#and instead should just wait for the one true savior

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen: Free

Plot: The morning after Y/n and Jamie’s heartbreaking talk, an unexpected savior shows up on Y/n’s door, leaving her at a crossroads.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: f!reader, language, mention of child neglect/abuse, mention of sex

A/N: THIS IS IT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS IS THE CHAPTER. I’m so excited for you guys to read this one and have all your questions answered. I hope the payoff is as sweet as you’ve been expecting. Y’all have been so enthusiastic over the last few chapters, it really makes me smile. Enjoy!! ❤️💙💛

———————

Heartache could spread through the body just as easily as illness. Y/n’s head was fogged, her limbs hurt and she felt nauseous the second she opened her eyes.

Somehow she managed to call room service and order breakfast, plain toast and coffee, before falling back into bed. The clock read 10AM, she hasn’t slept that long in years. Then again, there wasn’t much sleep had.

The weight of Jamie’s confession weighed in her chest just as heavily as the moment he’d made it. She’d been up till some unholy hour, replaying the whole thing. His words, the quiver in his voice, his lips against her face…it reduced Y/n fits of tears, breaking her over and over.

There was no question as to whether she should skip the match or not. Not only did she have no desire to be around people, but she didn’t want to mess with Jamie’s head any more than she already had. She was worried enough she’d already cost him the game.

A rhythmic knock at her door signaled room service arriving. Y/n trudged across the room and opened the door, expecting to meet the waiter.

Instead, she got Ted, comically lifting the lid off the platter.

“Mornin’ sunshine!”

Y/n sighed, smiling as much as she could, which wasn’t very much.

Ted, however, found himself hilarious. “Room service fella was about to knock right as I was walkin’ by. Thought I’d have some fun with it.”

“Of course,” Y/n gestured to the room, “Come on in.”

Ted set the tray down on the table before turning back to Y/n, who was already moving to the other side of the room. There was a stiffness to her posture, as if she’d allowed a home invader in. Ted was well familiarized with her character, but he hadn’t seen her so reserved since she first started at Richmond.

“So what’s up?” Y/n asked, her tone devoid of any life.

“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you,” Ted shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets, “Haven’t seen ya in a while.”

“Yeah, things have been busy.”

“I bet,” Ted smiled, “You and Keeley must be kickin’ butt over there. The Dynamic Duo, but with gobs more style.”

Y/n chucked politely, playing with her hands out of nervousness.

Ted waited, watching as Y/n tried to dodge his line of vision. He didn’t expect an explanation to fly out of her mouth, but she was clearly on edge. His chances of waiting her out were decent.

“Well, we’re all glad you’re back,” Ted added, “Owner’s box has been lonely without you, I’ll bet.”

Y/n shut her eyes, it made the lying easier. “Yeah, Ted, I don’t think I can make this one.”

His face didn’t fall an inch, “Oh no. Something wrong?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t get much sleep,” she continued, that part was true. She thought she remembered the clock reading 5AM around the time exhaustion took over.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Ted played along, “I know the boys miss havin’ you around.”

Y/n slipped around the topic, walking to the window. “They excited for today?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, “Revved up and ready to go.”

“That’s good,” she kicked her foot against the wall and diverted her gaze to the curtains. “How’s, uh…how’s Jamie?”

Ted studied Y/n, taking in her fidgeting hands and the exaggerated effort to her words. As hard as she tried, Y/n wasn’t that good an actress.

“He’s alright,” Ted answered, “Bit off, y’know. Little bit like you.”

With every word exchanged, Y/n could feel Ted unraveling the whole thing. He could see right through her.

“That’s too bad,” she said, her voice wobbling. The tears that she’d fallen asleep with were reawakening.

“Yeah, it is,” Ted agreed, “I sure hope he figures out whatever’s botherin’ him before the game.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/n hummed, feeling like she couldn’t breathe, “He’s got a lot of people counting on him.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t as big a deal,” Ted took a seat on the edge of Y/n’s bed. “I’m more concerned with him, y’know. Why he’s hurtin’.”

Ted noticed Y/n’s shoulders begin to tremble.

“Why he’s keepin’ whatever it is to himself rather than leanin’ on somebody.”

Y/n wiped her hands over her face, her cheeks wet with guilt. She had finally reached it, her dreaded breaking point.

She turned to Ted, who looked at her as only a father could. He knew.

“You wanna tell me anything goin’ on?”

Crossing the room and sinking down on the mattress next to Ted, Y/n softly sobbed.

“Is it Jamie?” Ted asked.

Y/n bit her lip.

“Is it us?”

She sniffled.

“Whole enchilada?”

Y/n’s trembled as she inhaled, “I’m scared, Ted.”

“Of what?”

“This,” she gestured around them, “Richmond. This whole thing.”

Ted waited for her to explain further.

“I grew up having to fight for every shred of attention,” Y/n continued, “Doing everything I could to get my parents to…care. And no matter what I did, they never loved me. Not like parents are supposed to love their kids. And when I realized that, I just…shut everyone out. In high school, in college…and it worked. I was safe. I didn’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

“And then I…” Y/n paused, the happy memory washing over her, “I met these two women in a bar and they offered me a job. And suddenly, I’m a part of this sport that I never cared about and there’s this…family I never asked for. And it should have made me happy,” she grasped her stomach, “But it scared me, Ted. It fucking terrified me because you were all so kind and welcoming and you just took me in.”

She stopped to take a breath, “And then Jamie just…” Y/n sniffled, “He just…happened. And that was the scariest part because…”

She couldn’t say the words. Just like 12 hours before, she still couldn’t physically force them out of her body. But somehow, even without speaking, the sentiment got across.

“Hey,” Ted slid an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. His dad mode had been activated.

For the first time in a long time, Y/n allowed herself to be held as she weeped.

“It’s okay,” Ted soothed, rubbing a hand over her arm, “You’re okay.”

After hours of crying underneath her sheets, Y/n thought she had nothing left to give. But the comfort of another person’s presence created a whole new wave. She was letting down from years of self-determination to conquer her pain on her own.

“Y’know,” Ted said after a moment, “Openin’ yourself up’s one of the scariest things in the world. Anyone who says otherwise’s never really done much hurting. But it’s worth it.”

“How do you know that?” Y/n whimpered.

“You don’t,” Ted stated, “No way to know what’ll happen before it happens. But if you don’t take the risk of gettin’ hurt, you’ll never end up with anything worth having. Just how life works.”

“But y’know,” he sighed, “Where we work…it’s kinda the exception. The people there’re some of the best I’ve ever known. They don’t let you down.”

Y/n’s tears were slowing in speed, but not intensity.

“Know how our right reverend Mr. Rojas likes to say that football is life?” Ted earned a slight smile from Y/n, “Same goes for AFC Richmond. These people’re gonna stick by you through thick and thin. Once you’re a part of the family, you’re there. Doesn’t matter if you wanna be. It’s up to you whether you let ‘em in..but they’re gonna love you whether you like it or not. It’s a heck of a lot easier to just let ‘em.”

Throughout the years, Y/n had lacked many relationships, but that of a parent was the one she’d longed for the most. She needed someone to help guide her, to lovingly correct her when she was making the biggest mistakes of her life. In the moment she needed it most, Ted fit the role perfectly.

Without any prompting, Y/n slipped her arms around Ted’s neck and hugged him.

Ted returned and received it, he’d been going through it too. As true as ever, helping someone out of their pit stitched a little piece of him back together as well. He wanted Y/n to succeed in everything she did and he believed without a doubt that she could. But he wanted her to be happy, truly happy, more than anything.

“Thank you,” she whispered over his shoulder.

“No thanks needed,” he smiled, “I got your back.”

Y/n let go of him slowly and hesitantly. It was 10:30, the match was less than two hours away. “You need to go.”

“I do,” Ted replied, patting her shoulder before standing up, “You think you’re gonna stop by for a bit now? Cheer us on?”

Grimacing slightly, Y/n ducked her head towards the floor.

“C’mon now,” Ted clicked his tongue, “I thought we just made progress.”

Y/n chuckled and wiped under her eyes.

“Well, I hope you change your mind.”

Ted left Y/n with plenty to mediate on and strolled back into the hall, shutting the door behind him. He could lead her to victory, but he couldn’t hand her the win.

Y/n stayed on the bed’s edge a long while after Ted left, contemplating all he’d said. She was at what was potentially the most important crossroads of her life. Heeding Ted’s advice held the possibility of more heartache, more loss, more feelings of inadequacy. But didn’t her isolation already offer that in spades? Wasn’t she hurting enough on her own? Tearing herself down at every opportunity? How could anything possibly be worse than that?

But she had felt worse, twelve hours ago. Breaking Jamie’s heart after he’d poured his out to her had crushed her. She’d hurt him so deeply in the name of self preservation. Walking away from him was the most difficult thing she’d ever done. The worst part was that it was totally avoidable. If she’d have told him that she loved him too, they’d have been saved so much pain. Jamie wouldn’t have had to endure her rejection, Y/n wouldn’t have lost the most important person in her life. The blame was entirely hers.

It wasn’t just Jamie. Y/n was so tired of keeping Keeley at arm’s length. She craved her weekly tea with Rebecca. She missed problem solving with Higgins. She wanted to laugh with Ted and talk life with Beard and annoy Roy. She wanted to go to movies with Sam and drink with Dani and have lunches with Colin. She wanted to cheer the boys on at games and celebrate with them after.

She wanted to win and lose with all of them.

She wanted to be a part of their family.

But to do so, she had to heal her first one.

Before she knew what she was doing, Y/n grabbed her phone off her nightstand. She scrolled through her contacts, even though she had memorized the number in hopes that would somehow equal a call. She pressed the name and dialed.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Y/n hadn’t expected them to pick up. It was 4-something AM where they were.

The familiar message played, asking her to leave her name and number.

Finally, the machine beeped.

“Hi…it’s me…” she started, suddenly nervous, “It’s Y/n. I know it’s early there, I don’t even know if you are there but…I needed to do this.”

Y/n drew a quick breath, it was now or never. “You guys really fucked me up. Me and Caylee. I mean, we’re really screwed up because of you. Maybe she’s doing better than me, maybe I’m the only one who’s still not over all of it but…you really messed up. And maybe you know that, maybe you don’t, but it’s the truth. I am…” she paused, “So broken because you two couldn’t love me. No— you know what,” her voice gained strength, “You could have loved me. You didn’t. For whatever reason, you didn’t. I did everything I possibly could to earn your love, and I never got it. And that’s fucked up.”

Her anger hastened her heartbeat, urging Y/n to go on. “And I don’t know how to forgive you for that. I know it’s possible, worse people have done worse things and they’ve somehow found a way to still be a family, but…I want to. If not for you guys, for me,” her chest’s rise and falls had evened out, “Because I’m tired of being broken. I’m tired of pushing everybody away. I’m tired of thinking that there’s something unlovable about me. I’m tired of thinking that being alone is somehow better than having people that care about you, and I’m tired of being scared,” Y/n threw her free arm out at her side and laughed, “I’m so tired of being scared.”

“None of this probably makes any sense to you, but, ” she sighed, “Mom, Dad, I don’t want to keep doing this. Only talking on my birthday, seeing you every couple years, not knowing what’s going on in your lives…I don’t want that. I want to know you. I want to come home for Christmas. I want to share my life with you. And if you can’t do that then…I don’t want anything.”

Her own words shocked her, was she really potentially kicking her parents out of her life?

“Because I’ve built a really amazing life here,” she said, her voice faltered with emotion, “With amazing people and they love me. They really love me and I’m crazy about them. And I want you guys to be a part of it,” she exhaled and felt the tears rock forward in her eyes, “And if you don’t want that, that’s okay. I’ll be alright because I have them.”

