know the answers to them. When you arrived at the stadium you prayed for some sort of invisibility shield. That wasn’t going to happen. You were radiating an energy that just reeked of misfortune, you felt eyes burning into you. Trent scanned the stadium for you before you had arrived. Seats left for you and Winnie empty while he warmed up. Marcel sitting there alone also awaiting your arrival. When the two teams lined up ahead of the anthem he finally clocked you. Trent looked fucking livid. You’d never seen him give that face to you. You started crying. You watched him shut his eyes in slow motion, his heart breaking in real time. Winnie squeezed your shoulder. You batted your eyes to try to clear the tears. Your view of Trent blurring then clearing then blurring again. Your heart aching painfully. Trent played incredible. It maybe was the best half of football you’d seen him play. It made you sick thinking maybe you had potentially been a cause for any dips in his form. That not having you around somehow made him better. The second half began. Only a few minutes passed before Trent rocketed home a shot from outside the box. The stadium erupted celebrating the goal and you never felt more silenced. He ran to the corner flag and swung at it with real fire. He screamed while his teammates engulfed him. Media and the crowd probably perceived the celebration as passion but you knew… Winnie and Marcel knew... Jadon who now walked himself into the middle of a horrible situation knew. You sat on your hands watching the game clock tick on. Jadon looked at Winnie and hinted for her to check her phone. No one was really talking between the four of you. It was so awkward. Winnie picked up her phone and nonchalantly tilted the screen away from you, leaning back in her seat reading Jadon's message.

‘Trent knows this is going on, right? He needs to help her, Win.’

Winnie sighed reading it trying to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over her. Of course, Trent knew. You were getting married. He knew everything, he just had never experienced such a low of yours in real time. It was easy to love someone when you only heard about their past. You can forgive them for something you weren’t even there for. Something you’d never had to have experienced. Trent loved you for all that you are but seeing you wither after the birth of your baby wasn’t on his bingo card. Liverpool won and Trent stood on the pitch hands on his hips staring up into the sky still while the team scattered around the pitch jumping in celebration. They won and yet he felt worse than ever.  Before the trophy presentation he ran down the tunnel. Marcel made you go with him down to meet him. God, there was nothing in the world you wanted to do less than face Trent right now. You made Winnie come with you for moral support. You saw him walk towards you. Full kit, sweaty, perfect, beautiful. You couldn’t believe he was at his very best when you weren’t with him, seeing him in all his glory at the very top and you at your very lowest. Producing a man of the match performance and you producing maybe the biggest fuck up or your life. You were in your own world of thought when his curt words cut you off.

“Where were you?” That was all he said. Cold, keeping his distance from you. 

“T…” you pleaded with your eyes falling into pools. Tears already gathering in your eyes. 

“No, where the fuck were you?” He snapped again. Winnie stood off to the side of the corridor. She didn’t know how to help. She felt horrible like somehow this was her fault. It wasn’t at all but she couldn’t help the guilt she felt having been at the club with you, having drank so much with you. She tried to help.  

“Trent, she was…” Winnie began to try to talk but that was not going to fly. Trent didn’t want to hear from anyone but you. This was for you and him to sort.

“Winnie, let her fucking answer. Where were you? Tell me.” You weren’t sure you’d ever heard this tone of voice. It scared you. You felt your bones shake. It was like you were being reprimanded in a principal's office except you weren’t. You were being reprimanded by your fiancé in front of your sister and friends, somehow making it all the worse. 

“The hotel, the hotel. I swear.” You started to hyperventilate. You were having a panic attack in the tunnels of Wembley. This was a fucking disaster. Trent believed you. He didn’t want to but he knew you. He’d know if you were lying. Your answer flooded out drenched in honesty and fear. You felt your chest start to contract and tighten. He couldn’t look at you anymore. It hurt too much.

“I have to go…” he sighed, running his hands over his head frustrated. He was almost annoyed  that nothing happened. He was wildly relieved you were safe and standing in front of him in one piece but annoyed he couldn’t pick one thing to harp on to decidedly be angry about. All this chaos for what? “I need to go be with my fucking team. Marce is taking you home.” He quipped pulling his jersey over his head revealing his stupidly hot body. You tried to distract yourself but it was hard, he looked really good. 

“What?” You asked utterly confused. What did he mean you were going home? Your mind couldn’t keep up with his. The visual stimulant of his naked torso, your blinding headache, and the noise from a rowdy stadium concocting into a right mess. 

“I don’t want you here.” He shut his eyes saying it. He hated saying it but he meant it. He had a hard time looking at you right now. He was so weak against you and right now he was pissed. He didn’t want to cave, he didn’t want to give himself any more time or opportunity to. The emotions rising in your chest swelled with the bile in your throat. It burned and it hurt. Your brain was completely scrambled. You couldn’t process that he just rejected you, turned you away. To be fair, everyone standing there was surprised.  Trent dapped up Marcel and Jadon and swiftly headed back out onto the pitch. Nothing more said, not even a goodbye. You were completely stunned and frozen in your place. Trent was determined to do anything to get you off his mind but everything reminded him of you. You were ubiquitous. Lifting the trophy was nothing but a burden. It was heavy, he was tired and disinterested. Proud of his team but disinterested. 

Marcel drove you home all the way back up towards Manchester and to say it was awkward was an understatement. You cried about 5 times. He’d just turn the music up a little more each time letting you fall apart. You didn’t want him to acknowledge it. He was doing it for both of you. No one really knew what happened, you included. It was one big blur but everyone knew in a way that you had gone awol last night so Marcel didn’t really have anything to say to you until you finally arrived to your house.

“Do you want me to stay? I don’t want to talk but I also don’t want you alone.” Marcel asked you as he pulled into your drive. It was quintessential Marce. He didn’t really want to deal with any of this but he was way too empathetic to just drop it all, no questions asked. He was still your friend, Trent aside. Although right now he felt more like Trent’s brother than your friend. 

“I’m fine. I promise. Thank you.” You lied blatantly getting out of the car and he knew it. You didn’t expect him to but he got out of his car to help you with your luggage. The bags you had filled with outfits you would no longer get to wear this weekend celebrating with Trent now. 

“It’ll be fine.” He gave you a hug and it was like his reassuring words broke the damn down. You began to sob heavily. He stepped back from you not surprised but he was upset that you were upset. He felt bad but he also was a little annoyed with you so he needed to let go. He dragged his hand over his face and pivoted without looking back at you. He turned around though when he opened the drivers side of his car. “I know whatever happened was a mistake, Y/N, but he does a fucking lot for you, ya know? I’m not saying you don’t but he really moves fucking mountains for you and sometimes… fuck.” He sighed looking at you defeated as you stood awkwardly at your garage door awaiting the dagger he was about to twist into you. “I don’t know, you just expect him to. Like you take it as a given, for granite.” You opened your mouth to respond. “I gotta go.” He shook his head and left before you could say anything. Cut to, Trent had finally returned home. It was tense and it was painfully uncomfortable for the fleeting moments before the highly anticipated fight erupted. The second he walked in the door you shuddered. You two stood a good 3 yards apart yelling in voices you never used in your kitchen. 

