#learning to be okay without all the answers

[winisayswhat]

What do you need to desperately hear right now ??

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Divider-@uzmacchiato

Pile 1

You’ve been stretched too thin emotionally.You'll break if you stretch anymore. Maybe you’ve felt like you had to be strong for everyone else or kept pretending to be okay when you were running on empty. Your energy feels tirednot just from doing too much, but from carrying worry, fear, or uncertainty for too long.

You’re not falling apart you’re finally starting to let go. And that’s a good thing. Your guides are gently helping you break away from patterns that drained your peace. You’re not supposed to stay stuck just because it’s familiar.

You may have gone through a period where nothing felt certain job, money, love, or even your inner world. But there’s something solid ahead. A stable offer, a new chance, or simply peace of mind. The kind of calm that lasts.

There’s no rush to get there. You’re being shown how to move slow, steady, and softly. You’re learning to trust life again. Every quiet step forward matters.

Reminder: You’re not brokenyou’re growing. You’re being rebuilt on steadier ground. How I see you at the moment : A sunrise over calm water, steady, peaceful, and sure.

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Pile 2

This pile speaks to those who have loved with their whole heartseven when it wasn’t returned the same way. You may have been the one holding the emotional weight in a relationship or family dynamic. There’s a tiredness here, not just from giving, but from not being seen for how deeply you care.You're being asked to get honest with yourself: is this really loveor just habit, guilt, or fear of being alone??

Something karmic is wrapping up. A chapter where you were asked to adjust beyond reason, stay silent to keep peace, or carry more than it was fair. The scales are balancing now, and it might feel like loss at first. But what you’re letting go of was never meant to stay the same.Read that again !

For some, there may still be love here ,but only if it starts meeting you halfway. For others, this is a call to walk away and make space for what feels like home, not a battle.

Reminder: Love shouldn’t feel like survival. You’re allowed to be soft and still be safe. How I see you at the moment : A rose with thorns , delicate, but guarded. Love with boundaries.

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Pile 3

You’ve been sensing something isn’t quite right. It’s not always obviousbut your body, your dreams, or your inner voice have been trying to tell you. This isn’t paranoia,it’s inner knowing.

You’re growing out of something. Maybe a version of you that used to be okay settling. Maybe a situation that once felt safe but now feels like a cage. And even if nothing “bad” is happening, something doesn’t feel alive anymore.

That’s your truth calling you out. The Moon and High Priestess energy here is strong. You’re not meant to have all the answers yet. This part of your path isn’t about logic ,it’s about trust.

You might feel like you’re walking away without closure or proof. That’s okay. You don’t need anyone else to agree with what you feel. Some goodbyes happen in silence. And that doesn’t make them less valid.There is this quote I read yesterday ''Never talking again , is the best closure I had "

You’re entering a quiet, powerful shift. One where you no longer explain your choices or shrink your intuition to make others comfortable.

Reminder: You don’t owe anyone your peace!!!! You’re allowed to walk away just because it hurts to stay. How I see you at the moment : A mirror cracking , illusions falling away. Truth setting you free.

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Pile 4

This pile feels full of movement. You’ve been waiting for a moment where things finally make sense and it’s coming. This energy says, “You’ve done the work. You’re ready.”

Expect quick shifts and changes ,emails, invitations, opportunities, or new attention. Don’t overthink it. Don’t shrink. You’re not “lucky”you’re prepared and have earned it !

You’ve outgrown the version of you that second guessed every step. You’ve been through the self-doubt, the trial runs, the quiet nights wondering if it would ever be your turn. It is. This is it !!

The King of Wands energy here says, step up, speak clearly, and own your vision like a baddie !. You’re not here to follow,you're here to lead,its a long over due for you !. You don’t have to be flashy about it .Your calm confidence speaks louder than any performance.

Some of you may be stepping into more public spaces ,social media, leadership roles, or creative platforms. Others are simply getting seen for who they’ve always been.

Let people adjust to your light. You’re not here to fit inyou’re here to stand out!

Reminder: You don’t have to shrink so others feel comfortable. You weren’t made for small spaces. How I see you at the moment : A lion in sunlight warm, radiant, confident without trying too hard.

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[aleese1111]

can I request a fem reader who loves taking care of sieun? They’re in a pretty new relationship and it isn’t like she pities him but more because it’s her love language!! Gift giving and quality time.

So reader loves memorizing every little thing about sieun down to his stationary,,(yes the pens are refilled by her) would even stay up with him while studying!

She’s very used to that routine and knowing sieun he would probably still be new to the relationship so often times he isn’t able to give back to reader as much and she’s really and insists that payment would be for him to smile just a little!!

So maybe one day sieun finally does something for reader that completely takes her aback and has her falling in love with him again!!

Im so so sorry if this was long!!! But I love your whc fics so much I’m excited for more!!

the night he noticed | yeon sieun x fem!reader

summary: she's memorized every pen refill, every yawn, every page turn. But the night he tells her—in the only way he knows—that he's memorized her too, becomes the moment everything changes.

warnings: [established relationship] comfort, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort

author's note: i don't know what to feel about this. requests ,,

there was something deeply comforting about the quiet between them. it wasn’t empty, nor was it awkward. it was the type of silence that wrapped itself around them like a soft blanket—the kind of hush that existed only between people who didn’t need to fill the air to feel seen.

she sat beside him, her legs tucked under her on the floor of his room, surrounded by books, scattered notes, and the quiet tapping of his mechanical pencil. the overhead light was dimmed, casting a gentle glow that didn’t interfere with concentration but still allowed them to see one another when they glanced up. it was late—later than most would stay up willingly—but she was used to that. used to this.

his pen clicked once, then twice. she reached over before he could do it again, switching it out for a refilled one. he blinked and looked at her, only briefly, but she saw the thanks in his eyes. he never said much, not in the beginning. words weren’t his strength, and she’d learned early that the language he spoke best was one of restraint and observation. so she’d adapted. she had learned him.

every pen refill, every extra highlighter, every back-up graph sheet tucked into his folder—those were her ways of loving him. staying up when her eyes begged for sleep, just to make sure he wasn’t alone in his intensity, was her routine. not because she had to. because she wanted to. because somewhere in the middle of library tables and coffee-fueled all-nighters, she had fallen for him. not the way people usually did. she didn’t fall for his silence, or despite it. she fell into it. and learned how to love inside it.

she didn’t expect things in return. she knew he wasn’t like her. he wasn’t wired to recognize the little things, let alone mirror them. that was okay. all she ever asked for was a smile. just a small one. and even that, she never pressed for. sometimes it happened, and when it did—it felt like the sun.

tonight, though, felt different.

he was writing, yes, focused like always. but there was something off about the way he glanced at her. more frequent. as if he were trying to say something without saying it. she didn’t comment. she only shifted, brushing a stray sticky note from his leg.