Y/n sighed, feeling the weight of a lifetime lift off her chest.

“I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad,” she continued, “And I hope you love me, for once, more than you do anything else.”

Y/n lowered the phone, staring at the call time. 2 minutes and 10 seconds was all it had taken. “Bye.”

The moment she disconnected, the room suddenly came to life. There was color to the walls and texture to the curtains. There was light shining in through the window and the smell of the coffee on its tray filled the room.

Y/n was free.

Lightened by the release of her life’s pain, the decision at hand became so clear. Y/n flipped on the hotel television, switching the channel to Sky Sports. The match was already into its second half and the Greyhounds were up by one goal.

She did the math in her head. The stadium was ten minutes away. She could still make it.

Flying across the room, Y/n dug through her suitcase for any clothes that weren’t pajamas. She emptied the contents onto her bed only to spot a familiar piece of fabric tucked in one of the compartments.

Y/n unfolded it.

Jamie’s jersey. Still packed from Wembley.

She laughed under her breath, the coincidence of it all was too perfect.

Y/n slipped on the oversized shirt, same as the last time. She threw on jeans and sneakers, grabbing her phone and coat before racing out her hotel room.

The elevator would take too long, she decided, so she sped down the stairs from the sixth floor all the way to the lobby. Jamie hadn’t been the only one to benefit from Roy’s training sessions.

Y/n bolted out the front doors of the hotel and ran to the sidewalk, waving her hands wildly to the cabs that drove by. Eventually, one stopped for her.

“Where to, love?”

“Ethiad Stadium,” Y/n answered as she hopped in the backseat, “Quick as you can.”

The cabbie got back in his lane and took her the way of the stadium. Y/n buzzed in the backseat, adrenaline pulsing through her veins at what she was doing.

“Could you put the match on?” She asked, most of them were typically broadcasted on the radio.

The driver flipped the station till he found the correct one. Y/n listened intently from the backseat, hanging on every word.

Halfway to the stadium, the cab hit typical game day traffic. After waiting impatiently a few minutes, the commentators announced there were twenty minutes left on the clock. If nothing changed in the next thirty seconds, Y/n would miss it entirely.

“You know what,” she reached into her coat pocket, picking a few bills from her wallet and throwing them in the front seat, “Keep the change.”

Y/n ignored the confused calls of the driver as she slid out the backseat into traffic. She ran through the lines of cars until she hit sidewalk. With every slap of her foot against the sidewalk, she could feel Ted’s words penetrate her heart even further. This was what she was supposed to feel.

The sight of Ethiad Stadium welcomed her. Guided by signage, she sprinted to the back entrance she’d usually come through with Rebecca and Keeley. Her sneakers practically screeched across the marble floor, slowing down only for the metal detector and security pat-down.

“Y/n Y/l/n,” Y/n recited her name to the liaison holding a guest list, “I’m with AFC Richmond.”

“Ah,” the young man located her, “Welcome to Ethiad Stadium, Miss-“

Y/n was off before he could finish, bolting up the staircase that would lead her to the VIP box.

She pushed past guests dressed far nicer than her and slid through gaps half her size. Somewhere along the way, Arlo White and Chris Park’s voices became clearer. They were being played through the stadium’s sound system.

“Tartt tried to soldier on, but now he’s in some distress and may require attention.”

Y/n’s steps slowed, pausing in the busy hall to listen properly.

“The med team is helping him off the field. It looks like Richmond may be in trouble.”

Never in her life had Y/n run faster.

Arriving at the VIP box, she rushed up to the security guard.

“Ticket please.”

“I don’t have one,” Y/n panted, “I’m with AFC Richmond.”

“Sorry, love,” the burly man shook his head, “Can’t let you in without a ticket.”

“No, no, no, I’m PR,” Y/n insisted, “I need to get in there now.”

The security guard was unmovable, taking a firm stance in the doorway to block her. “I can’t allow you in without a ticket, ma’am.”

With Jamie injured, there was a new recklessness to Y/n’s urgency. She didn’t quite care what she had to do to get in. She jumped in place to see over the guard’s shoulder, spotting the top of Rebecca’s coiffed hair and Keeley’s curls.

“There! There’s my bosses!” Y/n exclaimed, surging forward through the tiny space between the man and the door.

He pulled her back and away from getting any further, “You can’t enter without a ticket. If you don’t leave now-“

“Rebecca!” Y/n shouted, “Keeley! Keeley! Rebecca!”

She was loud enough that both women, plus Higgins, turned around in their seats. The sight of Y/n struggling against the security guard must have frightened them more than she’d intended.

Rebecca rushed through the room, “Let her go! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“You know this woman?” The guard asked, still holding Y/n back as if she were some crazed fan.

“She works with me,” Keeley scolded, having followed Rebecca, “Get your fucking hands off her.”

The guard released Y/n quickly, eager to avoid any more reprimanding. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he addressed her, “Go on in.”

Y/n launched herself into Rebecca’s waiting arms, exhausted but charging off once more with the women.

“We thought you weren’t coming,” Keeley said as they rushed back to their seats.

Ignoring any and all things around her, Y/n ran down the steps of the box and threw herself against the railing. Jamie. Where was Jamie?

Down by the side of the pitch, he was laid out with the physios working on his ankle. Whatever move he’d pulled had cost him something terrible.

“What happened?” Y/n asked, unaware of who she was asking.

“He stopped a goal and landed wrong,” Keeley explained, slipping into the seat beside Y/n’s, “They just brought him off.”

Y/n clutched the railing with a vice-like grip, her eyes never leaving Jamie. She could see he was breathing hard, that his body clenched with every touch the physios made. He’d never been injured on the pitch this bad.

The game, however, couldn’t stop for one player. Ted made the call to play with ten men for the time being while Jamie rested. The Greyhounds held their own, Van Damme in particular blocking nearly every goal. But all Man City needed was one goal to tie things up and take the league title.

“Come on, Jamie,” Y/n mumbled as if she could will him to rally, “Come on.”

When the medics had done everything they could, Ted kneeled down next to Jamie. They appeared to be in deep conversation, Y/n would have killed to be on the other side, encouraging Jamie back onto the pitch. Whatever Ted was saying had to help. The team didn’t stand a chance if it didn’t.

“Get up, get up, get up,” she whispered, “Jamie, please get up.”

In perfect timing, Jamie extended a hand to Ted, who helped get him to his feet. Y/n held her breath as he bore weight on his ankle and exhaled when he didn’t buckle.

“Yes,” she clapped.

Ted went back to Beard and Roy, and Jamie took his time getting back on the pitch. The Man City fans livened up and began booing their former striker.

With her emotions driving her, Y/n turned to the sections around hers. “Oh, fuck off!”

Jamie shared her sentiment, taking the hate as well as the praise. He egged them on further and encouraged the taunts, jutting his tongue out and beating on his chest.

“Come on, Jamie,” Y/n cheered. There was no way for him to see or hear her, but she stayed up and screaming as if she were right beside him.

Jamie made it back to the pitch and the match resumed. Van Damme blocked another goal with spectacular skill and got the ball over to Isaac. Isaac kicked it across the field to Jamie, who controlled it masterfully.

Y/n’s breath hung in her chest as he moved across the field. Before her eyes, he came back to his truest self. This was him at his very best. This was Jamie playing for no one but himself and it was beautiful.

Jamie avoided every single City player that tried to steal the ball away. Making it to the net, he sent the ball flying and the whole stadium froze.

It soared past the goalie, a perfect shot.

The Greyhounds pounced on their teammate, hugging and slapping him on the back. The entire crowd went wild, the Richmond fans lost their minds.

“YES!!” Y/n threw her hands in the air, “JAMIE!!”

Keeley, Rebecca and Higgins jumped to their feet, cheering and screaming. Y/n and Keeley reached for one another and squealed.

Jamie chose the honorable route and didn’t make a big deal over the goal against his former club. When the boys let go of him, the ref blew his whistle and held up the sub board. Roberts was coming on, Jamie was coming off.

It was the most extraordinary way to leave a match, and Jamie was in a bit of pain. He wasn’t going to argue with the decision. But he hadn’t expected the Man City half of the stadium to change their tune. When their boos morphed to cheers, his eyes glistened with lifelong tears.

It had been a long road to get to a point where Jamie could play for himself. He’d spent all his years working to prove his father wrong, using his hatred as motivation to grow his skills. When he’d exhausted that option, he found himself a man without a country. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Then Y/n had shattered his heart.

He’d woken up with very little motivation to play. Their goodbye had added edge to all his fears. Mixed with the possibility of seeing his father, it was a miracle Jamie could move. But he was a fighter till the end, and even if he was a wreck, he would still give 110%. That was his gift.

As he looked up into the stands, despite everything, he wished Y/n was there to celebrate with him.

Little did he know, Y/n was crying tears of pride on the second level. She watched Jamie walk off the field feeling her heart completely tied to his. He’d proved everyone, even himself, wrong.

The game ended soon after that, with Richmond coming out on top. They had earned their spot in the last game of the season and a chance at the Premier League title. Y/n, Rebecca, Keeley and Higgins fell into an group hug.

“Hey, hey,” Y/n pulled out of Keeley’s arms and locked eyes, “You’re my best friend.”

Keeley’s gaze grew teary. She didn’t know what had changed in Y/n since the night before, but she welcomed it and hugged her tighter.

“And you,” Y/n reached over to Rebecca, “You’re just so fucking amazing.”

Rebecca laughed and wrapped an arm around Y/n, lovingly kissing her hair. Her friend was back from wherever she’d disappeared to.

“Oh,” Y/n grabbed hold of Higgins and grinned, “I love working with you so much.”

Higgins embraced her and shouted over the crowd. “Good to have you back.”

As much as she adored them, Y/n’s eyes fell downwards to the pitch. Jamie was celebrating amidst the boys, but they were about to leave.

Keeley followed her gaze, “Go. They’ll take him to the med room.”

Y/n’s face dropped, realizing that she had made a huge faux pas towards Keeley she hadn’t even considered.

Keeley could read the worry before it crossed Y/n’s lips. “Oi, fuck off,” she laughed, “Go get him.”

She didn’t need to hear anything else. Y/n took off running.

She sprinted through the stadium, weaving in and out of the crowd until she hit the authorized personnel area guarded by security.

“I’m with AFC Richmond,” Y/n breathed, exhausted by the effort expended. She reached into her wallet, “I have proof.”

She held up the employee ID and let the guard examine it.

“Go ahead,” the taller one slid to the side.

Y/n rushed through the glass doors. This was one of the only stadiums she hadn’t been to and she didn’t know her way. She peeked through every door until she found the physio room. Neither the medics nor Jamie were back yet.

Jamie hobbled down the hall, assisted by the physios that had aided him on the field. The adrenaline of the game was starting to wear off and he was looking forward to getting off his foot.

They opened the door to the back room to reveal the last person he expected to see.

Y/n spun around and their eyes met, fear suddenly taking hold of her. In her mad dash to the stadium, overcome with emotion, she hadn’t taken into consideration that Jamie may not have wanted to see her.

“Ma’am,” one of the medics spoke up, “You can’t be back here.”

Jamie was dazed, from the thrill of the match and Y/n’s presence. He took clumsy steps toward her, stuck in the magnetic pull they had on one another.

Y/n cautiously moved forward, terrified of what could come next. Jamie had every right to throw her out and never speak to her again. She almost wanted him to, to make her regret ever turning him away. Deserving seemed like too plain a word. She had earned his indifference.

But in the way Jamie’s eyes traced her face, warm and familiar, shocked and relieved, she knew that wasn’t the case.

They fell into each other’s arms without a single word.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n whispered through her tears, “I’m so sorry.”