“You know what that would fucking look like if someone saw any of this?” Trent spat at you frustrated you didn’t understand the point he was trying to make. You had explained to him the extent of your night that you could remember. He was less than impressed but right now he sounded like your mum and it made you feel horrible. Thoughts of all of the times she scolded you telling you ‘what would people think.’ the image of her sat at the edge of a hospital bed appeared in your head. 

“Why do you care what it fucking would look like?” You snapped back at him more annoyed at the remembrance of your mum than him. The sting felt the same no matter whose mouth it was coming from.

“Because I care about you… Do you see yourself lately?  I know with the wedding and the baby it’s stressful but have you looked in the mirror lately? I know how often you’ve been weighing yourself.” The way he said his last sentence was almost threatening. Trent wasn’t dumb and you weren’t exactly trying to hide either. He saw the scale pulled out on your shared bathroom floor every morning. The measuring tape you kept tucked in your drawer just to make sure everything was ‘on track’ lingering after effects from Chase like scars. 

“I can’t fucking look in the mirror, Trent” You snapped and the flood gates opened. You started balling. It took everything in him not to just grab for you. Hold you. Fix this. Tell you it was fine except this time it wasn’t. Nothing was fine right now. 

“What the fuck honestly, I’m at a fucking boiling point. I can't do it anymore. You have a daughter, Y/N! Do you want her to grow up to be like you?” Trent shouted at you, really starting to lose his temper. 

“Do you? Do you want her to be like me?” You asked him incredibly, even more offended than his words echoing your mother’s. Your tears were blurring your vision entirely. You couldn’t make out the face you knew. The face you loved. The one that brought you so much comfort. Right now, your entire life looked to have a smudged haze over it all.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. Can you please not cry all the time?” He pleaded with you having a hard time keeping his distance from you. He was so angry with you but so conflicted with the affection he wanted to show you. You only stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island at the moment but you felt worlds apart.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. This is all too much.” You were sobbing at this point clinging onto the lip of the marble slab countertop.

“No, I am not letting you do this.” He hated when you cried. Seeing you right now so upset made him sick to his stomach but pushed him past his normal point of concern into a state of rage. “Why do you fucking treat yourself like this!?! I don’t fucking understand it!” He continued to seethe with fury. He looked at you waiting for an answer. An incredibly deafening silence falling over the room. 

“Because I fucking hate everything about me. What don’t you fucking understand about that. You expect me to be this perfect version 24/7 but I’m not. I’m not!” You kept crying. “I’m sorry. Fuck! I’m sorry, I’m trying but I can’t be like you, okay?” You whimpered, feeling defeated and broken. It felt like you could never measure up to the golden boy that was in the room with you. No matter where you went or what you did he was always going to look sparkly and new, fantastical and interesting and you couldn’t feel more opposite. Having a baby completely ransacked you. You were far from new. You had been stripped of a sense of individualisation and identity. You were Teddy’s mum and Trent’s fiance. Y/N didn’t matter, anyone could fill in the blank of your name. The icing on the cake was the image you were trying to uphold all the while.

“Why do you always have to guilt me? I didn’t do anything here, Y/N, you did! You did this.” He snapped at you once more, moving to be a bit more accusatory. In a more mindful state you probably would’ve understood his reasoning but it just felt like a personal attack at the moment. 

“I step out of line once and it…” you tried to rebuttal but he wasn’t having it. He cut you off before you could even think of what your next word was going to be. 

“Out of line? Out of line? No, baby.” You heard him use the pet name out of habit and it sent a shiver running down your spine. That was not the way you liked to hear that word. After that, you had an even harder time keeping up with his words so transfixed on the snippy way he had said ‘baby.’ “You went missing and said fuck all untill I saw you in the stadium… you were in London alone. The mother of my fucking child, my baby.” Trent felt like he was about to start crying so he turned away from you dropping his head in his hands. ”My baby, my beautiful girl just fucking gone and you didn’t care! You didn’t care one bit” He whimpered a bit quieter than you’d heard him talk all day. You couldn’t get a word in fast enough before his anger rushed back. “God fuck… why do you not care!?! You not caring hurts me! It hurts our daughter! You can’t fucking do this!” He cried out. You were shaking. Your one hand pressed onto your sinuses attempting to relieve the pressure you thought was going to make your head explode. Your other hand’s nails were digging so painfully deep into your palm you were sure you were about to break the skin. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you! It’s me okay? I know it’s me. I’m shit. I get it. You’ve made that so fucking clear... that I’m not allowed to make mistakes. That I’m not allowed to falter from the caliber of excellence you live in everyday.” Your words fell into a slightly sassier sarcastic tone that made Trent twitch with anger but  then sadness crashed back over you dripping onto your next words. “I can’t handle the pressure T, I really can't. I know that you deserve more than this. You deserve to have someone so much better fit for you. and it's not me” You sniffled out. Your lip quivering, your mascara running. 

“I am done with this. If you fucking still think that I moved you to another country to be with me, I made a home for us here, had a child with you, that I want to fucking marry you is not enough. That's on you. Honestly, I’m fucking done. Have a good fucking time in New York tomorrow.  Don't stay out too late and maybe fucking try to take care of yourself because I’m done doing it for you.” He quipped storming out of the room.  You ran to the kitchen sink and threw up nausea hitting you instantly. Leaning over the deep farmhouse sink. He heard you and shut his eyes. He couldn’t turn back. If he did, he knew he’d cave.  You had originally planned to fly to New York again tomorrow but right now running the fuck away from all of this never felt like such a perfectly yet equally terrible idea. You already had your packed bags by the door the next day when Trent came down early, Teddy still asleep. You had slept in the guest room. Although ‘sleeping’ was probably a stretch. You just lied awake staring at the ceiling wavering in out of fits of tears. You couldn't say bye to Teddy, you didn’t want to say bye to him. You wanted to disappear and leave them so things would be better for them. It was for them you told yourself. Trent looked at you from a distance with a blank face. You bite your bottom lip trying so hard not to fall apart. He let out a deep sigh. He walked towards you and your whole body tensed. He wrapped one of his arms around your shoulder blades high on your back and pressed his lips to your forehead. The embrace felt so foreign. Tears began streaming down your face. “I hate how much I love you and I hate how much you don’t.” The way his lips felt on your skin almost stung. It was one of the most harrowing out of body experiences. It truly felt like that was going to be the last time he’d ever kiss you. That would be your last memory of his lips on you. He could feel how limp you were to his touch. He pulled away with his eyes shut and just let you walk out the door. His face fell. You couldn’t get any words to come out of your mouth. You couldn’t pick your eyes up to see him. He couldn’t understand but the pain you were in was palpable, thick in the room. It destroyed him to see you walking out of your house, your home. He tried so hard to hold it together. He tried absolutely everything he could but he fell to the ground. Crouching with his head in his hands. He began to cry. He felt weak and stupid but in the same way you felt that that may have been the last time together, he felt just the same. Suddenly it all scared him terribly that he had lost you, he had pushed you too far. You were his whole world but he had told you he didn’t want you around, he told you he didn’t want to take care of you. The feelings were still prevalent but it was like his heart was bleeding. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He told you he hated that he loved you. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. A part of you yearned pathetically for him to try to stop you from leaving for this pointless trip. You felt your heartbeat slow to a point where you weren’t sure it was beating anymore.  Your chest hurt so bad it felt like your body might have begun to shut down entirely and with this emotional feeling you thought that it might be the only way out of it. Everything had drained of its color watching the door close to your home, your family, your baby, the love of your life shutting you out as your uber pulled away. 