"you missed dinner," she said quietly.

he paused, then shrugged.

"you didn’t eat either," he replied.

she smiled softly. “didn’t want to leave you alone.”

he hummed, barely audible. then went back to writing.

minutes passed. maybe more. time moved strangely in their little cocoon. eventually, he closed the textbook, sliding it aside. she blinked at him, surprised.

“you done for the night?” she asked.

he didn’t answer. not directly.

instead, he stood up and disappeared briefly into the hallway. she heard faint sounds from the kitchen. her eyebrows furrowed.

when he returned, he held a small tray. a bowl of rice porridge—simple, warm, and clearly homemade. next to it, a mug of ginger tea. she stared at it, stunned.

"i didn’t know how to make much," he said, eyes down. “but i remembered you said your stomach hurts when you skip meals.”

her heart stilled.

he didn’t sit back down immediately. just stood there awkwardly, almost uncomfortable with himself. his ears were flushed, just barely.

she took the tray slowly, reverently. cradled it in her lap.

“you made this?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded. “i watched a video. checked the ingredients. made sure it wasn’t too salty.”

she blinked quickly, trying not to let tears pool in her eyes.

“i didn’t think you noticed,” she said. “about the stomachaches.”

“i notice more than i say.”

that was it. just that. but to her, it was everything.

she took a spoonful, the warmth of it somehow extending beyond the bowl and into her chest. it wasn’t perfect—but it didn’t need to be. the care in it was unmistakable.

“i memorize things too,” he said, quietly, almost defensively. “not like you. not as often. but i do.”

her throat tightened.

“i know you set out my pens by color,” he continued, eyes not meeting hers. “and that you refill them even when i don’t notice. i know you only drink that strawberry milk after 2 a.m. i know you leave your charger half-unplugged because you don’t like sparks.”

she covered her mouth with one hand, heart in her throat.

“i just don’t always know what to do with the things i notice,” he said finally. “but i’m trying.”

she put the tray aside and crawled across the space between them. he didn’t look up until her hands were cupping his face, gently.

his eyes, always so guarded, softened instantly.

“you don’t have to do anything with them,” she whispered. “just remembering is already more than enough.”

he leaned slightly into her touch. she felt him sigh—really sigh—for the first time in weeks.

“i wanted to give back,” he murmured.

“you did,” she replied, voice thick. “you are.”

she kissed his forehead, soft and slow.

that night, she stayed a little closer than usual. her head on his shoulder, his hand awkwardly but intentionally resting against hers. they didn’t speak again. they didn’t need to.

in the quiet, he noticed her. and finally, she knew—he always had.

[writingsonsaturn]

safe and sound

{ masterlist } { the 'taylor swift' series }

🪐- @elliewilliamgfooc this ones for you pookie hope you like it <33

wc - 1.4k

content warning - car accident, very sad tim, blood, hospitals, hurt/comfort

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Your ears were ringing.

Everything felt loud, but muted at the same time. It took a minute for you to realize you were hanging upside down, you don’t even remember what happened - all of it was tainted and blurred.

“Miss? Can you tell me your name?” the words echoed around you but they didn’t reach you, what was your name? Oh- “Y/n, my n-name is Y/n Bradford” you forced out, jaw quivering with pain. “Okay, Y/n, we are gonna get you out of here okay? It’s gonna be okay,” the emt tried her best to keep you calm but your panic overtook your mind.

Were you gonna die?

When was the last time you told Tim you loved him?

How did this even happen?

All the questions you were asking, you couldn’t answer. Nothing made sense and you wanted Tim, Tim could answer all these questions, he could calm you down. “M-my husband, he’s a cop- please get him” you cried, tears dripping onto the ceiling of your vehicle. “We called him sweetheart, he’s on his way” the woman, you hadn’t learned the name of, assured you the best she could. 

You were starting to feel the pressure on your body, the pounding fists against the inside of your skull was agonizing. Suddenly, a voice clear as day broke through your conscience - “Where is she?” Tim was frantic, you could tell. The pitch in his voice was higher than usual. 

“Baby? Baby, I’m here!” The voice only made you start to cry harder, you didn’t know the extent of your injuries but you knew they weren’t good. “I’m scared” the sob ripped through your throat, “Shh, I know but you’re gonna be just fine” Tim laid down on his stomach, reaching out to hold your hand the best he could without getting cut by the shards of glass that littered the ground. 

Tim helped in every way he could, putting on the neck brace and keeping you calm when they began using the jaws of life in an attempt to get you out. He wanted to freak out, the love of his life was hanging upside down, blood dripping from places he couldn’t tell, and your hand was beginning to lose its grip on his - but Tim had to keep calm for the both of you.

Once the fire team got you out it was all hands on deck, they realized there was a deep laceration on your thigh, one that directly hit your femoral artery. Luckily, the piece of metal that caused the laceration stayed embedded in your leg which stopped any major bleeding from occurring. Tim had seen a lot of things in his years on the field, but nothing as earth shattering as seeing you laid out on the ground, with injuries covering the skin he was just kissing this morning. 

Paramedics worked fast to secure the metal in your thigh, you screamed in pain when they tightened a tourniquet around your leg, begging them to stop. Tim nearly pushed them off for you had he not known better, his hand finding yours again when they gave him the go ahead. “I’m sorry baby, I know” Tim felt himself getting emotional, he hated seeing you in this much agony and not being able to take it away from you.

The moment the team got you stabilized it was time to move you into the back of the ambulance, you ended up becoming unconscious the moment they got you secured. Tim knew it had been your brain shutting down to protect you from the immense pain you were experiencing but he still panicked, still watched the heart monitor like his worst fear of you flatlining would happen the second he looked away. 

His hand squeezed yours, pleading with the universe to not take you away from him. Everything he had ever wanted, the person he would dream about to escape the abuse in his own home. All of it laid with you. You weren’t just his partner, you were his one good thing. 

“Baby, if you can hear me, you fight, you fight goddamnit” his words came out broken, kissing your forehead. It was cold, why was it cold? 

“Please, stay here” 

They rushed you into surgery the moment the wheels of the gurney hit the ground, Tim forced to stay behind the OR doors, his heart being left behind with you, hoping you could still feel his presence. 

Tim called Angela, explaining in short words what was happening. She showed up within 10 minutes, pulling Tim into a tight hug immediately, “she’ll be okay, everything is going to be okay Tim, but you need to breathe,” Angela was empathetic but stern. Tim gripped his chest and closed his eyes, counting to 5 for each breath in. Angela rubbed his back, keeping him together like a loose puzzle missing its most important piece. 

“I'm gonna get a coffee, do you want anything? Angela said, standing up and looking back at Tim waiting for him to respond. “No, im okay” Tim answered, staring a hole into the chair across from him, Angela knew better than to take Tim at his word so she got him a coffee anyways.  