Jamie buried his face in her neck, unable to do any more than absorb her. She was here. She was here.

Y/n, however, had so much to say. She urgently guided his head up to face her, tears welling in both their eyes. In that moment, telling the truth never seemed simpler.

“I love you.”

Jamie’s mouth curled upwards, searching her face in shock.

“I love you so much,” Y/n confessed, holding his cheeks, “I’m so sorry for what I said.”

She was cut off by Jamie, pressing his lips fervently into hers.

Neither of them could clearly remember the kisses they’d shared during their one night together. They certainly couldn’t count them. But this, this held all the glory and promise of a first kiss. Months of tension and longing they didn’t know they’d felt were poured out, replaced by sweet relief.

With his brain hazy and high, Jamie backed them up towards the physio table. The first step he took on his ankle made him wince, but he didn’t break from their kiss.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” Y/n pulled away, smiling breathlessly, “Ankle.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled as he chased after her lips.

Y/n giggled, letting him steal a few more sloppy kisses. She wasn’t in a place to deny him anything.

When Jamie did eventually pull back, he nudged his nose against Y/n’s, breathing her in. “You only back here ‘cause I won it for us?”

“You caught me,” Y/n ran a hand through the back of his hair, “I’d have slipped right back out if you hadn’t.”

Jamie grinned and stroked a hand over her head. Now that he had her as close as he’d craved, he wanted to touch as much as he could. He looked down between them and spotted the familiar blue and red.

“I swear, magic shit happens when you wear this thing,” Jamie rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

Y/n rested her forehead on Jamie’s shoulder, shaking with laughter.

“I’m a fucking genius for buying it,” he beamed, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s hair. “I love you so much.”

Knuckles rapped against the door and someone cleared their throat. At some point, the medics had left and returned.

“Mr. Tartt,” one said, “We do need to check your ankle.”

Y/n removed herself from being pinned between the table and Jamie. Jamie dropped his hands to hold hers, unwilling to lose full contact as he took a seat. The physios had a difficult time working with Jamie’s constant movement, trying to pull Y/n in for kiss after kiss.

All things considered, Jamie got off lucky. A brace was wrapped around his ankle and he was advised to use crutches for the next few days. Jamie heard most of their instructions…well, some. He’d more distractedly spare the medics a glance before looking back to Y/n, who memorized all their warnings.

When they left once more, giving Jamie a minute to rest, he tugged Y/n between his legs and wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/n tucked herself into his chest, holding his head as it dug into the side of hers.

There was so much to say, so much to explain, but neither one could think straight enough for any of it. All they wanted to do was hold each other, reveling in the sweet relief of longing being exchanged for love.

—————————

Back at the hotel, Y/n packed both hers and Jamie’s room while he rested on the Coach. She’d handed his suitcase off to Will before heading to her own car, regretting her decision not to join the team bus considering how the trip was ending.

Jamie got Y/n on the phone the second they pulled out of the hotel. She’d insisted he ride back with the boys, but he was more insistent on not being apart for a second. They spent very little time talking as the phone got passed around, each of the Greyhounds wanting to speak to Y/n after so many weeks with no contact.

Keeley and Rebecca coveted the mobile the longest, badgering her for as many details as Y/n would give them on how her and Jamie had come to be. Y/n revealed precious little information, both because she was still retracing the sequence of events herself and because she didn’t feel like telling the entire team just yet.

Along the way, Kenneth the bus driver and Y/n were weaving between lanes together, switching spots in front on one another. The boys could be heard shouting for Kenneth to drive faster so they could beat her. Y/n smiled and laughed the whole way back to Richmond, lighter than she’d been in years.

They pulled into Nelson Road Stadium late, but full of energy. The Greyhounds poured out of the bus toting champagne bottles, singing and chanting as loud as they could. Man City was their great white whale, and they’d beaten them so spectacularly, they deserved a fucking celebration.

Y/n moved around the physio room while Jamie was in the locker room, setting up a bucket of ice water for his ankle, per the medic’s instructions. She headed down the hall to retrieve him after, running into the boys changed into their dress clothes.

“Looking good,” she complimented.

The stragglers cheered and hung back to hug Y/n, Isaac picking her up and spinning her around. Richard pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Hey,” Colin grew serious and pointed a finger towards her, “You owe us an explanation for where you’ve been.”

“Yeah, not cool,” Isaac agreed, setting her back down.

“I know, I know,” Y/n chuckled, “You’ll get one. But tonight,” she gestured to the door, “Go make a big fat mess of headlines for me to clean up.”

They cheered rowdily before heading out the door, leaving Y/n beaming. She was home.

She slipped into the locker room, Jamie was seated in his assigned spot, fidgeting. She knocked softly on the door.

“Come on, superstar,” she held out a hand.

Jamie smiled coyly, “Where you takin’ me?”

“I’m making sure Richmond has a fighting chance next weekend,” Y/n replies, helping him to his feet, “Can’t afford to lose you before you beat the shit out of West Ham.”

Jamie wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulders, much preferring to use her as his brace than the crutches. They took their time getting down the hall and into the physio room.

Y/n went about getting Jamie situated while he typed something into his phone. Once his foot was submerged in the ice, she stood to her full height and asked, “Whatcha doing?”

“Texting me dad,” he answered plainly.

Y/n blinked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Jamie clicked his phone shut and set it aside. They had a lot to catch up on. “When I was down, Coach came and talked to me. Told me that I should forgive me dad,” he quickly held up a hand to Y/n’s worried expression, “Not for him. For me. I’ve been in my head all week ‘cause I felt like I couldn’t be me without hatin’ him. Y’know? But between Coach and mum…I don’t know…I found it again. That thing that made me wanna play in the first place. Not for him, not for anyone…just me.”

Y/n smiled proudly. Jamie’s dad was the permanent thorn in his side. Rather than live with the pain, he was learning to grow around it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. It was also deeply ironic that Y/n had made a similar phone call to her parents hours ago. “Just something to tell you later.”

Jamie stroked a hand over her back, “How ‘bout you tell me what made you change your mind?”

Y/n slotted herself between Jamie’s thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck. The new intimacy stole any intention of ever having less than one hand on each other.

“Ted came by my room this morning,” she started, “We had a talk and I…I just realized that I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to stay scared of you.”

Jamie’s brows raised, “Scared of me?”

Y/n nodded and brushed a hand through his hair, “You and all those big feelings…they scare the shit out of me. But I got a taste of what life’s like without you,” she sighed, “And I can’t do it.”

Jamie’s fingers moved against Y/n’s back, he watched and listened intently.

“I raced through the fucking streets for you,” Y/n smiled, “I fought a security guard.”

Snorting at the mental image, Jamie slipped an arm under Y/n’s legs and lifted her onto his lap. She yelped and tightened her hold around him.

“We’re gonna break this table,” Y/n laughed, “And people are going to make assumptions.”

“Let ‘em,” Jamie smirked, eyes full of adoration, “Say it again.”

“I love you,” she whispered joyfully.

He wanted to hear it a million more times and he wanted to say it an equal amount. He captured her lips once more in a soft kiss, content to stay there as long as the world would let them.

The door to the med room squeaked open, “Oh, fuck.”

Jamie and Y/n broke apart, twisting to see Roy and Keeley stood in the doorway.

“You two were annoying before. You’re gonna be fucking unbearable now,” Roy complained.

“Oh, stop it,” Keeley lightly smacked his hand, “They’ve waited this long.”

“What’re you guys doing?” Jamie asked.

“We thought we’d come and keep you company,” Keeley answered.

Roy kicked the door shut and held up an unopened champagne bottle, “Fucking celebrate!”

Keeley squealed and ran over to hug Y/n and Jamie, the three of them embracing one another. “‘Cause that was fucking amazing, Jamie.”

“Yeah, I was fucking amazing,” Jamie agreed, “You’re right.”

Keeley cackled while Y/n dropped her head to Jamie’s shoulder. “Dear God, I don’t think I can handle this ego.”

“Gotten this far,” Roy grumbled, rolling his eyes at his protege.

“We might need to tag team it,” Y/n suggested, “What do you say, Royo?”

“No,” he pointed between Jamie and Y/n, “You signed up for this, he’s your fucking problem.”

Y/n looked down at Jamie, who was already grinning up at her. He’d been her problem for a long long time.

“I’ll make the best of it,” she said, pecking Jamie’s lips.

Roy popped the champagne and he and Keeley pulled up chairs. He offered his ex the bottle, “You start us off.”

“Mmm, don’t mind if I do,” she took a swig.

“Right,” Jamie turned to Roy, “What the fuck happened, man?”

The four of them laughed as the champagne was passed around.

“Did I look sexy?” Jamie asked, turning to Y/n and handing her the bottle, “Babe?”

“I take it all back,” Y/n joked and took a swig, “I’m not ready for this. We’re back to being friends.”

Jamie laughed and tugged her closer to him.

“Shame you weren’t injured in your fucking head, innit?” Roy grinned.

“Right,” Keeley spoke up, “You gonna tell us how this happened? Spare no details?”

Roy took the bottle from Y/n, “You can spare the details.”

Y/n scoffed, “Oh, there’ll be details spared.”

“She just doesn’t want people to know she stole my virtue,” Jamie cheekily smiled, “I get that right, babe?”

Keeley gasped, Roy grunted.

“I will fucking leave you here to freeze to death,” Y/n threatened, “If you ever tell people that’s what happened.”

The foursome stayed put for a good half hour, their raucous laughter bouncing off the walls. Y/n and Jamie explained an edited version of what happened in London to cause such tension at Georgie and Simon’s house. Keeley, surprisingly, didn’t seem to care that she was watching one of her best friends and her ex-boyfriend tell how they’d fallen in love. She was more thrilled than anyone. Roy was less than enthusiastic, but couldn’t hide his smile as he saw how happy Jamie seemed.

When it was time to leave, Roy helped Jamie in to Y/n’s car. He’d need someone to help him around the house for a day or two and there was no one else he wanted to take care of him. They made the twenty minute drive to Jamie’s house non-eventfully, Jamie pressing a kiss to Y/n’s hand at every red light they hit.

Y/n unloaded their bags first, dropping them in the hall, before coming back to help Jamie out of the car. They managed the driveway and the threshold just fine, and the second Y/n had locked the door behind them, Jamie was on her, crushing their lips and bodies together.

After so many months of falling without notice, neither realized just how much love they had for one another until they could express it fully. Like looking through some all-knowing kaleidoscope, everything leading up to that very moment made crystal clear sense. The jealousy, the adoration, the attachment…it had all been leading to this.

All of Jamie’s hard work, his effort to become his best self had mattered. This was the payoff.

Y/n’s long-standing walls crumbled with each touch, never to be rebuilt. Her fear melted at their feet.

They were free of their pasts, belonging only to their future.

————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

#ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso x reader #keeley jones x reader #rebecca welton x reader #roy kent x reader #heartfirst

[lanadelnegan]

My Past, My Future - Part 2

Negan x Reader x Daryl (love triangle)

Read part one here

Read part 3 here

Warnings: angst (I hurt my own feelings while writing this, ouch), short and not-so-sweet chapter, love triangle, no smut in this part but maybe in part 3!

Are you guys #TeamNegan or #TeamDaryl ?!

"Hey, Carol. You seen Daryl?" You ask, jumping off your porch steps.

Carol nods towards the church and you're sure she's upset with you and probably just as confused as everyone else. But there's only one person you care about making amends with right now, so you head towards the church to see him.

You enter to find Daryl sitting in a pew three rows from the back, leaning his head against the bench in front of him. You clear your throat as you approach him, making him sit up.

"I know you're upset with me." You begin as you sit next to him. "I didn't mean for this to happen, with Negan.. it jus-"

"How?" He cuts you off, looking to you and your heart breaks seeing the puffiness around his saddened eyes.