Trent didn’t tell anyone how bad things really had gotten between you two. He was always private but he couldn’t talk about this. He didn’t tell anyone that his Hollywood film romance was crumbling before you two had even got to the altar. He knew if he told George, Marcel, Tyler, or Jude they’d try to fix it and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was so angry. He didn’t love you any less but he just felt helpless. When he went to bed that night he found himself staring at your Van Cleef necklace he’d given you all those years ago. The one. He got so angry seeing it, seeing you left it behind. It felt like a part of you was leaving him, like you had given up. He held it in his hands imagining your warm skin and delicate décolletage it was supposed to be laid over. He was so indignant. Emotionally charged he yanked the necklace apart, splitting it into two pieces. He felt sick. It hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn't believe he just did that. That necklace was your relationship and he just destroyed it. He sat with the two pieces of chain, one in each hand. You two separated. 

You were terrified about leaving Teddy but you couldn’t do anything but leave. You couldn’t move. She would be better off with the loving stable Alexander-Arnold family not the disaster you felt you were at the moment. Dianne had her, well Trent did, but when he was at training she would make sure she was okay. You got to New York and didn’t tell a soul you were there. Not your parents, Winnie, or Lauren. You wanted to be alone. You laid in your new apartment on the king sized bed you’d never even had a chance to sleep in with Trent yet. It was the most chilling depressing way to be reminded he wasn’t with you and that he didn’t want you with him. Did he want it all to really end? You were replaying your last conversations over and over analyzing every word he said and inflection of his voice when a Daily Mail article notification dropped down from the top of your phone screen. 

‘Trent Alexander-Arnold seen out on a date in Manchester with a mystery women ahead of his previously planned summer wedding. Has the American dream come to an end?’

Your face fell. You were pretty sure all the air had left your lungs, your brain short circuited. You zoomed in on the photo only inflicting more pain on yourself. You’d never seen the women in the photo in your life. She had curves and a full figure but still slender in all the right places. She looked like if Instagram was a person. You looked… not like that. A confirmation published globally echoing every thought you’ve ever had. You were not what he really wanted. This was all too good to be true and you were never going to measure up. The thought of him with someone else made you sick. The thought of another woman making him smile was somehow worse than anything else you could’ve possibly seen. He was holding the door for her, dimples deepened in his cheeks, his glowing smile mocking you. He hadn’t smiled at you in days now but that face from the tv was burned into your memory. You were a mess. You couldn’t cope without him. You felt completely lost. You felt like you were a missing person when you weren’t with him. You thought you were going to be sick the longer you stared at the images. You ran to the bathroom. You slipped on a rug and smacked your face on the porcelain toilet. You leaned over the toilet and vomited but you simultaneously could make out the drops of blood dripping off your face onto the seat through your hazy vision. ‘Fuck’ you cursed under your breath. The tears falling from your face dropping down to join the rest of the releases.

You sank into the warm water filled to the brim of the bathtub in your apartment. For some reason that had become your place of habit during whatever chaotic episode you currently were inhabiting. You slipped down into the water, letting the full bath completely cover and engulf your body. You closed your eyes. You could feel yourself crying but you couldn’t tell submerged in the water. You couldn’t believe what just happened, what you had lost in days time. Bubbles rose to the surface of the bath as you opened your mouth and screamed repeatedly underwater. When you emerged from the bath you were gasping and coughing excessively, somehow getting air to your lungs even more difficult now than when you were under the bath water. The tears returned now racing down your cheeks as you sobbed. You wanted out. This is what was best. Just get out, that's what was on your mind. You slid back under the water once more. A rage filled scream muffled by the water filling your mouth. Words repeating in your brain ‘please just get me out of here’ ‘give my baby a better mum than this’ ‘let Trent find someone perfectly matched for him.’

“Hey, you good? What’s up?” Lauren answered a call from Marcel. It was a little odd for him to call her. Naturally her curiosity peaked. Was he in New York? She felt like you would’ve said something if he was. They were on good terms but he was also well aware that she was with Jude now so she didn’t think he’d try to push to hang out now. Her intrigue only growing. 

“Hey, you’re in Manhattan?” He asked hesitantly, also feeling fairly weird about this call but he needed someone to check on you. His anxiety had been piling up over the last day or so. Lauren didn’t even know you had come to New York. She was shocked to even hear that let alone the next things about to come out of his mouth. Again, you just wanted to get out of Liverpool. You’d told no one. It had been a little over a day since you had arrived. You didn’t reach out and you hadn’t heard from anyone back at home either. Well, maybe from Marcel and Dianne but you had selfishly and unfairly chosen not to respond to either. Really, you were fixated on the fact that most noticeably you hadn’t heard from Trent. You canceled any of the appointments you had planned to attend for wedding planning opting to rot in your bed in hopes of achieving escapism. 

“I need you to go and check on Y/N. Trent said she flew to go over some wedding stuff but she hasn’t responded to me. He hasn’t either to any messages. Something is going on with them. There was this big mess before the match this past weekend.” He rambled on frantically trying to explain best he could but really emphasize that he just needed Lauren to find you and make sure you were fine, why didn’t really matter. She was confused to say the least. Even when you and Trent had stupid bickering fights she’d still hear about it. Yet this? This.. she didn’t hear a peep and this was far different from bickering over who forgot to unload a dishwasher. Lauren agreed, remembering that she had a key to your new apartment in Manhattan in case someone needed to get in when you weren’t there. You might’ve been there physically at the moment, but you were far from being there mentally that’s for sure. Lauren hurried the fastest she possibly could up to your apartment, the urgency in Marcel’s voice making her incredibly nervous. Her worst fears fueling her speed. She unlocked the door and walked inside only adding more confusion and fear to her scrambling brain because your phone's location had said you were there but the apartment was empty. It was quiet until she heard water in the bathroom. You opened your eyes beneath the surface of the water in a moment of desperation trying to stop overthinking what you were doing only for you to find yourself gasping and in taking a ton of water when you saw Lauren’s figure blurred above the water beside the bathtub.You didn’t have a moment of time to even react before Lauren frenziedly reached into the full tub and yanked you out aggressively immediately wrapping you in her arms over the ledge. Your soaking wet naked body drenching her dry clothes. She dragged your very limp body out. 