She convinced him to drink the steaming cup by telling him they had a long night in their future and neither of them wanted to sleep, you and Angela were like sisters - hell you were a bridesmaid at her almost wedding. 

Angela likes to think she knew you were the one for Tim way before he did, the light in his eyes would brighten when she would bring you up, or when you would text him on duty telling him to ‘be safe because i’m waiting for you.’

It was early morning when the surgeon came to give your husband an update on you, “Bradford?” Tim’s legs responded faster than his mind did, walking him over to be met with words that could destroy him forever or kissing the ground beneath him. 

“Your wife was very hit or miss for a bit, some internal bleeding, a couple of broken ribs and a mild concussion. However, we were able to get her stable, she is waiting for you in ICU room 112” Surgeon Mcflay finished with a lighthearted smile, Tim hugged the man like his life depended on it, and in some ways it had. “Thank you, thank you so much,” Tim exclaimed. “Just doing my job, Mr. Bradford” Mcflay smiled and patted Tim on the shoulder.

Angela wasn’t able to go in with him, the risk of infection was high so they limited it to one guest at a time. “Give her my love,” she waved him off before he could engulf her in his tight hug as well, knowing you needed to feel it more. 

Tim was warned you had a lot of cords hooked up to your body and the bruising was intense but he was just glad to see a heartbeat accompanying you, your body was covered head to toe but all he saw was the woman he fell in love with, safe and sound. 

He pulled the chair that sat in the corner up next to your bedside, gripping your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I love you so much,” he mouthed, lips still resting on your skin. 

Shortly after knowing you were okay, Tim fell asleep with his head resting right next to your leg - the sound of your heart monitor lulling him to rest, and allowing his heart to finally return to its place back inside his chest right where he kept yours. 

“Tim, honey” your voice ran into his ear shaking his brain to wake him up, Tim’s eyes shot open he felt a weight on his head that hadn’t been there before. He realized it was your hand, gently running fingers through his hair, “Oh baby,” Tim broke down into tears when he saw your beautiful eyes looking back at him. 

He couldn’t keep himself together anymore, “I'm okay my love, it’s okay” you reassured even though your throat burned. Tim needed you too, you might’ve been in the hospital bed but Tim just sat in a waiting room for god knows how long not knowing if he’d see you again. You wished you had been able to comfort him, let him know you were okay. 

As Tim held you, weary of your wounds, he couldn’t help but stare at you just so he could make sure this was real and not a cruel way of his mind protecting him from another worse reality.

You were real, your survival was real, and the heartbeat he heard in your chest while crying into you was as real as the air he was breathing. “We’ll get through this baby, you and me” Tim told you, aware of the months of physical therapy you might need.

‘You and me.” 

[makis-eyebrows]

Request : <33

Still Got You.

With a bunch of thoughts swimming in Lewis' head, his closest person is always there to remind him that he's still himself.

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – November 2016

Lewis had just lost the championship to Nico Rosberg.

Despite winning the race, it wasn’t enough. Nico’s consistent season had paid off. The tension in the Mercedes garage was thick, electrified with everything unspoken. Lewis had deliberately backed Nico into Vettel and Verstappen to try and salvage a last chance at the title — a move that left the team divided.

He exited the garage quietly, helmet still on, visor down, avoiding cameras, reporters, even Toto.

He didn’t need applause. He didn’t need questions.

What he needed was silence — and maybe someone who understood.

He ducked into a quiet hallway behind the Mercedes paddock, where most people wouldn’t wander. The sun was setting in Abu Dhabi, casting long orange shadows across the walls. He sat on a concrete step and finally removed his helmet, setting it beside him. Sweat clung to his curls, his jaw clenched in silence.

Everything that year had felt like a fight — not just on the track, but behind closed doors. With Nico. With the team. With fate.

He was still staring at the floor when he heard soft sneakers echoing down the hallway. He didn’t look up.

Only one person had that particular footstep — soft, uncertain, and deliberate.

“Lewis?” a voice called gently.

It was his little sister, Y/n. Sixteen, just barely done with school exams and flown in just to support him — as always.

He didn’t answer.

She spotted him hunched on the step and padded over, dropping down beside him without a word. For a moment, neither said anything.

Then, “You okay?” she asked, almost whispering.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not really.”

She glanced at him, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her oversized Team LH hoodie — the one he gave her years ago, now soft and worn.

“They’re all cheering for him now,” Lewis said flatly. “Like I wasn’t even in this fight.”

Y/n blinked slowly. “But you were.”

He huffed. “People think I was petty for backing him into Vettel. Like I was the villain.”

“You were fighting. That’s what drivers do.”

He looked at her now — really looked. His little sister, who had grown up in his shadow, who sat on pit walls with him since she was 8, who once told reporters to back off when he lost in Brazil.

“You’re not mad at me?” he asked softly.

“For what? Trying?” she said. “You’ve been fighting since the start, Lewis. Since karting. You never gave up, not once — not even when they doubted you. Not even when Nico stopped being your friend and started being your rival.”

Lewis stared at the wall, his jaw tightening again.

“It wasn’t about the title for you,” she continued. “It was about proving you're still you. And you did.”

His throat felt thick.

“Remember when we were kids,” she said, bumping his shoulder, “and I cried when I lost the school race? You said, ‘You either win or you learn. But you don’t lose unless you quit.’”

He smiled faintly. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

She shrugged. “You still believe that?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then today wasn’t a loss, Lewis.”

A long pause.

Finally, he let his head fall against her shoulder, quiet and heavy. She rested her head against his.

“I know it’s hard,” she whispered. “But you still have me. Always.”

He closed his eyes. “Thank you, Y/n.”

She grinned, holding out her pinky. “Swear you’ll come back and get that title next year?”

He hooked his pinky with hers. “Swear on it.”

And in that tiny quiet corner of a chaotic paddock, Lewis Hamilton remembered what mattered most — not headlines, not politics, not the points.

But love. And a sister who never stopped believing in him.

There we go :)

I hope you enjoy it, I did my best. I have two more requests that I really wan to get to before I go to bed so imma do my best.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!

[nouveau-nymph]

I like to think Ak!Jason would use the phrase "the moon is beautiful, isn't it," and any variation until he is ready to actually say, "I love you." He would come across randomly on the internet one day (cause I think that's how we all found out about it tbh) and then use it as a way (or well.. one of the ways) to express his love for you and get his feelings out without actually saying the words cause he still isn't sure he's mentally ready for that kind of commitment. Plus, it's not a commonly known phrase for a love confession, so there's a pretty high chance you don't know what it actually means, which relieves him from the worry of making you uncomfortable by dropping the L-bomb.