"I don't - I dunno. It just kinda happened. He's changed, Daryl. I wish you could see that."

Daryl chuckles sarcastically. "You think he's changed? Wow." He shakes his head. "Don't even know you."

"Daryl.. don't say that." You reach for his hand but he pulls his away, standing up quickly.

You try calling out for him but he's already gone, shoving the church doors open as he leaves you. You rush after him as he heads for the front gates.

"Daryl!" You call after him, trying not to cause a bigger scene that you already have. "Where the hell are you going? It's dark. You can't go out there." You whisper yell, pacing after him.

He ignores you as the gates open for him and he leaves without another word. You stop and watch the gates close until he's out of your sight.

You turn around defeatedly, instantly meeting Carol's glare as she stops pulling the weeds near the garden by your house. She walks up to you, brushing her hands off and smiling sympathetically.

"I didn't know he'd be this upset." You admit to her as you both stare at the closed gate.

"Y/n, there's something you should know." Carol says, crossing her arms next to you. "When the Saviors showed up, Daryl offered to go with Negan back to the sanctuary."

Your brows scrunch with confusion as you look to her. "What do you mean he offered?"

"Negan wanted you." She continues. "He was going to take you back instead.. force you to become one of his wives. Daryl begged him not to take you. He told Negan how much he cared for you, and the only way Negan agreed to let you stay was if he could take Daryl instead."

Your eyes widen with tears at Carol's words as she continues.

"Negan told him... if I can't have her, neither can you."

Your heart aches in your chest at the realization. You know Carol wouldn't lie to you... but you wish she was.

"Wh- why didn't Daryl tell me? Why didn't he say anything?!"

"He didn't want you to feel guilty for him going and not you."

Your mind races, flustered and confused. "I - I need to talk to him. I gotta go find him." You turn to run towards the gate but the sight of Negan standing on your porch a few feet away stops you.

"Negan.."

He smiles sadly, and the look on his face tells you that he just heard everything.

You walk up to him hesitantly, standing on the step below him as you look up into his eyes, searching for the man you fell in love with. "Is it true? Is that why you took Daryl back with you?"

He looks down between the two of you, biting his bottom lip with regret and wordlessly answering you.

You nod disappointedly as a tear falls from your cheek.

"I need to go find Daryl." You choke out, not able to look at him. You grab your backpack off the porch, slinging it over your shoulder as you walk past Negan.

"Baby, wait. Please." He pleads, walking after you. "I'm not letting you leave. It's fuckin' dark, it's dangerous."

You ignore him as you continue walking quickly.

"So that's it then?!" He stops chasing you, calling after you angrily instead. "You're choosing him?!"

You stop but don't turn around, staring at the ground in front of you.

You love Negan. You meant it when you said it. You understand him in a way no one else does. You'd do anything in the world for him.

But Daryl sacrificed himself for you. Suffered and went through hell just so you wouldn't have to. He's been there with you since the beginning, saving you more times that you can count. He showed his love for you time after time.

You put Negan's needs before your own, bringing him what he needed.. Giving him what he wanted. Being there for him when he needed you.

But Daryl put you first every time.. Holding you when you cried. Being there for you through the highs and lows. Saving you every time you needed saving.

"Don't come looking for me." Is all you say to Negan without turning around. You eventually reach the gates, heading off into the night to find him.

Daryl chose you every time... It's your turn to choose him.

Part 3

#jeffrey dean morgan #negan #jdmorgan #negan fanfiction #jdm x reader #twd negan #jdm fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdmfanfiction #negan smith #negan x daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl x you #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion x reader #daryl twd #negan x reader #negan smith x reader #negan twd #negan x you #the walking dead negan #the walking dead #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd #negan smut

[seasonsbloom]

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)

part 2

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 12.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap

note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(

sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?

When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.

Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.

You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.

So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.

Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.

“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.

“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.

“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”

You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.

Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.

You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.

You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.

Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.

“Could we get a refill?”

You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…

“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”

Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.

“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”

“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.

There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether. 

Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.

He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”

You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back. 

“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”

That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?

You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.

“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”

You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.

“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”

As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.

He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.

“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”

You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.

+

Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.

Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.

You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.

He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.

The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.

Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.

And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.

Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.

Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.

To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.

So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely. 

And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.

He drops by at the end of your shift.

“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”

You nod, then pause. “Not really?”

You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.

Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”

“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.

Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”

Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.

You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.

He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”

Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.

“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”

“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”

He’s right. You did say that.

Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.

He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”

His satisfied smile puts you at ease.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water. 

You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.

You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.

Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.

Luke laughs. You stare at him.

It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.

“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…

The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.

But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”

When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.

“Uh…”

“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”

You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.

“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.” 

“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”

“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…

“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”

Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.

Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”

You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.

“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”

“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”

“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”

He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…

And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.

“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.

What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.

“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”

Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake. 

“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”

You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”

That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.

Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”

Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.

“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.

Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.

“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”

Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.

“What?”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.

Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

“You’re… married?”

“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.

You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.

The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.

“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”

And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.

Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.

Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.

“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.

“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.

“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”

It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.

You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop. 

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”

About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.  

And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.

“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”

“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.

Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.

And still… something about it feels right to you. 

You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.

There’s a baby growing in you.

It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.

Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”

You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”

Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this. 

“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”

If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.

“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.

Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.

Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”

For your part, you understand that decision is final too.

You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.

“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”

For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.

You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.

You straighten your spine.

“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”

And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.

You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.

Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.

With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.

+

Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.

You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.

It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.

Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.

He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.

Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.

“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.

“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”

For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.

Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.

“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.

It makes you cry harder.

“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”

Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry. 

It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.

You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.

Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.

Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.

“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.

Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”

He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”

There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.

“Just… rough day.”

Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”

This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.

That’s dangerous.

But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.

You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.

So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”

Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.

“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.

“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.

I’m pregnant.

One moment - and in it the rest of your life.

It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?

The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.

“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”

You stare at him, and he backtracks.

“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”

“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?

Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.

After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.

“I don’t,” you say finally.

Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”

Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”

There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”

Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”

You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”

That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”

“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”

Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.

There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.

Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.

“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”

Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.

Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.

“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”

Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.

“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”

Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”

“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.

“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.

After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.

“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.

But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.

Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.

“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”

And then you’re crying again.

You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.

You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.

Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.

“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”

He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”

It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat. 

What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?

It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.

You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”

You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.

Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.

It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.

“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”

If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.

You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.

You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.

“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”

A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.

“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”

You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.

But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.

“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”

Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.

“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”

“An idea?” you repeat slowly.

You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.

Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”

It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.

But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.

And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.

Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.

And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.

“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”

“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.

Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”

Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.

When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.

For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.

Then you think you might be a little overdramatic. 

You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”

Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.

“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”

You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.

“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”

Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”

“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.

Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”

For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.

When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.

“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”

It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.

And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.

When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.

Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”

And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.

“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”

It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”

You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”

Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.

The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.

“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.

“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.

You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.

The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.

So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.

“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”

“You don’t have to do that, you….”

“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”

That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.

Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?

Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.

The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.

In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.

It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.

Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.

In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.

+

The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that was worse.

You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.

What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.

Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”

You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.

Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.

When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”

She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.

“With what?” she asks after an eternity.

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.

You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.

When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.

It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.

Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.

More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.

It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.

So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”

“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”

Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”

You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”

It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.

Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would. 

It just hurts. 

For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.

It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.

What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?

Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.

The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.

And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it. 

What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?

You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.

In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.

Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.

“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”

He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”

You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.

The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.

You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him? 

You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big. 

Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.

And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.

But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.

So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”

Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”

You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.

“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”

When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.

His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster. 

“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”

He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”

An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.

Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?

So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”

Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

For a moment, you both just look at each other. 

“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.

And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”

As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.

North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.

At the very least, you won’t be alone.

“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”

There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.

“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”

It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.

You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”

When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.

For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.

You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.

Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.

Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.

You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”

“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”

And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.

Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.

You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw. 

Your heart seizes.

When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.

He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.

And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.

You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.

It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.

Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”

And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.

Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.

part 2

#rooster #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #mine #f:blph

[villainessprefect]

~Tell It to My Heart~

title: An Authentic Lie

Prompt #6: At the end of a fake date the truth comes out.

Jamil x fem!reader

Read on AO3

"Thank you for...spending the day with me," the words regretfully leave your lips. You do your best to sound professional and not spill any emotions that are tearing at your heart. It hurts to think that all this has to come to an end.

You let your gaze drift to Jamil, gauging his reaction. Fear gets a hold of you and your eyes dart to your hands. Fingers intertwining and feeling so perfect together. You can't help but squeeze his. Perhaps a little too tightly, but this will be the last time you can do this before freeing him from your binds.

This wasn't something you had planned out. It had been done quickly and on the spot. One of the many male students here had taken interest in you. It felt like borderline harassment with the way he kept appearing in your life. Desperate for a female partner, things were beginning to feel hopeless and you were beginning to fear that you may have to give in sooner or later. But you didn't want that outcome.

Instead, you lied.

The boy had cornered you, persisting with a question and you caved. You told him that you had a boyfriend. Obviously, he didn't believe it. You doubt anyone would with how well-known you are at the school. If the only girl was taken by someone at Night Raven College, the entire school would know within a week.

So, he pushed. He pressed. He asked, who? You didn't think this far ahead. You had hoped that just saying that would get him off your back. An easy way out would be saying you had one back home, waiting for you. But a part of you knows that wouldn't work. Pressured and needing to think fast, you could only think of one name.

"Jamil Viper."

Your crush.

And as fate would have it, the boy had appeared on the scene, shocking you both. You held your breath, afraid that he would hate and despise you for this lie. Yet, he had gone being your savior- your boyfriend- without a word.

Jamil was quick to come to your side and slither an arm around your waist. He held you close and you gripped onto his shirt, clinging to him as if your life was on the line. This would be a dream come true if it weren't for the fact that the damned asshole was still persistent in stealing your heart.

So, it was time to prove him wrong.

You did manage to squeeze in an explanation to Jamil about what was happening. You couldn't tell if he was frustrated with the situation or not, but he obliged to be your fake boyfriend for the time being.

When Kalim wasn't his priority, you were. He'd even joke about how it was nice to escape from him every once and while. To see him in between classes, at lunch, and at his practice. It was nice. To give an extra kick to that boy who wanted you, Jamil decided that you two should go on a (fake) date. It would cement your relationship and get rid of him for good. And how could you say no to going out with him?

Of course, your heart bled with guilt. You forced him into this, against his will. Even if he willingly was playing the part you couldn't tell if he truly enjoyed being with you or not. So, you decided that at the end of this date, you would let him run free.

You lift your head and look towards the school. It towers over the town you spent the day in almost ominously. The walk back is long, but you know that the time will fly with Jamil at your side.

"You can call it what it is," he responds. You can feel your cheeks heat up. It's like he's trying to get you to say it aloud. You'd done your best to avoid it all day. "Regardless of the reason behind it, it's still a date."

"I know," you take in a sharp breath. If only your heart could stop pounding and interrupting your thoughts. You had to be calm, not afraid- of what? It's not like he could reject you when you're not even really dating. "Still, I have to thank you for your help. You've done a lot for me. If you wouldn't have gone along with this, I don't know what I would have done."

You now realize how Jamil could have acted. How he could have brushed you off so he wouldn't have to deal with another headache. He could have looked at you like you were the craziest girl in school too! He could have left you to be snatched in the arms of that crazy boy. Yet, he never looked at you with disgust. He never scoffed at you. Always helped. Always remained by your side.

"You make it sound like things are coming to an end." You tense up. Did he know? "I would have thought if you uttered my name as a choice for a boyfriend, you would have liked this to keep going."

Finally, you turn to him. Your eyes meet with his. He's terribly hard to read at the moment. Calm yet wearing a small smirk as if he knows he's about to win this game he's playing with you.