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on!?!?!” Lauren screamed, starting to uncontrollably cry. It didn’t look good. You felt so young again saved by Lauren once more. You blinked your swollen eyes trying to clear them of the water blurring them. You slumped back onto the cold side of the tub on the bathroom floor. She shook your shoulders trying to get you to come to and answer her. She was absolutely terrified and rightfully so. “Okay, okay. Jesus!” She ran her hands over her head in panic and shock. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll… erm… I’ll call T.” She rattled off trying to think what to do. She knew that’s what this was about.  

“You can’t!” You attempted to scream at her but you didn’t even have any strength left shaking from the shock and from the cold air hitting your wet skin. 

“Shit…” She cursed. Laurens chest started heaving. She was trying her very hardest not to fall into her own panic attack finding you like this. “Why, Y/N? Why?” She tried to be sensitive but she was angry for finding you like this.

“He ended it. He’s done…” You whimpered out devastated hearing each word fall out of your mouth. You felt like you were going to throw up imagining life without him.

“What do you mean he's done? You’re getting married so soon. Just try to relax here.” Lauren asked, perplexed because Marcel said things were off, not that you and Trent had split. 

“No… we’re not, okay? Just shut up, please!” You wailed. Heartbroken by the reality of what was all setting in now. Not only what was going on between you and Trent but the situation you had just put Lauren in, the way you left your daughter, the state you were currently in. Tears cascading down your face with no sign of stopping any time soon. 

“Hey! Enough. You’re not doing this.” Lauren scolded you demanding you cut this shit out immediately. She stood up stoic as ever just staring at you.

“You sound just fucking like him.” You screamed back at her dropping your head back behind you feeling incredibly dizzy. You wiped at your face, unable to stop the emotions flooding out of you.

“Y/N… no. We’ve done this. You’ve done this over really shitty things. This is and will not be one of them. You’re not doing it. Get up!” She continued to yell at you sternly commanding you with a scowl on her face. You looked at her confused that she was angry at you. Everyone was angry at you and the only thing that could possibly make it better was rewind time to go be back in your bed at home with your daughter and Trent but that was miles and miles away and probably not likely to happen again. Lauren made you stand up with her help on shaky legs, forcing you under freezing cold water for a moment in an effort to practice some sort of distress tolerance. She sat on the edge of the sink as you stood with tears falling at the same rate the water did from the shower head. She didn’t trust you right now to leave the room. You got out and wrapped yourself in a towel and sat yourself on your bed shaking. Yes, you were cold but also just riddled with so much anxiety. You couldn’t believe you had ruined everything. You had everything you could ever want. You sat there for a long while trying to explain the situation to Lauren through several breaks unable to calm your breath. Although your story probably was a little one sided as you really only relayed the more harsh things Trent had said. ‘I don’t want you here,’ ‘I’m done with this,’ ‘I’m done taking care of you.’ And then of course, you had to show her the Daily Mail article that only ignited another panic attack to crash over you. You were having heart palpitations. There was a laundry list of reasons you probably should’ve gone to the hospital but at the moment you couldn’t move your body and sadly, you didn’t want the help. “He’s not done with you…” Lauren whispered softly, helping you lay down in the big bed taking your phone from you, clicking the power button and watching the screen illuminated with the photo of Trent and the women go black. “He’s really upset, Y/N, He’s allowed to be. I’m sure a lot of it was said heat of the moment but you fucked up and he’s concerned but he’s not done. He loves you more than frankly I ever knew people could love each other. I know he isn't done.” She cooed with a sad sympathetic smile. She looked next to your bed on the bedside table and saw your engagement ring in a little jewelry dish. “Please put this back on, please.” She put the ring back on your finger where it belonged for you and kissed the back of your hand before wiping a falling tear. You took it off because it was making you nauseous that he had promised you a life and you accepted it only to destroy it all. “He’s not going anywhere, I am not going anywhere, and Y/N, you…you are not going anywhere. You are here and we want you here.” You could hear a tremor in her voice as she sat next to you rubbing your back. You weren’t sure when the last time you slept was so you passed out finally feeling her warm comforting touch on you. You were fast asleep when Lauren got up and called Jude from another room. She roughly explained the situation, she didn’t speak too much about you and Trent’s kick off because she didn’t think she had the full story yet. She began to cry when she relayed the terrifying situation she had just gone through arriving at your apartment. Jude was shocked, gobsmacked, massively concerned but more so helpless listening to Lauren sob over the phone. He didn’t know how to help from where he was. 

Back in Liverpool, Tyler had come over to your house to talk to Trent about some end of the season things they needed to get squared away. He sat with Teddy bouncing her on his knee as they had a unnecessarily tense conversation. 

“Yo, what’s with you?” Tyler quipped looking at Trent confused. He was being particularly snippy with him and all his brother was trying to do was his job. Trent didn’t need to be such an asshole to him. 

“Ty, I’m losing her.” Trent sighed scrolling on his phone zooming in on your location to make sure he knew you were at the apartment he had gotten for you at least. He didn’t have the courage to text or call you yet but he needed to know where you were. 

“What are you on about mate?” Tyler asked, incredibly confused. Marcel had mentioned a tiff at the game but like everyone else around you two there never were any really big squabbles so this was definitely a bit of a surprise. 

“I can feel it, bro. Since we had Teddy all this stuff she warned me about, things she had dealt with when she was younger all started flooding back. I always knew like from the day I met her, she wasn’t like the most confident person in the world but since she had the baby she’s just not the same. I hear her get up in the middle of the night, I see her not eating as much, she’s sleeping way more and I can’t do anything. There’s nothing to say even. She’s like a shell of herself, bro. I’m terrified.” Trent expatiated at length but vaguely touching on the slow decline you had been on postpartum. 

“I haven’t seen it to be honest.” Tyler responded hesitantly tilting his head slowly trying to rack his brain to think if he had noticed any shifts in your behavior. 

“That’s the fucking problem. She’s fooling everyone. It’s fucked. Like I get it she looks good. She always looks good, she’s perfect but it’s not right. Something's not right and I’m getting worried. I was absolutely fuming after the final and I just didn’t want to talk to her to be honest but then she left for New York… and…” Trent rambled half ass explaining the situation at hand but leaving out the part that you two hadn’t spoken since you walked out of the house. 

“Well you love her, you can’t just dip because it got hard.” Tyler was very quick with his response. He wanted to make sure Trent wasn’t trying to jump ship considering at the very moment he was holding the child you shared.