But what if you do know what it means and you decide to play along and pretend to not know it because even though you do love him back, you want him to be the first one to say it cause you don't wanna push anything onto him and make him uncomfortable.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" He would ask.

"Yeah, it really is, especially full moons cause they look kinda like pearls. Oh, or better yet, moonstones!" You answer.

Until one night, you slip up. You forget to reply normally because now, whenever he says it, your brain automatically corrects to him, actually saying, "I love you."

"The moon is so beautiful tonight," he says.

"I love you, too," you mindlessly respond.

"What?"

Shit.

"Fuck. Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It just came out. I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?"

"You know what that phrase means?"

"Yeeeaaah."

"For how long?"

"I've kindaaaa... always known. Okay, well, not always, obviously, but I did learn what it meant like a long while back, so when you said it the first time, I kind of, maybe knew immediately what you meant. I just didn't want to respond with saying, 'I love you, too,' cause I didn't want to push anything onto you cause I know you don't feel like your ready for big stuff like that so I pretended to not know as to not make you uncomfortable."

Jason just stares blankly at you for a short moment. A short moment that's juuusst long enough you to start worrying that maybe you had made things uncomfortable and now he doesn't want to be around you anymore. That is... until he starts laughing a tiny bit, a slight smile grazing his face as he leans his head down.

"Soooo, I'm guessing I..... didn't make you uncomfortable?"

"You didn't. Don't worry, you didn't," he says as he composes himself and lifts his head up.

"I... really don't mind if you answer back with 'I love you, too.' Honestly, I actually kinda like it. It's just... It's gonna take me a while to be able to say the actual words."

"That's okay! I mean, that's also kinda why I've been pretending cause I wanted you to be the first one to say cause you know consent is key and everything. I didn't want to go when there wasn't a green light."

Jason smiles. It's a sweet, soft smile. Like one of relief or contentment.

"Thank you. Thank you for... for being so patient with me."

(I swear I didn't mean for this to turn into basically a fluff one-shot. This was only meant to be just a little like a headcannon thing. I wasn't planning on going on a full tangent. I'm so sorry. I'm also so incredibly sorry if this is written poorly, and if the reader dialogue doesn't fit your personality, I don't write often, and I only know how to write nerdy, awkward characters.)

[texasteaparty]

Soulmate Hangster au

A soulmate universe where 87% of the population has text writing depicting the name of their soulmate, Bradley is born without a mark at all.

Carole and Nick are aghast, but do their best to be supportive. Their own marks match, in loopy cursive along their inner elbow.

But when Bradley is 4, he wakes up to the burning sensation on his back that makes him cry out. His parents are there in an instant, soothing and confused, both watching in surprise as the beginnings of a mark etches into their sons shoulder—

—but not as writing, or even the start of a name, but as a murky, blurred symbol.

As Bradley grows up, he begins to hide his mark. Not because he's ashamed, or that he doesn't like it, but because it's special. He knows his match is out there somewhere, and their bond is destined for greatness. For something beautiful.

Mav says his mark looks like an unfocused image of an f-14, and his dad agrees. His mom says it doesn't matter what it might be, just that he's sure to have one helluva soulmate if their mark is that of a fighter pilots plane. Uncle Ice spends the following month teaching him the ins and outs of a tomcat, and any other plane Bradley wishes to learn about as well.

High school is a mess. Girls and boys alike flock to Bradley because he's so secretive of his mark. Bets and rumors and guesses flood the student body about who it might be, and why Bradley is hiding it.

(A notable rumor is that his mark names that of a teacher, and that he's secretly fucking them after class everyday. How some people got to that, he'll never know, but it's hilarious. )

Although he gets accepted into Annapolis, he still wants to see if anything may tickle his fancy, so he opts into attending Virginia state university. It's okay, pretty boring and definitely not what he wants to do with his life. So back to school he goes.

Flight school is grueling but people there aren't as worried about marks as they are about surviving the onslaught of hell week and training exercises and studying. Bradley gets acquainted with Natasha, a fiery female pilot that threatens to kick his balls the first time they met.

He also meets Jake Seresin. A very arrogant asshole that makes Bradley want to simultaneously tame the brat and simply lie down and let him show off how he desires. It's confusing and arousing and Bradley can't help but want more; more interaction, more arguments, more more more.

But the one thing that holds him back is that Jake mentions his mark—or lack thereof. He tells it simply, that he's markless and proud and doesn't give a rats ass about soulmates and marks and what anyone thinks.

Bradley, who has spent years yearning for his other half, for his mark to make sense, to share a bond like his parents, like his uncles, he struggles with this.

Because on one hand he's drawn to Jake, but he's also weary of trying to go forth.

So he does neither and let's the festering feelings boil in his chest, and only let's it out as sharp remarks and scathing words. He and Jake become the infamous rivals—always picking apart the others' flaws and performance, always at each other's throats.

Years pass by, and Bradley catches glimpses of Jake on base, on carriers, at local bars with Coyote and some civilian hanging off his arm. He doesn't try to approach him, for fear of that bubbling something in his chest boiling over and spilling out for all to see.

They go to Top Gun, then go their own ways again. Bradley keeps up with Jake's career through inconspicuous probing to uncle Ice and uncle Mav, who answer his questions with knowing looks and teasing jibes.

Time passes. Then one evening Bradley was cooking and everything was fine, until he's brought to his knees by the burning burning burning on his back, his mark scathing so bad he's almost in tears clutching at the countertop. He panics and calls Mav and when the older pilot shows up and checks him over, he's surprised when Mav says his mark had changed, expanded. His tiny little tomcat mark now has two fighter jets, one slightly higher and to the left of his original. Mav doesn't know what it means, nor does Ice or his parents when they call them. So Bradley hopes it means something good and tries to move on.

Then they get called back for the uranium mission.

Bradley hasn't seen Jake in years now, he isn't prepared for Jake at the hard deck to be so bright, to be so cocky. To have a soulmark proudly displayed on the side of his throat, so beautiful and out of this world; the matching mark to Bradley's own.

Theyre soulmates.

It makes sense, then, to him. All those years he spent with Jake at the back of his mind, always a second thought during his days. The need to know what Jake was doing, how he was doing. The desire to learn what Jake's lips taste like. What his skin feels like under his fingertips.

He's breathless and surprised and thrown off guard and almost stumbles when Jake's gaze finally lands on him. "Bradshaw, as I live and breathe."

Bradley has to hope his face isn't doing something ridiculous as he replies, "Hangman, you look" amazing perfect mine "...good."

He has to talk to Jake, but alone. Not right now. They have time.

[universefcb]

hey! Can you make one which reader and Pedria are arguing because Pedri is jealous, like they really fight but them they get all fluffy

ROLLERCOASTER, PEDRI GONZALEZ.

→ Summary: You fight because of his jealousy..

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff/angusty. Obsession.