"We could go on a real one next time. Unless you doubt my interest in you?"

"I-I wouldn't!" You practically shout and instantly cover your mouth. You take in a breath and quietly mutter, "you're really interested in me?"

"Of course I am. I'd rather be serving you over Kalim." A pause before a quiet mumble. "At least you treat me like a human being..." To ensure that part is unheard, he clears his throat and continues, "But the choice is yours to make."

"And I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #female reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x you #scarabia #request #tell it to my heart event

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

When Evangeline touched the reader it was clear she wasn't an ally, and after her outburst it was clear she saw them as an object, when Yves said that she wanted to be the savior I didn't expect her to be so unhinged on her quest to be the hero, but makes so much sense, and 'the hero gets the girl' or the 'happy ever after' seems things she selfishly would take, not much unlike Monty reader was there at the wrong place and at the wrong time, pretty sure the reader will have more PTSD and self blame

Still? When I saw the trigger warning I was afraid it would be Monty since I thought we would have a break from her, AND we were told he didn't listen to 'no', good we can get a true antagonist, it was crude and raw and awful, I've read other scenes of that kind but usually they make me feel anger and powerlessness, this was complete terror, also Yves has cameras on the room no? I can't imagine how he was when it happened, being stuck and unable to do anything, not much different from us readers being unable to stop reading what was next, but in a way not 'leaving them alone' I had to stop for a bit and even then it felt 'wrong' to leave them alone, the immersion you create is just something so... Impressive I just can't stop saying it, it's so so unique

And of course now Montgomery will have to step up, even if at this point Yves is the safe heaven, Monty is the devil we know, unlike the devil we don't (Evangeline)

Back on topic, the freeze and fawn was tragically something both Montgomery and Evangeline took advantage of, but Evangeline unlike Monty doesn't see them as an equal even less above herself, there was no way she would ever be in a sane relationship with reader, no matter which kind

Also Mr Jones crying and begging for forgiveness, gives me two thoughts, one he knows or feels what's about to come to either him or his family, or is the kind of person that still believes his daughter is a good person that did wrong, I'm more inclined to the later, who knows maybe just self hate on himself 'i should have done better' or something like that, and in that position I feel reader would either just be numb or lash out at him since it's a cycle of abuse, you didn't stop her then I can also blame you for it, and he LACKS a backbone so maybe a bit for the reader to have some feeling of control back, only time will tell

you're always keeping us on our toes can't wait to see what you come up with next

Ou shid man thank you so much for the analysis!! That is true, anyone would be extremely shaken and like beat themselves up for "falling" for Evangeline's facade, but in actuality there isnt really much to go off on , u wouldnt know till its too late

Altho montys a fuckin creep, i did write him to be at least somewhat lucid when readers genuinely upset or disliking whatever hess doing, he does like respect you as a human tho its just that hes delusional to think ur shy,But he knows when to stop which usually is when you cry or lash out at him

This was what i meant for Evangeline to be a sacrificial lamb because shes just there for a short period of time to make something happen and then get killed off on or off screen

Thanx man i was actually worried that i was writing the scenes to be too goofy or crimge, but glad to hear that i do at least let some of my readers experience the immersion i intended to apply

Yeah Yves saw everything and it wasn't good for his psyche , i was planning to write from his pov at some point but i just couldnt convey the horror and anguish he felt so i just leave it up to interpretation and write the aftermath instead

Oh the mr jones begging one is basically just wanting to protect Evangeline, mans doenst know what Yves have in store for them

Hell yeah thanks for the thoughts anon i got them bones for my brain to chew on

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #oc yves #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc evangeline #oc montgomery

[aguamarinee]

【 𝑨 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 &𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑴 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕.】

➪ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst if you squint, female reader

➪ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: "Still waiting for my first dance."

➪ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Instead of one partner for the occasion, reader meets nine. She has the opportunity to spend prom with each of them a little bit, but towards the end, the final choice is a much harder decision than it should be.

; 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 #9

➪ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: EJ × reader

➪ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1,5k (This is clearly not a drabble anymore, but my excuse is that this was the last part so I had to include the full ending lol.)

...You have been feeling it for a while now, but as the night went on you longed to go home more and more.

By now you were convinced you lost every last bit of wanting to have fun, or the need to socially interact with anyone.

'You guys should kiss each other!' Harua's friend group shouted before your last photo session and that's when you realized you're too tired for this.

So slowly, but you started to head toward the exit after your photos were done.

You drank another bottle of champagne between the waiting — because the printing took some time —, and saw some of your classmates from afar, enjoying themselves while you smiled to yourself.

At least the people you like were having a good time here, so you thought you won't leave with completely negative thoughts after the incident with your partner.

You were forming a slight plan in your head, to try and call him when you're home, or text him a longer paragraph, asking for an explanation about his absence tonight.

Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow, you just felt tired especially emotionally after an evening like this, so you just wanted to get home, take a hot bath, and concentrate on yourself.

After your photos were done you said goodbye to Harua, the boy who you considered the true savior of your night with his endearing personality, he kept you company a bit, but you refused to go on with him and his friend group.

He was understanding and the two of you parted ways, you walking towards the exit, and him rejoining his friends who were still waiting.

As you looked back one last time it seemed like the crowd reduced a bit, but it was to be expected, you were here for about two hours by now, and surely some couples already left on their own.

You stepped out, the cool night air welcoming you once again with a harsh breeze, but it felt nice.

You were already thinking about facing your parents, debating how detailed will you tell them what happened tonight.

Although, do they have to know?

You can settle this on your own, right?

It would feel a bit embarrassing after sending them away with so much confidence in the beginning, but... at the end of the day, they deserve to know.

As a last resort you walked across the small garden once again to calm yourself, dialing your dad's number, but as you were mindlessly sightseeing you spotted another presence not so far away.

He didn't notice you, he seemed too occupied by a book, sitting by the only tiny coffee table in the whole garden.

He was wearing a formal dark grey suit so he was probably a graduate too, but why was he outside like that..?

It was awkward, the way you just couldn't tear your eyes away from his form, trying to guess what book is he holding but as you stepped a bit closer, still trying to remain discreet your phone suddenly lit up as your dad picked up the call and you forgot you like to redirect every call onto the speakerphone.

So the cute guy with glasses immediately noticed you from afar.

"H-Hi, dad!" You hurriedly spoke, turning away from him so he doesn't see your face.

You fiddled with your phone, turning it off from the speaker and you tried to walk away, but your heels didn't do you justice so you probably looked very clumsy to the guy across from you.

You knew he was still staring, but hoped he didn't hear your words clearly as you told your dad to give you a lift because you're tired, hastily trying to dismiss his guesses about your partner.

When he finally agreed you heard him call for your mom so you said goodbye and hung up.

You sighed, hanging your head a bit, and then slowly walked to the other side of the garden, close to the cute guy, and sat down on a spacious outdoor sofa that looked comfortable enough until your parents are here.

"...Sorry you had to see that, I didn't want to stare." You apologized after a minute since you felt like he was still looking at you.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him slightly jump in his seat.

"It's fine..." He laughed shyly. "I was staring too, so you caught me red-handed as well. I'm Euijoo by the way." He smiled your way and closed the book in his lap with a slight pinkish tint to his cheeks.

It's going to take at least 20 minutes until your parents arrive... so a little talking doesn't hurt.

"How come you're outside? Are you some sort of guard here?" You asked out of curiosity.

"No, I'm an attendee just like you," Then he tapped the small bouquet on his suit showing that he has a partner. "but my partner left about 30 minutes ago with her friends, saying that I was a bit boring. I don't know where they went but probably to one of their homes, for girl's night or something." He shrugged his shoulders, a soft smile still present on his lips.

"That's quite harsh..." You replied quietly.

"When I offered her that we can go to a park late at night and stargaze, or I could read something to her to escape from the loud party, she said that she doesn't mind the party. I guess we just had a different idea about prom." Then he made eye contact with you. "After we danced."

Both of you sighed at the same time.

"And you? Were you calling your friends? I saw that you exited alone." He asked in a soft voice, trying not to sound rude.

"No, actually I was calling my dad to take me home. I had enough of the party." You chuckled a bit gloomily, he just nodded with a hum.

You were grateful he didn't pry and asked about your experience further on, it seemed like he understood without words as well.

"And how are you going to go home?" You asked again after a minute of comfortable silence.

"Oh, I asked my friend Yixiang to give me a ride, he should be here soon." He smiled.

"He's still inside the venue?" You got surprised.

"Yes, well, he said that he's still enjoying the last bits of the party, probably going wild on the dance floor or something. He's a very good dancer." He laughed and you almost melted by his honey-like voice. "So I came out to read until then, but I trust him, he will be here shortly. His tolerance isn't that high either." He nodded, still smiling.

"Ah, what are you reading?" You leaned a bit forward to show your interest.

"The Little Prince." He raised to book to show the cover. "It's one of my favorites from childhood, so nowadays I started to reread it." He pushed up his reading glasses and grinned sheepishly.

You gazed at the cover, it seemed very lovely so you were sure it was a children's book, but you found his enthusiasm cute nonetheless.

"Do you want me to read for you?" He leaned closer too and his voice dropped a bit, almost whispering to you.

"Sure, I'd like that." You smiled warmly at him because this seemed to be the perfect distraction right now, a cute guy reading to you to ease your mood.

You listened to his every word as he started, his soothing, comforting, honey-like voice, ever so sweet to your ears and that tiny smile he wore while he went on...

You had no idea how many pages the two of you got through but his friend was nowhere to be seen when you saw a familiar car pull up opposite the venue.

You stood up, quickly waving to your parents to make yourself noticeable, and then awkwardly said goodbye to Euijoo, thanking him for keeping you company and hoping that this Yixiang arrives soon to take him home.

You walked away with a small sigh, leaving behind a stressful and disappointing night, but with these last memories in mind, you had something nice to remember, also the photos that you held in your hand the whole time.

You mentally prepared yourself that when the car door closes behind you you'll have to be honest with your parents, or at least tell the reason why you need to leave so early.

But as you looked back on Euijoo to check on him from afar one last time, you caught another person by his side this time.

Slightly shorter than him but with a similar build, blonde locks pulled back to expose his forehead, and that face, those smouldering eyes and stare you somehow remembered even from afar.

Also his navy-colored suit, no doubt it was him... The guy you met beside the female lavatory.

So how come he's Yixiang? Didn't he tell you his name was Nicholas?

....What kind of a liar is he?

But the car's starting engine cut your thoughts short, the scenery slowly drifting away as the vehicle fell into a comfortable pace, going towards your home and you finally relaxed against your seat.

The event was over, for you at least.

You felt at ease at last, this was the first moment in hours when you didn't think about your missing partner.

You were over it finally.

【𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.】

➪ 𝐀/𝐍.: Idk, was the ending too bittersweet? I wanted this to be a cute, lighthearted, and upbeat type of short series with everyone giving silly compliments, but now it feels like a bit of a guilt trip haha.

➪ 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 【𝐌 𝐀 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐋 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓】 !

Tagging: @nichoswag

#Spotify #&team #andteam #&team scenarios #&team x reader #&team fanfic #&team euijoo #&team ej #andteam ej #&team drabbles #&team reactions #&team fluff #&team imagines #byun euijoo

[cornus27florida]

Do you think Gwen and Frederick should be the only “original” couple to get the happily ever after marriage? Should Frederick wait until he’s in a much healthier state of mind until he can ask Gwen to marry him? I mean after he got past her appearance he put her on this pedestal which was just as unhealthy and expected her to fix him. Prince Frederick should realize that he should see Gwen as a person first before committing.