“I’m not dipping. I’m never fucking leaving her. It’s just such a mess. It felt like it went 0 to 60.” Trent dropped his head back onto the couch cushion in despair so confused and conflicted on what he was supposed to do next.

“Well, first off, good. If you’re gonna marry her, you’re buying into all of it, mate. It’s not your responsibility to heal her of something but it’s your responsibility if you really love her to get her to the people that can if she’s not willing to do it herself. You love her and she’s the mother of your child and if she can’t see that… you need to make sure you do everything you can to show her there’s no other possible feeling there but your support.” He looked at Trent with a lot of sympathy but Tyler really was starting to worry about you. His brain switching gears from the assistance to his younger brother to a growing anxiety about the girl he picked up from the airport and never left all those years ago. He started to remember little things here and there, comments made or small actions that felt like nothing at the time but maybe cumulatively he should’ve caught on. 

The next day after Trent had a big think, he remembered that one of George’s cousins ran a clinic in Liverpool so he figured he could start there. He asked George for her number and she agreed to meet him happily willing to help. He at least wanted to learn what options he even had. He wanted to know a simple answer of what he was supposed to do but he knew that wasn’t the reality.  The photos of their meeting hit you like a ton of bricks. You thought he was seeing someone else, taking your night out and spitting it back at you. Showing you he could disappear just the same and rub it your face simultaneously. That wasn’t the case at all though. He wasn’t thinking about her in that regard in the slightest; the only thing he could think about was you, you 24/7. Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of what was happening in your apartment at the moment which probably wouldn’t have given him much peace of mind. Ignorance was currently a mild form of bliss until he got home seeing he had a missed call.

After Lauren spoke to Jude she texted Marcel updating him in a fuzzy but still transparent way. She didn’t think she could handle another call after the emotional one she had with Jude. Eventually, Lauren mustered up the courage to call the one person she knew she had to… Trent. Her legs bounced in anxious anticipation but he didn’t answer her call. She felt her stomach drop. Maybe things were that bad. Maybe he really was done. He couldn’t be, she’d kill him, so she told herself she’d call once more but after that if he didn’t pick up, if he didn’t want to talk then she would resort to getting Dianne’s number from Marcel. This couldn’t go on any longer. She didn’t want to press but this needed to be sorted. Trent picked up the second time she rang but didn’t say anything once he answered for a little while so Lauren didn’t say a thing either. The line was silent until Trent's desperation outweighed any anger he had been harboring.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🤍

Next part - Chapter 19 xx

[cashmakozume]

too late

⟡ oikawa tōru x reader

⟡ word count: 1,973

⟡ sequel to: deeper meaning [please read this first!]

⟡ hello! i usually don't write sequels to my shorts, but @multi-fandom-fanfic really inspired me to think about a part 2 HAHAHA thank you for asking for one! i really hope it answers ur questions [not proof read pls i poured this out after staying up all night thinking about it]

you were picking up some groceries at the supermarket near your home when you ran into iwaizumi. the shock on both of your faces was evident. he didn’t expect to see one of his closest high school friends.

“it’s been a while.” iwaizumi spoke first, noticing you staying frozen in place.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

when you broke up with oikawa tōru, you lost the friends that you spent every second with.

it’s not like they didn’t want to be friends with you, but every attempt they made was met with a wall of silence. hanamaki even went to the extent of begging for you to reply, but your persistence in ignoring them didn’t falter. so, the daily texts turn into weekly check ups. then monthly messages of “i hope you’re doing well” turned into nothing.

it wasn’t even their fault that oikawa tõru broke your heart. but everytime you think about your friends, his face would appear. so you cut them off, hoping it would help you forget.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

iwaizumi managed to convince you to catch up with him at a nearby park. you barely said a word to him, not even knowing what to say or where to start.

“i’m sorry for the way he left.” iwaizumi started.

you stayed silent, looking down at your fiddling hands. your eyes quickly welled up with tears, getting reminded of your break up. you quickly blinked them away, not wanting to shed another tear over it.

“you don’t have to apologize for your friend.” you coughed out, making sure your voice sounded stable.

“you have been doing that since high school.”

iwaizumi let out a weak chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. he genuinely felt bad for how things ended.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

the break up certainly wasn’t expected. hanamaki, matsukawa and him really thought both you and oikawa would end up married. he had to listen to oikawa babble about you all the time, during volleyball practice or whenever they hung out outside of school to pick up oikawa’s nephew.

“are you fucking stupid?” iwaizumi raised his voice, making oikawa take a step back. “you ran your mouth about wanting to buy a ring and now you fucking broke up with her?”

iwaizumi’s anger was radiating. he couldn’t believe what oikawa did. and he couldn’t even imagine how you felt.

he knew how much you grew to adore oikawa throughout your relationship with him and you thanked iwaizumi constantly for bringing you and oikawa together.

“yeah, i did what i had to do.” oikawa recovered, not wanting to appear afraid of iwaizumi.

in a way, iwaizumi felt guilty.

he was the one who made you and oikawa friends. he was the one who encouraged you to talk to oikawa, even if it went through the left ear and out the right. he was the one who expected the most out of it.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“he asks me about you.” iwaizumi brought up, looking you in the eyes. “after a while, i had to tell him that i didn’t know how you were doing.”

your eyes watered and you quickly turned away. it was ridiculous that it still made you feel this way.

“why did he even bother?” your question lingered. “he was the one who left me.”

iwaizumi grabbed your shoulder, making you turn to look at him again.

“he still cares, you know.” iwaizumi started softly. “the volleyball thing was just something he needed to do.” 

you scoffed at what he said. hearing it from iwaizumi, you got angry at how ridiculous it sounded. you knew that oikawa tōru viewed volleyball as his life ever since you met him, but he didn’t have to throw you aside that way.

“if he cared, he would’ve tried.” you shot back, catching iwaizumi off guard. “we could’ve done long distance, or i could even go with him.”

“but —”

“no ‘buts’.” you interrupted iwaizumi.

“he could’ve worked something out. he was the one who made me like him. he was the one who made sure he always does his best for everything. why couldn’t he do the same for me? for our relationship?”

you could feel the tears forming again. but this time you let them fall.

“if i really meant that much to him, he would’ve done it. i know you’re his friend, but you don’t have to lie for him.” your voice cracked halfway.

iwaizumi couldn’t say anything, because he didn’t know anything. oikawa didn’t give him a further explanation, even after constant prodding. all iwaizumi could do was give you a hug as you cried into his shoulder.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

iwaizumi called oikawa the moment he got situated at home.

“iwa-chan~” oikawa cheered, picking up after the third ring. “did you miss me?”

“you fucking idiot.” iwaizumi’s tone made oikawa go silent.