→ Author's note: I love him.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The door to the room slammed shut. It wasn't an accident.

She turned back, startled, meeting Pedri's heavy gaze. He was standing, the key still in his hand, his jaw clenched.

“Are you okay?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Who is he?” he asked directly, without beating around the bush.

"What?"

“The guy who had his hand on your waist at dinner tonight. The same guy who texted you last night.”

She closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. She knew exactly who he was talking about. And she knew where this was going.

“Are you jealous of Rafa?”

“I'm jealous of the guy who is clearly hitting on you and you pretend not to see it.”

“Don't pretend anything. I just don't see the world the way you do.”

“Oh no? Because everyone at that table saw it. Only you were too busy laughing at his jokes.”

“Because I was trying to be polite! I don’t even like him like that! Why do you always have to create drama?”

Pedri paced around the room, restless. He glanced around as if he were looking for something to hold on to, something that would help him not explode.

“I’m not making anything up. I’m just saying it hurts to see you opening up to another guy like I’m not there. Like he can make you laugh more than I can.”

She felt the pain beneath the surface. It wasn't just anger—it was insecurity, pure and raw.

“I never meant to hurt you. But you’re projecting things that aren’t there. I’m not with him. I’m with you.”

“But for how long?” he asked, his voice breaking at the end.

That hurt. It hurt because it felt fragile. Like he didn’t trust that what they had was real enough to withstand a conversation with another man.

“Do you really think I’m going to leave you for someone I barely know? What kind of person do you think I am?”

He sat on the couch, covering his face with his hands. He didn't answer. He just took deep breaths, trying to compose himself. She stood for a moment, unsure whether to leave or sit next to him. In the end, she chose to stay.

“I’m not perfect, Pedri. But I choose you every day. And if that’s not enough, maybe we need to think about what we’re doing here.”

He took his hands from his face and looked at her. His eyes were red, but not from crying—from wounded pride.

“I don’t want to think about it. I’m just… afraid of losing you. I’ve never cared about anyone like this before.”

She sat down slowly, without touching him yet.

“Being afraid is normal. But you can’t let fear turn you into a person who distrusts everything. Otherwise, you’ll end up pushing away the very people you want to be around.”

He looked at her more calmly. The anger seemed to have turned to regret.

“I was an asshole.”

"He was."

“And you’re still here.”

She gave a half smile.

“Because I’m stubborn. And because I love you, even when you act like a possessive jerk.”

Pedri approached, hesitantly, and rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were softer now, his features relaxed.

“I promise to try to be less of an idiot.”

“I promise nothing,” she replied, with a teasing smile.

They laughed together, finally. And he pulled her into a tight hug, as if silently apologizing. They stayed like that for long minutes, breathing in the same rhythm, feeling the warmth of a new beginning.

In that room full of tension now dissolved, Pedri understood that loving also meant learning to trust. And she understood that sometimes the other person's fear just needed a little more patience.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[flowercrowngods]

anyway it’s marvey mother’s day but neither of them has a mother to celebrate. mike’s having one of those days where you remember that grief and healing isn’t linear, and he just misses grammy. harvey has a bad day because marcus posted a picture of himself and lily, thanking her for the amazing job she’s always done as his mother. it opens old wounds harvey realises a little too late have been opened. he, too, learns that grief comes in different forms and can resurface at any time.

mike calls him, didn’t think too hard about it apparently, because he sounds a little dazed and overwhelmed when harvey answers. he’s crying, too — has been on the verge of it all day, the tears gathering in his eyes but not falling, like they have been all week. grief is fun like that. he just wants to talk to someone.

harvey asks him then, “should i come over? do you want company?”

and mike says he wants to visit her. he wants to go to the graveyard. “but i don’t wanna go alone. i dont— i don’t wanna be alone. i’m so done being alone. i never used to be, when she was still there. and now it feels like all i ever am is alone. i don’t wanna go see her like that.”

mike is crying now and it breaks harvey’s heart. the way his voice breaks. cracks. leaving him open and vulnerable, trusting harvey not to reach inside and take without care. trusting harvey not to leave him like this.

something’s changed in their dynamic. after prison, after rachel. they call each other now. they tell each other that they don’t want to be alone. they talk now. after hours, when the lights are out and the records are spinning. when the whisky is burning and smoothing out their edges.

harvey doesn’t hesitate to go with him. promises to be there in a bit. stays on the phone until mike says it’s okay, that he’ll see him in ten minutes. stays even a bit after that, when mike hangs up with another lame apology that harvey waves off. because he likes this. he likes that they talk now. that mike called him about this. that he can be on his way now and try to make it better. that mike trusts him with this. everything.

he likes it. and when the time comes, he’ll get over it. it will have been worth it though.

harvey takes him to the graveyard and walks him to the grave. his hand is burning where it rested against the small of mike’s back for only a little bit. his hand is burning where it’s drawn toward mike’s, feeling the pull as if they were suddenly magnetic. as if they had so fundamentally changed like the air between them — sizzling with tension and promise, but in a way so gentle and trusting. like the burning doesn’t come from the touch but from its absence.

mike sits down on the little bench by the grave and harvey gives him space. walks around the graveyard and watches other people laying down flowers and spending time with their loved ones. mothers and daughters, grandmothers and sisters, aunts and cousins. friends. everyone can take on the role of a mother, he figures. the absence of one burns even well into his forties, and he doesn’t suppose it will ever end if he thinks about it too hard. so he tries not to and continues on his path around the graveyard, focusing rather on the living things around him. birds and butterflies and blooming trees, green and white and yellow and pink.

and in the middle of it all, mike ross, talking to his grandma. harvey approaches him again because that’s where the path leads and he wonders if he should continue, but mike turns his head. spots him. holds out his hand in a gesture for harvey to come over. leaves his hand there. inciting. expectant. harvey hesitates before taking it.

mike uses it to pull himself up into a standing position and then they’re very close. harvey can smell him; could breathe him in if he dared. mike doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move back and neither does harvey. their hands are still holding on. and then the corner of mike’s mouth lifts. he smiles in that secret way that makes his eyes flash and his whole demeanour change. it’s like a magic trick. harvey’s been obsessed with it from the start.

they don’t kiss. it’s not the time or the place. but mike moves in and lays his head on harvey’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around his middle, beneath harvey’s jacket. harvey holds him because it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“i’ve got you,” harvey says. and as he does, he realises what it means. it means that he likes it. he likes all of it.

“i know,” says mike, and it might as well be a kiss, the way his lips move against harvey’s neck. he way he inhales before sagging into him. “likewise.”

and it’s harvey’s turn to move now. to rest his head against mike’s, lips against his temple. eyes closed. to breathe him in. to smile.