Hello! That's such a heavy topic questions to ask for, but I hope it's okay with mixing the canon with the fanon hopes of "what-ifs" scenario

Personally, I think not only Gwen and Frederick as the "original couple" (I feel you refer to Plaid-Pastel) to get the happily ever after marriage... because? Deep down everyone are all kind people and actually matching each other great like have potentials for great relationships that ends to the happy marriage BUT the current plot story shows that's likely only Gwen/Frederick that becomes endgame, Lance/Lorena is dubious but seems at the end they'll be buddies instead lovers, Maria/Blaine now in shambles as Blaine trickery to opening the door that leads to the invasion - there's no salvation left for their (healthly romantic) relationship anymore

I feel that I am one of the passenger left on the sinking ship of Maria/Blaine and Lorena/Lance but I hope I won't be that delusional of shipper that demanding the creator/author to make their ships to be canon (in other fandoms, extreme shipper like that EXIST with infamous example is a Rukia/Ichigo shipper from BLEACH that burning their entire collection of the comic because they're heartbroken that the endgame is Orihime/Ichigo) - I just want to tell my hurts over the potential what ifs, their tragic ships...

There's so many interpretation over the honest love feelings between Plaid-Pastel, and IMHO all of those valid but subjective without proper canon facts.. We need more canon details like the inner narrative of each character, as so far what we know is what they say in public-to others people so personally I am not sure if those are honest (espc to themself). Those talk without inner honest imho not realiable for true truth. Exception is Frederick but I explain later

Blaine: when asked by Frederick at dungeon if he truly loves Maria (ep 143), he didn't answers as instead mocking Frederick. Blaine looks so jealous when he see Maria chatting along with Beckett, using the guard name as the trick to opening the door.. And it's works. Blaine ia the most confusing character in my opinion but the past talk with Isaac @the-giggling-guava give me keyword-Anger. Blaine is very angry towards everything and everyone, espc Maria as the 'savior' that Blaine anchoring his self worth (coughs, coping both Frederick and Gwen) to believes he's not that all bad - he's not just have the ugly sides, but the gala fiasco make him fell into the dark pit to believes he's totally evil

Maria: as the oldest Pastel Siblings that get oversheltered so much for 18 years of her life, this makes her so quick and jumpy over notion of romance (even sexual desires, the most thirsty) and no one really pointing out about it clearly (Isolde in her icy way tell that Maria didn't really know about Plaid Princes is spot on, but wish for more gentle and elaboration honestly). It's only after 'incidentally' has talks with Beckett that she realizes herself over how downbad she is to objectify Blaine and after that at the piano duel, she shown great development by supporting Blaine as telling that she rooting for him

Maria/Blaine? Is a tragic ship as realistically it can't happen even with so much progress both of them had as seen that Maria is objectify him while Blaine do Frederick's initial move "have romantic partner for escapade (Isaac again gives very good analysis that Blaine wish for Maria to be his means to achieving "Freedom", so the idea of the lover not the actual person"). There's huge what-if fanfic project that I make, but even with that scenario of basically making amends early I can't make Maria/Blaine works healthy as the best outcome for them is open ending ship with them starting from zero (0) as a friend with Maria treats herself first by chasing her singing dream while Blaine completely let go of idealism being the perfect plaid prince first. If both of them meet up earlier, in normal family setting, I could see them being a healthy lovers tho - simply as the oldest sibling that loves music

Lance: the hardest CPC character to interpret because how passive he is canonically, he got defined by his relationships with others instead himself that define his character. This born from weird realization that he never had monologue or inner talk which the perfect example of when being the most honest self. He is so lacking on personality as he feels just there, not engaging to others on really intimate tone. Remember that the kiss he had with Lorena, is initiated by her? Or that he's not sure what he really wants, he just agreed to help Blaine archives his dream OR when he just realizes he didn't want to become a trophy husband for Lorena army only after Suzie nudging it? Also overall Lance treats Lorena more like buddies instead lover vibes somehow

Lorena: Lorena isn't downbad like Maria, but the effect of oversheltered makes her lonely to not really have (best) friend until meets Suzie which she clings the forced friend relationship for but it seems Suzie slowly don't mind about the notion. Does Lorena didn't have any romantic feeling towards Lance? Def not as she thirsting over the notion to becomes waffles so could get eaten by Lance. But I feel the current situation is she so hurt over passive way of Lance, born since when she depressed that her dream to leads the army initially not even supported by 2 males that she has high regards of opinion to (Jack severely againts it, Lance shown his fear over the notion). The passive way that turns to be cowardly way of Lance not doing anything to prevents the invasion arc as he just going along with the plan - Lance know the plan is evil, he utterly punished by Leland which Lorena not know the truth for, but Lorena is right about his passive-cism

Lorena/Lance? So ambiguous and messy, but not in total shambles like Maria/Blaine. That's why in my time travelling fic AU, I could make them works by changing several points of their characters. Have Lorena realizes how fucked up is Leland earlier. Have Lance to be more active, to believe that women isn't fragile porcellain doll as Lorena def capable to protects herself and others - she just need support, guidance and knowledge to do so as compares to the canon at invasion arc, Lorena's project is so impressive although ridiculous and naturally it's happen because her lack of knowledge of defense. They are literally dorky jocks that need some work in relationship to be together but could happen

Phew, finishing the older pairings and answering the first question. Now move on to the next!!!

English isn't my native language so I am initially confused with what "pedestal" you mean.. Then I googled and take time to answer the question..

to think of someone as a perfect person with no faults : to admire someone greatly.

This is what's the meaning of pedestal in the relationship meaning, I hope I could get what you mean with the following questions that basically relates to each other

Alright, I summary your questions first before answering them (1/ should Frederick waits to have healthier mental status first? 2/I am not sure which pedestal you refer, but I take free interpretation that after Frederick look past Gwen's appearance - while making various comparisons (witch√ cursed princess √ angel√) 3/ Frederick should see Gwen as a person first)

ALRIGHT!!! Here we go

1/ mental status is something that always fluctuate and actually it's not related to age (sure, older is wiser but there's more to it) but more about how each person deals with their mental issue - which from the very start they should realizes that they're in the problem first and thus act accordingly which mostly begins with acceptance 'that they're in deep shits and need help'. Now let's see Frederick overall. Frederick just realizes that his own family might abnormal only when meeting Whitney that gives example of what abnormal family is but he accept that his family might that bad, and got confirmed when punished in isolation treatment BUT he still clinging in naivety that his family not that bad bad by try to stops Blaine without any weapon and hoping words can help him. It's not, but thankfully Whitney and Prez saves him and curently the free pass in nutshell is Prez try to reasoning Blaine with sword dance (violent way)

So personally I think Frederick indeed need more work in his mental issue healing, but he's not starting (like Lance) or not even on the road (like Blaine) like his brothers. In the weird way of the CPC is, Frederick on the very first important step of acceptance - to anything. He already accepts that Gwen looks will stays like this, and he loves her just the way she is. He already accepts that his family is abnormal, but he hopes for his brothers still could be saved - like what normal people with high morality will do.

Also to me, the mental issue of Frederick isn't the standard for him asking out for Gwen's hand in marriage.. It's their age, both are minors and we shouldn't glorify teenager marriage (and pregnancy) - it could happen espc due to 'love accidents' (coughs, teenagers making love rawly and without future thinking thus suddenly realizes too late that the female are pregnant.. IRl scenario) but doesn't mean it can't be prevented. I find that gwenderick is the example of the most pure ship that can ever happen on my shipping book, mention of kissing already made them so flustered deeply which for themselves I believe they won't jump to marriage soon. They're will have the much needed time for mental healing of each other, but why can't make it together?

Mental issue healing is indeed a long road ahead filled with uncertainties, and I feel marriage shouldn't be standard milestone for relationship. Which in other world, GwenDerick could become healthy canon ship after the whole invasion arc end - when they reunite as Gwen awakes and Frederick reaches her as his true self.. But no need for marriage milestone, is just the event. The event that they're have chance to free from Leland's scheme and on their own pace when feeling completely ready, because what's one thing that entail to wedding-marriage? Progeny

With everything that they're going through to be lovers as now from the family with extreme parenting, I say with healthlier relationship that they'll get in the future..they could meet the middleground between oversheltered (Pastel) and overexposure (Plaid) to make their children, symbol of their love with combined aspect of them genetically, to be truly happy with loves

im nutshell, yes Frederick should waits in better mental status before courting Gwen.. But didn't mean for them to can't be together sooner. They could have free time of being together and dates.. Like right now after their incoming reunion. Being together =/= marriage

2/3/ because I feel connected to each other. Frederick can't help to keep compares Gwen to not completely human because he's the resident nerd dork that indeed reads tons of fairy tale books with lots of imagination and fictional comparison helps him to accepts reality.

From witch initially - initial first thought of her having green skin and thoughts to wants poisoning him, the wrong confrontation that painting Gwen as immortal, her look that similar with Lilyth which haunting Frederick's palace for years. To cursed princess because he finds Gwen in the CPC. To Angel, the angel of the fortune, the entity that he thoughts to be his savior that completely lifting him up from the hole but later on that he realizes that he need to pull his own work too because the angel can't completely lifting him up - thus develop for his sense to protects the angel, because Gwen needs him

If putting someone on pedestal is unhealthy? Depends, but personally Gwen's wish that Frederick is the ultimate person to fix her =/= Frederick believes that Gwen is the angel as the present one. Why i say this? Because, for Frederick case that notion make him remembers Whitney saying that he could get chance to change his story then doing his own work (which helped by Laverne and LeoMieCake) to lifting himself from the hole he imprisoned in. For Gwen is different becaus after the gala fiasco, she's in despair believing no one loves her. She thinks her sisters hates her as breaking the engagement. She thinks that Frederick love to her indeed forced. She completely forgot about her father, her twin brother Jamie, the CPC... Then she eats the poisoned apple, the tragedy that LambCat paralelling as attempting suicide. But thankfully everything not too late, Gwen soul is still in this world and not die as what the success suicide is. Everyone involved on the light side outting their best ability to kicking out the Plaid Troop that the villain Leland leads while reaches Gwen to show - everyone loves her

Now, the incoming future episodes of the CPC, about who Gwen loves back..which I find will be so heartwarming if the revealation is that Gwen loves everyone back too ^^

/end of the long answer hahah, hope you enjoy it as much as I am writing it!

#cursed princess club #character analysis #Tragedy Romance

[starlightwayfinder]

For the ask game: How about a fic where Brain gets to meet an older, BBS-era Eraqus (with potential cameos from the Wayfinders, haha)?

~

“Master.”

Eraqus found Master Odin on the tower’s balcony. The other islands could be seen in the distance; each one connected by cables that vanished into a sea of billowing clouds.

The Keyblade Master turned to his student and watched as Eraqus bowed, his silence prompting him to continue.

“I’ve come to request permission to travel off-world,” he explained. “There’s something that’s been weighing on my mind. …I have to go back.”

“To which world?”

“Olympus Coliseum. Since I’ve been before, I—”

Odin held up his hand, and the long sleeve of his robe fluttered in the wind.

“…You will not find them.”

He spoke with the broken voice of that unrecognizable, glum old man Eraqus still wasn’t accustomed to hearing. 

“But… I know it’s possible to talk to the others there,” he insisted, his own voice tinged with desperation. “That’s how Hoder was able to come back with us.”

“You were able to converse with Hoder because she still resided in the Final World.”

“The Final World?”

“Once a heart has left the Final World, they can no longer be reached. Certainly by now your friends have passed on.”

Eraqus felt his heart sink. It was as if everyone he’d lost had slipped out of reach once more.

“They can really never return?”

“It is said that spirits traverse through the dark corridors, but I am certain you understand why any attempts to find them there would be ill-advised…”

Eraqus thought back to the unbearable despair of the corridor they’d been trapped in. Even fully armored, he’d nearly died. 