“she’s still hurting.” iwaizumi continued, not bothering for oikawa’s reply. “i ran into her back home. she’s still fucking hurting over you, you fucking imbecile.”

oikawa kept quiet, processing what iwaizumi said.

oikawa was used to the lack of updates about you after he was told they had no idea what you were up to. he expected it to stay that way.

“fix it.” iwaizumi demanded. “tell me you’ll fix it.” 

silence filled the air, making iwaizumi fume even more.

“shitty-”

“i will.” oikawa cut him off and ended the call.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

oikawa tōru was at the top of his career but he still felt incomplete. and he wondered why.

maybe it was the way he left. maybe it was the abruptness of his decision. maybe it was you.

he never told anyone why he decided to break up with you in the first place. just like the rest of his friends, he thought the both of you would end up married, white picket fence and all. but, with his never ending thirst of becoming a better volleyball player, he realized he couldn’t do that to you.

him wanting to improve meant having to put priorities in place. and it meant that volleyball would be first. it was a painful reality for oikawa, but he decided.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

after telling iwaizumi that he broke up with you, oikawa went home.

he locked himself in his room, under the guise of packing. he sat down on the floor of his room, looking up to see a polaroid picture of you and him on his wall.

for the first time that day, he let himself cry. he knows what he did was stupid, he knows that you would have supported him in every way. but he couldn’t bare to treat you undeservingly. he wanted the world for you, he wanted to give you everything but he realized he couldn’t do that. his cries were silent, but he could feel his entire body shaking. his chest filled up with unheard sobs and he took every breath as if he couldn’t get enough air.

oikawa tōru hated himself for what he did, but it was for your own good.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

you met up with iwaizumi a few times after that. you genuinely enjoyed the company and you were glad to finally have met a friend again. the both of you reminisced about the times in high school, iwaizumi carefully avoiding instances with oikawa so that you wouldn’t cry again.

it was your last day back in miyagi, you and iwaizumi were eating ice-cream while walking back home.

“thank you, iwa” you broke the comfortable silence.

iwaizumi looked at you with one of his eyebrows raised.

“i feel like i can finally move on.” you started. “crying it out and talking to someone about it made me feel…” you trailed off, trying to find the right word for what you were feeling.

“it made me feel free.”

iwaizumi’s eyes widened. this wasn’t supposed to happen. oikawa was supposed to fix it, not you. oikawa was supposed to do some big gesture and it would lead you back to each other again.

as selfish as it was, iwaizumi didn’t want you to be free.

“w-wait, what do you mean?” iwaizumi stuttered out, trying to understand.

“i think i can live without being with oikawa” you looked up at iwaizumi and smiled.

iwaizumi hasn’t seen you smile so genuinely in a while. he realized that you meant what you said and you were finally going to be okay.

and as torn up as he was about it, he felt a sense of relief for you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as you were walking home. you ignored it, only wanting to entertain messages once you were inside the comfort of your own apartment. it was a long week at work, and all you wanted to do was to rot on your sofa, with your favorite show playing in the background as you aimlessly scrolled through social media.

once you settled in, having showered and doing your nighttime skincare routine, you finally jumped onto your sofa. a sense of comfort and laziness enveloped you and you finally pulled out your phone.

the first notification you see was an unknown number. you tapped on it, eyes widening while you read the message.

< oikawa here

< i’m sorry

you chuckled a bit, knowing what he was apologizing for.

after what you told iwaizumi, you had forgiven oikawa. you realized that the both of you were young and you’re both different people now.

hello oikawa-san! > 

everything is forgiven! hope you’re doing well now :) >

you barely put your phone down to pick up the tv remote when you felt it vibrate again.

< i’m doing better now

< how have you been? i heard from iwa-chan you got your dream job!

you weren’t surprised that iwaizumi told oikawa about it, iwaizumi did tell you that they were still pretty close.

i’m doing good!! and yeah i did >

you’re a volleyball star now :3 >

oikawa laughed at your use of emoticons. he was glad that you were still the same.

< not yet but i will be!

< listen, i’ll be in tokyo next week. and i was wondering if we could meet up!

you stared at your phone for a while, thinking about your work schedule.

i think that’s possible! >

why do you want to meet, oikawa-san? >

your heart stopped when you saw his reply.

< i want to talk about us

< i regret what i did

if he did this a month ago, you would’ve folded. you would drop everything just to meet him. but you’re not the same person anymore.

i don’t think that’s a good idea >

i’m glad you’re doing well oikawa-san, but i am too >

i hope you don’t take this the wrong way >

but i don’t think there will ever be ‘us’ again >

it was oikawa’s turn to feel his heart stopped. he took so long just to gather up the courage to text you. and now you’re telling him that it’s too late?

< oh

< it’s okay then! i hope you stay well, angel

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

oikawa tōru always believed that you and him would end up together.

he always believed that his first love would be his only love. he didn’t want to start from scratch again with someone else.

back when you were dating, the both of you always agreed upon it.

“yeah if it isn’t you, it’s nobody.” oikawa exclaimed, patting your head as you stuck your tongue out.

but you grew up. you believed that oikawa was what the idea of love was like. you were both young, with dreams and ambitions that were totally separate from one another. the love that you and oikawa had was something to look back on and say that you learnt from it.

oikawa tōru was just your first love. and he will stay that way.

[utilitycaster]

Pls ignore if the spectre of ruminating on old god-diskhorse is far too obnoxious but it's rather a jump-off point for a more general question; an issue brought up pushing back against the most obnoxious "vanguard is right eradicate those tyrant gods rq stole vax hate that bitch" ppl, aside from other things like just being deeply myopic even just from an in-universe perspective, but on a wholler narrative level requires completely ignoring or discarding campaign 1 and 2's theses and genuine connections. Largely i think these ppl's takes are more interested in self-validation than concerned with what they're actually saying when they want these things to be true (which they aren't, Matt and cast and plot progression from the peak of those discourses have made that clear), but now here's my wondering: what would it say if c3 were to be these things? By what metrics do you judge a sequel installment should it, in the pursuit of its own story, undermine or contradict the earnest, complete, already told story that preceded it and was built upon?

Hi anon,

This is a good question, and necessarily one with a subjective answer, so I hope I at least explain my thought process below! Also: this does have some spoilers for a Midst episode in Season 3 (which aired a few weeks ago). I mention this because it's a really useful example for me but this wasn't a question about Midst so you might not be expecting me to talk about it.

Firstly, I agree with you that a lot of the people who want this want the story to validate their personal beliefs. Some want it to validate political/philosophical beliefs, which is a complicated thing: on the one hand, I very much don’t want to watch a show that’s like “hey slavery is neat-o!” and doubt such a show would have much merit. On the other hand, when we’re dealing with much more complicated issues like religion, which simultaneously exists as a tool of oppression; an aspect of identity that makes one a target of oppression; a source of meaning and comfort; and a source of justification of terrible practices all in one; I think it’s extremely valuable to be exposed to a multitude of perspectives and to not just endlessly look for those that validate one’s own experiences.