“i know.”

they head over to harvey’s then and mike talks about grammy. harvey talks about his own grandma, who passed way too soon. they talk about their mothers, they talk about grief and about how it all would be so much easier if it were linear. if grief were predictable and following avoidable patterns.

mike’s thumb draws little figures on harvey’s wrist and the back of his hand. harvey occasionally finds strands of hair that don’t want to fit in with the rest and combs them into place — a ruse, really, to leave his hand in mike’s wonderfully, surprisingly soft hair and scratch along his scalp. it makes mike melt into him.

it really is the easiest thing in the world to make sure that mike ross never has to be alone again.

“as long as you’ll have me, that is.”

and that’s when they kiss.

[iknownur48]

How to connect with yourself?? (PAC)**

Disclaimer

It is a general reading so take whats resonate and leave what doesn't

My readings is not a substitute for any professional, medical or financial advice

Tarot readings are just a tool for guiding us whaat energies are available, it's upon us to follow them or not:))

How to pick a card??

Just take a deep breath, close your eyes, and ask your spirit guides to connect you with the pile where your messages are, and pick with whom you feel most attracted to:)

Let's get into it!!

Pile 1🫶🏻

Okay, so as per for my pile 1's I feel that you maybe are a very giving soul, it's like your love language is giving gifts, maybe as a child you gift your mom your drawings or greeting cards by making them yourself?? And it was your abundance! Your creativity is your abundance, and in order to connect with yourself, you have to tap into this creative side of yours, and this nature of gift giving, like again start giving some of your drawings or poetries to people close to you?? Yes I'm serious. It will help you to connect with yourself more, bcz that's your heart space:) I feel you're carrying people's unnecessary burden, for me 5 of wands card tells me "unnecessary drama" which just fills space without getting any use except telling us that this is all fake, I hope you get my point. And exactly you're carrying that yourself, you might be right, but sometimes just being still and calm tells it all. You doesn't have to prove it to them, and I wrote to yourself? Maybe you're carrying so much high expectations for yours?? And maybe for others as well?? These are the problem makers in the path of you connecting with your soul. Also, here's this thing of trying to finding answers of those questions, which just don't make sense. For eg. There's this question my mom used to ask me (just for fun to confuse me) that do chicken came first or the egg, I'm damn sure you'll heard about it as well, and it's just idk, I must look at my life first, and after then if I get time I'll try to look for that, but why I have to look for that? Like seriously?? 😂😂 That's just don't make sense, so the advice here is that, don't put your mind onto unnecessary question marks, it was just an example.. instead try to detangle your life first. And that's where you'll gonna come to yourself again. I'm hearing a song, I'll put it right there, maybe it's significant:))

Pile 2!!🫶🏻

Okay, my pile no 2's. I'm hearing, master something. Just focus on one thing at a time in order to connect with yourself, multitasking not gonna work. You've to either choose wands or cups? There's no other thing? Like you can maybe master cups, after mastering wands, or maybe master cups first then will master cups, but the thing is to slow down. Everythings gonna be fine and alright? Okay pile no.2? You don't need to hurry to everything, you'll gonna become the emperor/empress. And they both are the mix of all the suits you find in a tarot deck, and it's great that you want to expand that much, but one step at a time. Also, I'm hearing to either learn a manifestation trick, or manifest whatever you've right now in your mind. (Ofc it should be a good wish, under Jupiter's influence) But there are high chances you can, just was a random message ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Choose empowerment over struggle, choose simplicity over options, and choose passion to master to something. You've to start from somewhere. You can't be king or queen just right away, you will gonna start as page and there you'll gonna have your journey right? I'm continuously getting in my head, jack of all trades, master of none. You have to put your mind onto something either stable or just in one thing for a long time:))

Pile 3!!🫶🏻

Hello my pile no 3's! As per how to connect with yourself, idk here's this energy of "forgetting" I'm sensing this energy as more if like as you forgot your own magic? The magic which resides inside you? You forgot it pile no.3? Why? Idk if you ever experienced your magic in this life if you did, I feel you're so much focused in the 3D aspect of your reality that you're not giving enough time to either yourself or to your 5D self. It feels as if your 5D self is hungry.. like we need daily meal for our body, our 5D self needs meditation and hermit, or magician energy to feel fulfilled, it is it's need? And you're not fulfilling that. You're not balancing your practicality and sprituality, even tho, I don't have that deck, but I can sense that card, which says, "balance practicality and sprituality and it's either full moon in Pisces or new moon in Pisces" idk? If you're manifesting something, and you're doubting upon that manifestation if it's coming or not, it's a big sign to balance your sprituality. Not to be too in your head, it's the advice for you. I guess you guys overthink a lot, and it's very airy energy here, and you just have to do one thing. Just one thing my dear pile no. 3's to just balance yourself out, and you'll connect with yourself naturally:))

I'm not getting any song for this pile:))

Pile 4!!🫶🏻

So my pile no. 4! Welcome to your reading!!🫶🏻💟 Idk when I was shuffling your cards, I immediately got the feeling that you need healing, you seriously need some type of healing, whether physical, mental emotional and for some I even heard spritual and sexual. I heard that you should just go watch a Disney movie. Yes fr.. like one day, I was seeing sophia the first, and I understand it's a kid show, but still it has so much deep things in it, I cried. (Pls keep aside that I'm an INFP) But I can understand and it heals your inner child, you inner wounds, so why not?? Just be yourself?😂 (Idk why I'm saying like this), I'm also feeling that you should take a look at your maybe childhood diaries? Toys? Photos? Whatever it is, it's gonna help you so much, you need that nostalgic energy ig, Idk I'm just feeling for you that you need so much healing. Just take care of yourself, try to read or learn something, which will help you to come out of your shell, you can also try like water technique, where you make moon water, or just say good words to your water before drinking it, and stuff like that. And a huge thing, I forgot to tell you, you have to move on. Idk just move ahead now, it's your time!! Whatever toxicity, past cycles, it's ended and now it's your time to move on from them. I'm just feeling so nostalgic in your pile ? Idk���🫶🏻 god bless you my pile 4! I'll make my next Reading for how can you heal yourself!🫶🏻 And I'll also pray for you, that you'll find some healing information for yourself as well, and pls try to find it too:))

Thank you so much for being here!! I'm so grateful to have you all!!🫶🏻🫶🏻

[landoscarinthefastlane]

Every Missed Call - Landoscar

Summary: After Oscar’s sudden move to Red Bull, Lando is left with a string of missed calls and unsent messages. In the quiet of his motorhome, late nights become a ritual of replayed voicemails and things left unsaid. But when the season winds down and everything slows, a final voicemail changes everything.

Note ⚠️: Contains late-night longing, emotional voicemails, unresolved tension across team lines, and two stubborn hearts learning how to say “I miss you” and "I love you" without breaking.