“No good will come from seeking out the departed. Focus instead on those who remain, as they have much more need of your help.”

Eraqus looked down remorsefully.

Right… 

Xehanort is the one I should be looking out for.

“I will. …Thank you, Master.”

~

65 years later—

Terra waited outside the guest bedroom; a room that, up until today, they’d had no use for. He peered in through the doorframe to see the younger boy asleep on the bed, soft blankets pulled up over his chest and blond hair carefully brushed out of his face. Ventus seemed serene, at least, and Terra allowed some of his guilt to turn to relief. Master Eraqus closed the door and put a comforting hand on the shoulder of his student, guiding him away as they returned to the main hall.

“Is he hurt?” 

“It seems he may be, but not by your doing,” Eraqus assured. 

Terra sighed, then explained earnestly. “I didn’t mean to scare him. I just wanted to know who he was. And… who was that man that brought him here?”

Eraqus paused before answering. “That was Master Xehanort. We trained together, long ago. Ventus was his apprentice, but from today on he will stay with us.”

Terra took a moment to absorb the new information, a trace of concern in his dark blue eyes. “But…Why doesn’t he remember anything?” 

“I do not know.” Eraqus stopped walking to emphasize his next words. “But…When the boy wakes, do not press him any further. We must act as though he has always lived with us.”

“You mean… We have to lie to him?”

“It’s for his own safety,” he replied, then instructed, “Go, and inform Aqua as well.”

Terra frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “All right.”

~

How much of what Xehanort had said could be trusted?

A special boy…  ‘The Child of Destiny…’ 

It was exactly the sort of thing he would claim, if only to convince Eraqus to take the child in. After all, how could a guardian of light turn away the supposed savior of the World? 

But no, he didn’t believe it. Rather, it was caution that had pushed him to agree. Or perhaps sympathy, for the boy caught up in Xehanort’s schemes.

Whatever Xehanort’s true interest in Ventus had been, it was better left in the past; forgotten. 

Eraqus carried a glass of water to Ventus’ room. It seemed the least he could offer him, for the time being. 

A stillness had fallen over the Land of Departure, even the usual chirp of crickets was absent tonight. Almost as though the world somehow knew an outsider had arrived, hushing itself, as not to disturb him.

Eraqus pushed the door open—and was immediately caught off guard.

A man sat in the chair at the side of Ventus’ bed.

“Who are you?” Eraqus demanded.

The man didn’t shift his gaze, replying without revealing his face. 

“An old friend said I’d find him here. …They saw him, passing through.”

Eraqus resisted the urge to summon his Keyblade. “Then… You know Ventus?”

He nodded. “I know Ven. Not that he’d recognize me… I thought you might, at least.”

“What are you saying..?”

The stranger turned slowly, resting his arm on the back of the chair.

“Impossible!”

A small smile appeared on Blaine’s face when he looked at his grandson, but it soon turned solemn again.

“I guess everyone gets scarred, eventually…” 

He looked back at Ventus. “Sometimes too soon.”

Eraqus felt at a loss for words, but managed to ask: “Why are you here?”

“Just to say goodbye. And I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

“Wait! Who is he? Is he really..?”

Blaine raised an eyebrow.

“Xehanort; he claimed that Ventus was the Child of Destiny.”

“He said that? Interesting…”

“Then, it’s true?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But if anyone can save the World from Darkness… I figure it might as well be someone like Ven.”

He stood up, taking another look at the sleeping boy.

“Take care of him, all right?”

“I… Of course.”

Blaine disappeared, leaving only sparkling lights where he once stood.

Eraqus was frozen in shock for a moment, but eventually placed the glass of water on a small table and forced himself to leave the room, wondering whether the interaction had really occurred at all…

(Some light comes from the past.)

#Thanks for the prompt!! #It’s such a cool idea #I sure did.. try to write it. #(I guess this is the best I can do in one day …haha) #“There were ghosts in KHDR I can work with this” <- my entire thought process

[childofchrist1983]

Sometimes, we read the Holy Bible and wonder how much easier life would be if Jesus Christ were right here with us, just as He was with His disciples long ago. But Jesus reminds us that it is better for us that He is not confined to the limits of an earthly body. He prepares His Kingdom of Heaven to receive us, while at the same time remaining with us in spirit to prepare us for Heaven, our true home.

So many of us, myself included, wish we could reach out and take His hand, or even simply touch the hem of His cloak. And one day, we who are saved and spiritually reborn Christians, will get that chance. Until then, we must be patient and continue to serve and praise Him and thank Him. Including for sending His Comforter, the Holy Spirit, to remain with us, to work in us and to guide us and our lives as we walk in step with Him each day. May He continue to help us grow spiritually conform me more each day until this life’s journey is done and His perfection is completed in us. Thank Him for providing for us and for reminding us everyday of His great and perfect love. We can take comfort in knowing that in Him, we are never forgotten. Whenever we find ourselves struggling to endure the trials and difficulties of life. let us call out to God for an answer, but also remember to thank Him and ask for His strength to help us endure. Let us not waste this time on waiting. Instead, may we humble ourselves and ask God to use this season to deepen my trust in Him as He helps us to grow in faith and prepare us for whatever lies ahead.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for rescuing us from our destructive ways, and setting our feet on His path. Thank Him for lighting and guiding our steps and tending to the road ahead of us. May He help us to seek Him daily as we make this journey, so that we may not stray from Him and wander into ruin and destruction. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for easing our burdens and granting us the rest found in His mercy and forgiveness. May He teach us to walk in His gentleness and grace. Thank Him for providing us the strength to serve Him and for carrying the weight that should have been ours, all in His gracious name. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for faithfully staying with us in all times and places. We have not always sought Him and His guidance, yet He has continuously shown us the way back to Him. May He guide everything that we say and do, and show us the way no matter where He may lead us.

May He empower us by His Holy Word and Spirit to live in the light of His Truth, love grace. May our healing and transformation glorify His name and Kingdom of Heaven and reveal who He truly is to others. May He help us to keep close to Him, so that we may endure until He fully sets us free and brings us to our true home in His Kingdom of Heaven. Thank Him for His Holy Word and Spirit. Thank Him for revealing the Truth of Him and His holiness. May He help us to hold close to Him just as He holds close to us, so that we may live in humble and faithful obedience. If we stray from Him and His path, may He use His Holy Word and Spirit to bring us close to Him once again. May He help us daily to trust fully in Him and His love, provision and care. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for making us anew! May He complete His renewing work in us, ridding us of the sinful words, thoughts and actions that aren’t from Him, so that we may reflect only His love and light and presence in us to this dark and fallen world and the lost souls within it.

God is our Heavenly Father, our Creator and our guide. And Jesus Christ is our LORD and Savior and King. As Christians, we trust Him wholeheartedly and we submit our heart and our lives into His skilled hands. May He shape us according to His design and plan for us, so that we may stand strong in the firing furnace and emerge revealing His craftsmanship as He prepares us serve Him on Earth and in His Kingdom of Heaven according to His Holy Word and will. May He give us the peace and endurance we need each day, and may He use this time to help us grow in His wisdom and strength and to grow in our walk and relationship with Him. May He make us more into the person that He not only created us to us to be, but called us to be from the very beginning.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for securing a place for all true Christian believers as followers of Christ and spiritually reborn children of God in His eternal Kingdom. Each day, the sun rises and its light and warmth, and the Holy Bible gives us a glimpse of the promised eternity to come. May we continue to walk in the love and light of Christ with our heads held high and our eyes on the finish line. May we lead others to His Gospel Truth and to His light as well throughout this journey with Him. Let us all humble ourselves before God daily, asking Him to forgive us and to strength and teach us to view life through the lens of God and His promises. May He guard our hearts against Satan and the temptations of this world and our flesh. May He give us the peace to find full satisfaction in God and His peace and promises, so that we may live our lives daily in ways that honor and pleases Him. As we seek Him daily, may He reveal Himself to us through the words He has provided and use it to conform the desires of our heart to Him and His love and compassion and grace.

As true and spiritually reborn Christians, we love, trust and believe in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ. We choose to keep Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ first in our hearts and lives and all other worldly desires behind us. He extends salvation to everyone, and we want to show the world the freedom, hope and peace they can have in accepting and following Him. We must ask Him to help us grow spiritually in our relationship with Him and strengthen us and the bonds of love that He has given us, so that our unity may glorify and testify to His power and goodness. Thank Him for calling us to faith and imparting us with salvation and righteousness. May He empower us to live in His will and righteousness, so that we may testify to His soul-saving power as our faith carries us past all doubt, fear, and failure. May He grant us the grace to forgive others who have wronged us, and the humility to seek forgiveness where we have caused strife. May we follow and serve God daily with love, trust, awe and wonder. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ strengthen our faith, lift our spirits, protect our hearts, and show us opportunities to help bring others to Him and His Gospel Truth daily. May we do this duty boldly, humbly and faithfully. Seek, follow and trust in the LORD God Almighty always! To God be all the honor and praise and glory!

We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with sincere hearts to ask forgiveness and follow Him and His Holy Word and Spirit always. We praise Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the mercy He bestows upon us and we are grateful for His grace and mercy and infinite blessings. By surrendering our hearts and our lives to His will, we see all the blessings He has bestowed upon us. God our refuge and our salvation and our constant provider. We lift our voices to Him in praise for His steadfast love, mercy and understanding. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ open our minds and hearts more and more to perceive and embrace Him and His truths. May He help us to find time to pray and read and study the Holy Bible daily and to find power in prayer, praying according to His Holy Word and will. May He help us to come to Him in true repentance and with faith in Him and His grace and merciful nature. May He give us the grace, courage and strength we need to walk with Him and do His will daily. May He teach us to watch our words when we pray to Him and to speak reverently and rightly. May we continually ask God to transform our hearts and make us faithful and humble as we walk with Him daily. We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with honest, humble and repentant hearts. We must seek Him and His will and choose to follow Him all the days of our lives. May He help transform our hearts, help us to seek and live for Him above all else and to grow spiritually and build our faith and relationship with Him with each passing day. May He forgive our sinful nature and help us always make Him and our relationship with Him top priority.

As true and born-again Christians, we choose to walk in His righteous path and lead a life that is pleasing to Him. We desire Him and His will above anything else. We desire to walk in accordance with the love and light He has shown to us through His Holy Word and Spirit. We long for a deeper relationship with Him and a deeper fellowship with our brothers and sisters in Christ as well. When we fall into temptation and sin, we must turn to Him for forgiveness, strength and guidance. When believers learn to walk in accordance with God's Holy Word and Spirit, they have deeper fellowship with both God and one another. And the sin that could threaten to destroy that fellowship, if confessed (1 John 1:9), is covered in the blood of Jesus Christ and no longer a barrier between us and God. May we ask Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ to forgive us for any sins we have sinned this day or in days past. May we be faithful to Him and His Holy Word always. May He help us to walk more consistently in the light and to not neglect long to confess and forsake any sins that hinder our walk with Him. May He lead us in the direction He wants us to go so that we may seek and serve Him faithfully. God is holy and almighty and deserving of all praise honor and glory. We rejoice in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, knowing He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 1:8). May our hearts always be filled with thanksgiving and rejoicing. May He help us to praise Him freely and honestly like all believers who came before us. May we live a life that showcases our love and trust in Him and His Holy Word and Spirit as He uses us draw others to Him and His soul-saving Gospel Truth daily. May He continue guide, correct and protect us, so that we continue to grow in Him and not weaken and stray. May we all remain faithful to Him and to this duty and purpose He has called us to. Seek and put your faith and trust in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ and let Him do the rest. May He humble our hearts and help us focus on following and serving Him daily and helping others with joy and happiness. We lift our voices in praise to Him for His love, mercy, peace, faithfulness and grace - For EVERYTHING!