Others just want the story to validate their feelings about the happenings within the narrative, which is on the one hand usually less close-minded, but on the other hand, kind of stupid. You are permitted to dislike that Vax died. I disagree, but you can feel however you want (indeed, you don’t need my, or anyone’s permission to dislike that Vax died). The story saying “The Raven Queen isn’t perfect” or even “The Raven Queen is Bad” isn’t necessary for you to have those feelings; and the Raven Queen being slaughtered isn’t per se necessary for Vax to come back (which I think would be cheap and stupid, but like, if that’s what you want you could just have him come back.) You don’t need to story to tell you that your response to the story is good, so this is ultimately a case of “why are you even doing this."

I also suspect there’s just some degree of subversion for subversion’s sake (or change for change's sake) people who were into the idea of killing the gods just to flip C1 and C2 on their respective heads. The thing is, subversion for the sole purpose of subversion has always been the province of the dull. There’s a reason why culturally we treat M. Night Shyamalan as a joke and it’s because “THERE’S A TWIST” without a strong and compelling build-up to said twist nearly always is, as the post I recently reblogged said, something that only hits hard if you’re stupid.

What I need from a story to be good is internal consistency and a strong execution. I am frequently surprised, in a very positive way, by stories that are so well-executed that they sell me on a premise with which I was less than enamored. If you’d told me that I’d feel sad about FCG’s sacrifice or extremely in favor of Phineas and Jonas’s romantic relationship during early C3 or, frankly, even the minute before I listened to Trustfall, respectively, I would have said “huh, really?” But both of these events were thoughtfully built to a point where they felt like meaningful and interesting choices for the story to take, even if that was not apparent to me earlier on.

So: the metric I’d use to judge a god-killing C3 is the same as that of any long-running story. I think there is a universe in which Campaign 3 could have made the demise of the gods a good and compelling story. But that work simply has not been done. The atrocities of the Vanguard, Weave Mind, and the Dwendalian Empire under Ludinus Da’leth; the callousness shown towards all Exandrians and Ruidians by the Vanguard and Kreviris Imperium; and most importantly the fact that there haven’t been new reveals of terrible things done by the gods and the story has instead striven to paint them as more fragile and complicated than what we’ve seen in past means that a sudden twist would, well, be cheap and only hit hard if you’re stupid. You can contradict a past story in an installment (or the earlier work in a long-running series) in a way that is not undermining if you are able to tie it together and show new information that was not available earlier! But that’s the key: it needs to be clear that the earlier works were showing a specific perspective (already a very tall order given the protagonist-only POV of D&D campaigns) or that the situation has drastically changed. If you fail to do this, then as you said, it’s undermining and it’s poorly done and a bad story.

I think that last point is also really important in thinking through the fandom response. I mentioned that I can be sold on a premise that didn’t win me over initially if the execution is strong. I think some people, and especially those gunning for a “The Gods are All Bad” story are so terrified of not being validated or of being wrong in their predictions or of criticism from other fans that they can no longer enjoy a story or comment meaningfully upon it. To which I say skill issue. I am thrilled and even grateful that, as previously mentioned, FCG had an arc that deepened their character and addressed my earlier criticism such that I could enjoy episode 91 as much as I did. I was mildly spoiled on the potential of Jonas and Phineas getting together and was, to be honest, slightly dreading it as I’d always preferred a platonic interpretation of their relationship, and then the scene in which it happened (and everything since) has been so deftly handled that I’m fully on board.

I am a far better analyst and critic of fiction than a creator of it, and I’m open about this. I am constantly surprised in ways both positive and negative by how other people tell stories, and that’s why I come back to them. I want the story to be so good that it expands my horizons and comfort zone and shows me something new. I find little joy in a story validating who I already am and what I already think. I want the story to make a better argument for what it has to say than I can make against it. If this is a competition between the story and me, I am rooting for the story to win over me and in doing so, win me over; and I am disappointed when it doesn’t.

I am also a physicist, and, famously within our understanding of physics, pretty much anything can happen; it’s all just a matter of probabilities. And so it’s hard for me to say “there’s no way this could ever be done well.” It’s very easy, however, for me to say “the eye of the needle one must thread to do this well is a micron in diameter and constantly moving.” I think it’s possible to turn the concept of a god-slaying Campaign 3 into a story that, rather than clumsily ignoring or discarding C1 and C2’s theses, transforms them and puts them in a new and unexpected light. But the narrative dexterity check required for that has always been high, and only gets higher as the actual Campaign 3 story continues along its current path.

[feminist-cult-following]

ranking each song on ttpd: the anthology by how lesbian I interpret them as

1. guilty as sin — literally so lesbian. the yearning, the fantasizing, the pining, the insane amount of religious imagery? “what if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy?” “I choose you and me religiously?” I SAW GAY SO I SAID GAY !!

2. but daddy I love him — the word “him” in the title be damned this is one of the most lesbian songs her in whole discography. the romance being forbidden by the whole town is enough for me. I’m just picturing two women in the south who are deeply in love but stuck in a small, conservative town. so so good and so so lesbian

3. fresh out the slammer — I always listen to this from the perspective of a woman who once struggled with internalized homophobia and forced herself into a relationship with a man. once she’s able to accept herself she goes back to her true love. I like to think to it as a sort of sequel to the way I loved you

4. the tortured poets department — I’m not even a gaylor but this song will always be about phoebe bridgers in my mind (just jokes people). but seriously this song is so gay. the title of tortured poets is reserved for lesbians

5. the bolter — for the girlies who dated men before realizing they were a lesbian and always found themselves sabotaging the relationship without knowing why

6. down bad — this is about your first lesbian heartbreak. the one that feels shifted your entire world off its axis and changed you forever. the heartbreak is one you never get over.

7. the prophecy — whatever you do, don’t think about this from the perspective of either a young girl or an older woman who’s too afraid to come out and fears she’ll never find love. it’ll shatter your heart into a million tiny pieces

8. who’s afraid of little old me? — I love to think of this song from the perspective of a deeply repressed woman with religious trauma that just came out. she grew up being taught who she was was a sin and all of these feelings of rage and resentment have been bubbling up in her for years. it makes for a very cathartic listening experience

9. the alchemy — okay okay hear me out. I will defend this placement with my life! is it about a man who plays football, arguably the most heterosexual sport there is? yes. but you have to get creative with it. think cheerleader and basketball player who aren’t supposed to be together but can’t fight their feelings! “who are we to fight the alchemy?” is one of the gayest lines she’s ever written and I will die on this hill!