PART I — Voicemail #1

March – Bahrain GP

“Hey. It’s me. You probably guessed that. Anyway…”

Lando pauses. What the fuck was he supposed to say? One minute, he and Oscar were one. And the next? They feel more like strangers.

“I saw the press photos. You're actually wearing navy blue. Still weird. But you looked… sharp. I guess.”

A beat. A sigh.

“I know we said we'd talk after testing, and I know you’re busy, but… I dunno. It just felt wrong not to say anything. So, good luck tomorrow. You'll nail it in that tractor that Red Bull calls a car. I'm sure of it.”

BEEP

Lando stared at the phone screen long after he had finished the voicemail message. Oscar doesn’t call back.

What had he expected?

PART II — Voicemail #4

May – Miami GP

"Hey, it's me."

A few seconds of silence.

“You waved at me on the grid. That was new.”

Lando sounds out of breath, like he’s pacing. He's very aware, thank you.

“I didn’t wave back, I know. It’s just—there were cameras, and Zak was hovering, and I panicked. Not because of you. Just… everything.”

A pause. A hollow laugh.

He hated this.

“Carlos noticed. Said I looked like I saw a ghost. He doesn’t know it’s because seeing you in Max’s garage still feels like a betrayal. Even when it’s not.”

Another pause. Softer now.

“I hope you’re okay. I hope�� you’re sleeping enough.”

Another beat of silence.

"I-" He swallowed the words back. "Never mind. Good luck tomorrow."

BEEP

PART III — Voicemail #7

June – Canada GP

“It rained today.”

Lando doesn’t say hello anymore. Doesn’t say “it’s me.” Just picks up the thread like Oscar’s been listening this whole time.

“You always hated the rain. Said it made your hair frizz and your gloves stick. I forgot until I saw Max throw a towel at you in the cooldown room. You laughed.”

A sharp exhale.

“I miss your laugh. And it sucks that it's not me, who makes you laugh like that.”

Lando was sure he was going to die from heartbreak at this point.

BEEP

PART IV — Voicemail #11

August – Summer Break

“They’re sending me to the sim next week. The MTC feels empty without you there. I saw your name still taped on the locker next to mine. PR forgot to remove it.”

A long silence. Then—

"I hate them for it."

A deep breath.

“I didn’t remove it either.”

BEEP

PART V — The one that wasn’t sent

September – Monza GP

The message begins. Stops. Starts again. Then silence. Then:

“I can’t do this anymore.”

But Lando never hits send.

PART VI — The Call That Changed Everything

November – Abu Dhabi GP

The last race of the season.

Lando finishes P4. Oscar is on the podium, champagne soaking his navy suit. And Lando doesn't even care about missing the top three.

Because after the podium interviews, after the media pen, after everything that needs to be done, there is a voicemail waiting on his phone.

Lando had not thought the day would come after all his unanswered attempts.

It’s from Oscar.

“Lando,”

Oscar's voice is quiet, tired, but warm.

“I listened to all of them. I saved every one of them. I just… I didn’t know how to answer. I thought if I did, I’d want to come back. And I couldn’t. Not yet. I did not want to hurt you even more than I probably already did.”

A pause. Shaky breath.

“But I miss you, too. And I’m still wearing the bracelet you gave me in Singapore. I think that means something.”

Lando's heart flutters as he takes the words in.

“If you want to talk, I’m at the McLaren hospitality. I’ve got twenty missed calls to answer. Maybe more.”

BEEP

Lando bolts from the motorhome so fast he forgets his pass. Again.

Security lets him through anyway.

Oscar is waiting by the McLaren hospitality doors, back leaning against the wall, arms folded. His Red Bull jacket is tied around his waist. He looks exhausted, yet hopeful.

They don’t speak at first. Lando just walks up and punches him lightly in the shoulder.

“You couldn’t have texted?”

Oscar shrugs. “Thought I’d start returning calls in person.”

Lando doesn’t cry. Not really. His voice wobbles, sure. And when Oscar wraps his arms around him and mutters a soft “I missed you more than I let myself admit,” maybe he leans in too hard.

But he doesn’t cry. At least that's what he keeps telling himself.

PART VIII — New Voicemail

December – Off Season

“Hey. Just wanted to say that I got pasta for dinner tonight. Can't wait to have you home with me again. Hurry up.”

A pause.

"I love you. Come home safe, you muppet."

BEEP

[technicolor-algae]

hi, at this point after reading chapter 86, i have what feels like a solid qifrey theory. this has all probably been said elsewhere, but i need to write it all out anyways.

contains spoilers through ch. 86

1.) silverwood seeds look like eyeballs.

2.) a creature eats it.

3.) the silverwood tree overtakes the creature.

the brimmed caps are seeking to reverse this.

1.) qifrey's eyeball is taken.

2.) it is put into a silverwood tree.

3.) silverwood tree is overtaken by the human body that was originally used as the tree's host.

must there be a catalyst for this transformation to take place, analogous to true hope/happiness/safety being the stimulus for the silverwood seed to germinate?

if so, what is that catalyst?

is it also hope, comfort, peace?

i believe that qifrey's left, intact eye, has somehow been magically linked to his missing right eye, conferring his experiences to that missing eyeball where it has been placed in a tree, wherever that is. and i wonder if the brimmed caps intentionally left him for the party of pointed caps to find and nurse back to health. then, qifrey would go on living his life, eventually reaching a point of true peace. when this happens, qifrey becomes the host and is overtaken by a silverwood tree, meanwhile the tree containing his missing eyeball is restored back to the form of its original human host. the brimmed caps are seeking knowledge of the lost magic they wish to reimplement, and their goal is to restore an ancient witch who had this knowledge and became a silverwood tree.

(i think there's something about the forest of thristas being a graveyard of sorts where, long ago, witches went to sacrifice themselves, knowingly becoming silverwood trees. that's a tangential rambling, though, and i feel there are some holes in that idea for which i haven't taken the time to seek answers)

we know that qifrey's left, intact eye began showing signs of trouble a few years ago. this seems perhaps in line with a time when his life was beginning to feel complete - he was feeling at home at the atelier, nestled in a beautiful and calm landscape; he was thriving on teaching and seeing his apprentices learn and grow, and probably pleased seeing himself grow as a teacher, the toils of which he seemingly loves above all else; he had his closest, dearest person right at his side everyday. he had a home and a family, two core, basic things that comprise human contentment; two things he'd never had before. and so inklings of the transformation began to emerge, manifesting as pain and degradation of his left eye.

qifrey has said that he ultimately must find and destroy his missing right eye. i wonder if, in doing so, the connection would be severed thus saving qifrey from actually being able to be happy without "treeing out".