10. peter — the fact that it’s named after a dude doesn’t change the fact that this always makes me think of a girl singing to her closeted ex lover. the yearning, the pining, it’s very lesbian

11. I hate it here — really gay if you interpret the secret gardens, lunar valleys, and inner romanticism through a lesbian lens

12. look in people’s windows — another one that’s really only just because I played it on repeat in my breakup era

13. imgonnagetyouback — this is so that one ex you can’t stay away from because she changed your whole life. it’s about that girl who’s like a drug (and it’s how I manifested my ex back)

14. thanK you aIMee — potentially controversial spot in the ranking but if you think about it as a woman singing to her ex homoerotic friendship it makes sense

15. florida!!! — any collab taylor does with a woman automatically earns lesbians points idc what it’s about

16 the black dog — not overtly gay but this one was on repeat during my breakup era so it will always be gay to me

17. the albatross — this one vaguely gives me lesbian vibes if you interpret it as the narrator speaking to her closeted lover

18. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus— this one is more of a treat for our bisexuals!! lesbians love you mwah !

19. cassandra — the vibes are there but not enough for me to justify putting it above any of the other songs

20. fortnight — as much as I would love to defend this as a lesbian song the lyric “my husband is cheating” and the post malone feature make that hard to do

21. loml — a heartbreakingly beautiful song but not very lesbian

22. the smallest man who ever lived — even though I think of my ex when I listen to this it still has the word man in the title which knocks it down by many lesbian points

23. my boy only breaks his favorite toys — “boy” in the title unfortunately makes this drop a lot of spots

24. so high school — absolute banger but very straight

25. how did it end? — beautiful song but there’s definitely gayer stuff on this album

26. so long, london — all I can think about is joebless when I hear this so no lesbian points for yogurt boy

27. I can do it with a broken heart — this is more girlhood than lesbianism

28. the manuscript — great but very heterosexual I fear

29. I can fix him (no really I can) — this is practically the straight woman’s national anthem

30. clara bow — also not lesbian, but definitely the album’s most underrated song

31. robin — not lesbian at all, but cute song!

[zahri-melitor]

Catwoman 1989 (Her Sister's Keeper):

This is a direct sequel to Batman: Year One, and I definitely had to dig BYO back out and line the stories up, and in doing so I noticed how much work Mindy Newell did to transform the needlessly dark, grim and gritty reboot of Selina's origin into a story where you could see Selina in it.

I actually do think Batman: Year One is a story worth reading, and it very much fits into the dark realism turn that was gripping DC in the mid to late 80s. I also think that Frank Miller doesn't care about the interior lives of women (or as them as anything more than set dressing, given how much of his oeuvre consists of every woman appearing being framed by her sexual relationship to the men in the story, down to 'and the women here are all prostitutes').

Mindy Newell does.

Selina's bondage-gear costume and mask from BYO makes sense - as it's a costume her pimp gave her to wear for a particular client. Selina's haircut makes sense - she's started training in self defence with Ted Grant after having been beaten up by a client and left for dead outside of Maggie's convent. Newell literally spends half of the first issue reusing every panel that shows Selina or Holly from Batman #404 and #405, and providing context and additional motivation for what's happening and how that affects Selina. She breaks down the hardened, self-assured Selina that Miller wrote and shows the uncertainty, self doubt and determination under it.

It's just fascinating reinterpretation work to find a character underneath a story that doesn't centre them, and as someone who's done similar work as a fanfic writer it does indeed strike me that Newell does this in a confident way that makes it clear both Newell and Brozowski were sitting there with the issues open in front of them...and Brozowski was redrawing, not tracing. Transformational storytelling!

It also hits a lot of points about how and why Selina becomes Catwoman. Why's she stealing jewels? Because it's a lot more lucrative to her than sex work (and she enjoys it more). She's caught up in her quest for revenge more than saving Maggie - until her decisions lead to Maggie almost dying. She gives Selina and Bruce a proper conversation together about their different moral codes and motivations. Selina's desire to check on the people of the East End starts here, even if its initial form is mostly selfish and does not extend much past the people she cares about.

What I also did not expect going in was how much I was going to like Magdalene. Maggie’s tougher and has got more grit to her than I expected. She stands up to the cops with assurance, she seeks help on her own terms, she refuses to be a victim while she's kidnapped, and she faces off with Batman to protect her sister.

(Batman and Maggie talking in Catwoman #4)

The art is also excellently atmospheric the whole way through, hampered as it is by the fact that Batman Year One had already given Selina two of my least favourite outfits ever to use for this overlapping story.

I really liked this. From what I hear, Newell's Lois Lane mini is equally interesting in terms of centring a woman's story in a dark and gritty setting. Her background in healthcare as a nurse pops out in terms of what the story focused on. I really wish Newell had been given more writing opportunities, later on, because what she put together here is just really intelligent and entertaining.

[yellowlaboratory]

Are you still planning on writing the sequel to pltc, mamba? Just finished pltc and it. was. lifechanging! Loved it so much, you are amazing! In one of your really old posts you said you were working on a sequel, but I don’t see it on your Ao3? No pressure if you decided you’re done w that universe, obviously, I just mainly want to let you know that you’re such a phenomenal writer and your story made me so so so happy!!!

hello!! you are so kind alkjdfhlkasjdf and I'm so so glad you liked pltc ❤️❤️❤️ I do have a sequel with an acronym so long I shorten it to mamba in my own head 🤡🤡🤡 I haven't posted any of it to ao3 yet, but I do have the prologue and the first chapter-ish nearly finished!! I want to get some more of it written before I publish it so you don't have to wait decades between updates (lol @ some of my current wips) but it will eventually be posted!!

[wybienova]

dream visit (nostalgia) - a 2nd anniversary katfl comic

[akimojo]

i just saw someone call ffxiii overrated like? what?? it's literally one of the most hated games in the franchise wym "overrated" 😭

[books-are-my-life-stuff]

Finished series, Fall 2023: Akuma-kun (2023)

"What is happiness to all humans? Are they happy if there's ample food, clothing, and shelter? Do they want self-fulfillment? Recognition from others? The psychologist Maslow said--" "Hold on. Hey, Ichiro. What is happiness to you?" "To me?"

[lastoneout]

Not reblogging the original post bcs I don't wanna derail it but fr finding out there are people who think Cars 3 was the worst film out of the trilogy makes me feel legitimately insane like did we watch the same movie????

[ganondoodle]

im kinda glad i was a tiny child when windwaker came out and i only played it years later without having internet access for the longest time bc i would have NOT survived the hatred i know ww got when it first came out bc it wasnt what most people expected (ww is my fav zelda)

loving botw but not liking totk and seeing the vast majority praise the latter like its the holy grail while alot also discrediting and needlessly hating on botw for it is already making it hard to stay calm about :U

[pocketramblr]

The most unfair thing about a matchless match, really, is not the awkward marriage situation, it's the fact that Tenya has two adults basically focused on keeping him from doing any violence, meanwhile all the adults in the world couldn't stop Izuku from doing what he's doing and aren't even trying