qifrey has stated that he believes olruggio would help him on his quest to retrieve and destroy his eye, thwarting the brimmed caps' "plan" and saving himself. this is why olruggio cannot know anything about qifrey's "secret", because if olruggio were to aid qifrey, this would only add to qifrey's sense of family, of support, of contentment. he must press onward, keeping the transformation at bay by holding all of the crappy feelings that have arisen from not only having to go this alone, but lying to his dearest person and violating his trust.

phew, okay. let me know if you have anything you want to add, or any alternative ideas :)

[itchose]

he looks away again,   because he doesn’t have a real answer.   he’d rather not talk about his father at all,    because it’s always been a sore subject,   and it’s even worse now,   months after his passing without ever properly dealing with it.    but how can one deal with a situation like his,   when the father he hated reached out to him just before he fell to his death,  right in front of his baby brother — who died shortly after?     ❝  i don’t know,  ❞    he mumbles, shrugging his shoulders.    ❝  him,  probably.   my abuela lived with us for a long time.  ❞   he wishes she was still there,   because at least his mother would have someone to take care of her in his absence.   ❝  she never seemed to take his shit.   maybe he was worse than me.  ❞    he brings his hand up,  pushing at his hair just to fidget,   because he doesn’t like the question—    and yet,   he’s not entirely afraid to answer it,    not with how she asks.    ❝  i hated the way he treated me,  ❞    he says quietly.   ❝  what he…   expected from me.  ❞     he pauses,  adjusting slightly,  nervous.    ❝  sometimes i could feel myself doing the same shit to…  my brother.   and i just hated myself for it,  ❞    he admits.     he wasted so much time, being something else,  rather than just being there for him.    he starts to smile again,  though he still can’t believe someone actually wants to be his friend.   it feels nice, though—   and he’s learning to feel comfortable with her.    ❝  one’s enough for me.  ❞       

he rolls his eyes,   but it’s more teasing than anything,   and definitely bashful,   because he’s not used to the kind of banter that isn’t actually meant to be mean.   that’s one thing he definitely doesn’t miss about high school—   even if this place,   on an island by himself,  is not better.     ❝  okay,  ❞    he says quietly,   which is his way of agreeing,   of showing gratitude.   ❝  fun?   you have low standards,  ❞    he says with the smallest chuckle,  but he appreciates it anyway.    he looks away again,   because if being out here has taught him anything about himself—  it’s that he’s never really known who he was beyond what his father expected from him or what his classmates assumed about him.    ❝  i’m…    trying not to,  ❞     he says quietly.   he lives because javi can’t,    and as hard as that is,   he’s not going to let himself give up.

she looks back at him, allowing the silence to stretch between them. she doesn't need to press, but it is probably clear on her features that she knows there's more he isn't saying. she smirks a little at his words, letting out an exaggerated sigh "yet. living on the edge of expulsion, just like home." it's a dangerous word around here, but it feels fitting.

she looks him over, unsure how to respond. a part of her, a large part, wants to probe deeper, but he's already made it clear he'd rather joke about this. so, she twists her body so that it is facing him, putting her hands on her knees as if she is about to ask the most serious question in the world. "okay, i'll bite." she drags it out for dramatic effect, knowing she could be walking a dangerous line and get him to shut down, but she hopes the next words are enough to make him laugh again. "who got you beat?" she holds his next words for a minute, trying to figure out how to proceed, or if she even should. she ends up deciding there aren't words for that, so she gives his arm a small squeeze, smiling softly at him to say she gets it. she takes a chance when he admits to hoping he doesn't remind her of his dad, curious to know more, wanting to do something for him, wanting to know him. "why?" she asks just as softly. she smiles back, genuine before leaning back to put on a show. "well, lucky you cause that's all you need. you already got the best." she doesn't know if she really believes that, but she likes to think she at least makes a good friend. she might not have had anything deep before the plane crash, but she looks out for people as best she can.

she nods. even if she doesn't personally understand what he is going through, she can understand wishing for that, holding onto the idea that there is something back at home. "bold suggestion, since we just became friends and all." she keeps her tone light, but when she looks back at him, she drops the joking facade for more sincerity. "if you don't want to face it alone, i got your back." she means it. she doesn't think she'd be ready to face her own mom, and she isn't carrying back the loss of her family, just the kid who wasn't enough. she doesn't know what to do with his sincerity, a part of her wanting to brush it off or make light of it, and another part wanting to believe in it. like the rest of their conversation, she goes with a mix of both. "damn, and to think you didn't even want me to stick around at first." she takes a chance, unsure if it applies but thinking it must. "i'm glad you are, too." she hesitates for a moment before deciding he might need to hear it. "turns out, you're kinda fun to talk to." she takes a long time to look back at him because she knows she'll see javi when she does, but she has to face it. "you can lose yourself." and that might be worse.

[essenceofnorwich]

A Pretty, Ugly Thing

I feel like I have to glamorize it. Make this heavy, aching grief beautiful. Happy. My father told me it is good that we can laugh even with tears. I understand that he most likely meant that it is good we can have joy despite the circumstances. But years upon years of having to cover up my tears, of having to put on a smile with my jaw clenching tight to hold in the way my lip wobbles. Having my sadness picked apart and rationalized away. My heart heard him say it is better to be happy. Do not hold your grief for longer than a second.

My grief has always sliced me open, flayed my bleeding palms. Numbness. Quiet. Still. Don’t hold your grief. Instead of laying my grief to rest in the right places I’ve had to swallow it whole.

I’ve felt I have to make up for my imperfections. Make up for my works being written by me. Make my words irreproachable. My work spotless.

I feel I cannot share my grief because it is too raw, too ugly a thing. So my words— pent up— written on parchment in a pile to burn— echo in the chasm of my mind. On repeat for only my eyes and ears. My throat is raw and I remain silent as the tears roll down the sides of my face and into my pillowcase while I stare up at my ceiling and wish for more time. For understanding.

He’s the first person I’ve lost since I stopped believing in a heaven and a hell. The first person I realized I would have no more time with. There are no more chances to talk. No more opportunities to get ice cream. No more days to sit on the porch and drink coffee and lick jam covered fingers. No way to tell him that I don’t believe in his god anymore. Just my memories.

Not believing in heaven is far more devastating than I had ever considered. Because now it faces me directly. A skull staring down at me from the skies. The grim reaper that comes for us all. I’ve spent most of my life considering death. A lot more time thinking about dying than any child should. But I somehow forget every time just how sharply it stings.

[tohruies]

i would like to kiss karasu lots... and cuddle him lots... and make love with him lots… and tell him i love him lots and lots and lots…… 🥺💞💝💗💘💞💘

[easeupkid]

new person at work trying to peer pressure me into doing a charity 5k after i already told her no i don’t want to and it is starting to annoy me so bad!!!!!

[baffledapple]

once again i am being subjected to "educational courses on generative AI" (lengthy advertisements that the higher ups want us to watch so they can say that we are trained in AI)