It is vital that we remain rooted in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit and that we live and walk as a beacon of His light and love and share and spread the Gospel Truth daily, so that the lost souls in this world can come to know Him and be saved. The more we focus on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, growing spiritually by building our relationship with Him, leaning on Him and His Holy Word and Spirit, the better off we will be. Thanks to this and our faith in Him, we know that everything will be alright. And we will forever be grateful to Him. As true and born-again Christians, we believe in Him and His Holy Word and we strive daily to walk in His Holy Spirit. We know though our mortal bodies should die, He will raise us up and into new and glorious bodies (The Rapture). We who are truly His and alive at His second coming will never die, and our bodies will be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, and so shall we ever be with Him in His Kingdom of Heaven forevermore (1 Corinthians 15:51-52, 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17). This is one of many promises given to us by God Himself. Thank God for His strength and guidance when we are faced with sin and temptation. Thank Him for His mercy and grace. Through Bible study and prayer, God reveals His wisdom and guides us to see opportunities to grow closer to Him and grow spiritually. He gives us direction to live our lives daily according to His will.

Jesus Christ is the ONLY way to Heaven (John 3:5, 14:6), the ONLY way to salvation (Acts 4:12, Ephesians 2:8-9) and He is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25-26). Jesus Christ the LORD of lords, the KING of kings, the GOD of gods (Deuteronomy 10:17, 1 Timothy 6:15, Revelation 17:14, Revelation 19:16) - He is the Living, Almighty and Everlasting God (Isaiah 9:6, Revelation 1:8, John 3:16, John 3:36, Jeremiah 10:10). There is no other God besides Him (Isaiah 45:5). We MUST humble ourselves before Him, turning our backs on false teachers, false gods and idols and our sinful ways. We MUST repent and turn back to God and recognize who He is and love Him in return for His great love for us. We MUST make God top priority everyday! May we be motivated to spread God's Holy Word and Gospel Truth to all the Earth, knowing that it is the only hope of all those lost in their sins. Let us not hold out a false hope for men to be saved without the Gospel, but instead, strive to do our part to get the Gospel out to a lost and dying world.

Leaning on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit strengthens us and our knowledge and wisdom about God and His Gospel Truth, exposing these imposters. May God help us to seek and lean on Him daily to gain the strength, wisdom and spiritual discernment needed to expose Satan and his imposters who seek to destroy us and God's ultimate Truth. Everyday, we must remember to share Jesus Christ's Gospel Truth with the world and to thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross at Calvary. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and from the eternal damnation of Hell. In all we say and do, may all praise, honor and glory always be given to Him and His Kingdom of Heaven.

With renewed minds, hearts and wills, let us serve Him humbly and faithfully out of pure love and grateful rejoicing. May He remind us of His presence and to remain at peace, fully knowing that all will be well because He is always with us. Let us seek Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ today and everyday with all our heart and being, looking for His love, light and will for our lives with each step we take. Let us seek to please Him with our thoughts, words, and deeds and seek to advance His Kingdom of Heaven and His glory with our lives. Let us seek Him from a pure and humble heart, and when we so seek, we believe Him and His promise that we will find. May He help us all to be more sensitive to the teaching ministry of His Holy Word and Spirit, relying on Him and allowing Him to speak to us and guide us every step of our Christian journey.

God gave us the Holy Bible - His living and Holy Word - to let us know of Him and His abiding love and care as well as guide and prepare us for all our lives. May He help us encourage one another as we continue our walk with Him and our duty to Him daily. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for being present for all our new beginnings and all our lives. May He redirect any anxiety we feel as He provides countless opportunities for growth and change. May we humble ourselves before God always, asking Him to forgive our sins and make our hearts and lives anew through His Holy Word and Spirit. May He help us make Him and His Holy Word top priority, so we can grow spiritually and grow in our relationship with Him as we apply it to our daily lives. Thank God that we can focus on Him and everything about Him, for that is what keeps us sane and at peace. May our words and actions always be a reflection of Him and His Holy Word and Spirit and will.

May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus! He loves us and He knows what is best for us. Seek, follow and trust in Him - Always!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful LORD, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[femmedefandom]

one thing I will never forgive JK Rowling for in regards to the HP world….how could she create Tom Riddle, one of the most fascinating characters ever and turn him into Lord Voldemort, this weird Evil TM caricature thing instead?

think about his backstory: a half blood boy who is the last in a long line of pure bloods descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. Born from desperation and a potion, he is abandoned in the muggle world to grow up in a London orphanage in the 20s/30s with no knowledge of either of his parents. He discovers his magic and learns to USE it intentionally with no instruction, all while hiding as best he could so he wouldn’t be sent away for madness. He grows up hated and isolated. He is brilliant and terribly lonely.

then one day, who should arrive but a real, live wizard! He’s not crazy, he is destined for greatness! There is a whole separate world for people like him to thrive! But even the wizard thinks that he is….different. He reveals too much to this man and his meager possessions are set aflame in retaliation with a single look. This man is dangerous. He can manage on his own, he always has after all.

he goes to diagon alley by himself, asks the bartender how to do it even if it bruises his pride to do so. He has been given just enough money to buy his very own wand-phoenix feather! But all that remains covers only worn robes and secondhand books. It doesn’t matter. He is a wizard, he doesn’t need anything fancy, he never has.

he rides a train with soft cushioned seats to his magic school. It’s a castle, barely fitting into view from the little boat he takes to get there. He waits among a crowd of children, and steps forward to let a dingy old hat direct his future life at Hogwarts. He’s slytherin. The other houses boo and slytherin house seems unhappy with him as well. Riddle is not a wizarding name. And muggles are no better than pigs. He is a poor mudblood and they have no place for him here.

Tom has never let foolish children hold him back and he’s not about to start now. It takes years, but they never break him. He learns every spell in the curriculum and more beyond. He gets Os in every class, but never brags. He foils obvious pranks against him to retaliate with something better that they can never prove. He offers help to teachers and they love him for it. He learns how to dress, speak, and act like a proper wizard. He classmates do not love him yet, but he has earned their respect.

He devours the library. He discovers his true parentage. How he was meant for so much more than being tossed away into the alleys of London during a war, hoarding the end of year feast dinner rolls in his pockets like a starving animal. He does what he can to survive, embittered that he is not allowed to stay safe at Hogwarts where he belongs and practice magic like everyone else.

He counts down the days until he is seventeen. He becomes prefect, Head Boy, savior to the school. He learns every secret passageway and room in the magical castle, endears himself to the students, the staff, and the ghosts. He researches magic and magical artifacts like no one has before. He will prove that he is not only worthy but worth MORE than anyone ever thought he’d become. He would show them. From the filthy muggles to the pretentious pure bloods themselves. He’d show Dumbledore too.

I almost wish we could’ve gotten a story from his perspective, Tom Riddle just so interesting. A boy who starts with nothing, no advantages, no assistance who becomes everything, even if that means losing himself in the process.

his bitterness consumes him almost as much as his voracious appetite for knowledge drives him. He uses everything in his arsenal: wit, charm, intelligence, and determination to carve a place for himself in the world, but it is never enough. Nothing can fill the hole of abandonment, of the sneering disdain, of that look in twinkling blue eyes that go flat when they look at him. They think he is worthless, he will show them his power. They think he is dangerous, he will show them just how dangerous he can be. Until nothing more is left of the boy who wanted nothing more that to belong in a world that wanted him as much as he wanted it.

#tom riddle #meta #he could have been so good #lord voldemort

[luimagines]

I COMETH...! Hello Hello! Royal Anon 👑 back at it again! Now if I may..! Prince Four..!

Happily picking up the fresh berries, the young woman is careful to not accidently smush them through her excitement. She thought of the endless possibilities of what she could use them the berries for!

Yummy fruit tarts?

A warm tasty pie?

Cookies??

Before (Y/N) could take another handful of the tiny red berries. A small child's shriek rang through the air. Worried, she keeps her giant barrel close to her as she runs towards the cries. 

Seeing a small group of kids and one big kid on a lone path to close to the woods, (Y/N) heard the loud bickering and was befuddled as she came closer.

"They're just pests! Not pets!"

"Hey! Let them go!"

(Y/N) slowed her pace as she came up behind the group. "Excuse me, but is everything alright? Where are your parents?" She asked, but her eyes caught sight of the older kids palm. It was highly risen in the air, just so the smaller kids wouldn't touch whatever they were holding. Dropping her gaint barrel facing upwards, the group stared at (Y/N) fear. 

The young woman sighed, smiling kindly to ease their little minds. "If I may, what are you hiding?" The young adult asks, point at the palm. The child's face contorts into disgust, "a weird creature!" "That's not true!" The other two kids holler at them. 

"It's a small mouse!" One child said. "And they did nothing wrong!" The other added, smiling at one another. The older kid huffs, "fine! Then I'll just chuck it!"

"NO!" The two cried!

(Y/N) frowns at the older child. "I would rather you give the creature to me." She stated with a low boom in her voice. "Besides, it would be cruel to harm the poor thing." The (h/c) haited woman said gently, holding out her hands in a cupped way. The older kid scowls, but lowers their arm, holding out their palm. "Fine, take it." They said, dropping the creature in (Y/N)'s cupped hands. 

The older kid storms off, possibly heading back home as the younger children follow after. Thanking (Y/N) as they head down the path.

(Y/N) goes off the trail and bends down. Letting the little creature skidder in her grasp as she opened her hands. Staring wide eyed at the little creature, letting out tiny squeaks.

The little creature stared back with it's black button eyes. No longer frightened. Letting her hands fall on the grass, she waits for the tiny being to go back to wherever they came from.

The creature didn't move a muscle just sitting in her hands quietly, watching the smile grow on his saviors face. Slowly removing her hands, the creature holds onto her pinky figure. Giving a small peck on her knuckle as it runs away, deep into the greenery of the lush forest.

-

The days had become odd as she found small trinkets berries laying about in her home. It seemed she had a tiny guest hanging around in her home! Unfrighted, she lays out a small glass of juice and a berry cupcake next to her own food. Leaving it there until morning when she noticed the cup was half full and cupcake was turned into bits and crumbs.

Yet the days even shifted more! A month after meeting the small creature. Weary travlers had found themselves in her home. A different person after each week, wearing different color cloaks. Different as from each other as they can be.

The first travler was someone in a green cloak, he spoke with courage and kind. He was heroic and good natured as one could be.

The second wore a red, he was happy and carefree. Enjoy the silliest moments life had offered in his time staying at her home.

The third was shrouded in blue. He was ruff around the edges. But deep down, he cared. More than he should for a stranger. 

Then the fourth person arrived. He wore the color violet with modesty. Yet he was clever and quite witty for a fellow. He may have been smart, but even knowledge is a bit flash in a way.

Then the fifth week had came, and instead of seeing a new weary travler. She saw a young blonde headed man wearing all four colors from the previous wanderers, holding a bouquet out to her...

Hope you enjoyed it!

ROYAL ANON MY BELOVED!!!! YOU HAVE RETURNED!

Please be well rested. You must be weary from your travels. Come. Sit. I'll make some tea. Or would rather have a coffee? I have hot coco too! :D

I have to say you've certainly out done yourself. I found my smile growing more and more the farther I went down. I just... Love Courting Minish Four. But also- KING Minish Four?

Be still my heart. I adore him.

#pinky replies #another one to masterlist #<3

[theriu]

Ok but like, what is a Mennonite?

Great question! I’d first like to preface that I am far, far from an expert on this; I go to and was raised in a Mennonite Church, but we are a little odd because we’re the only Mennonite church around (you often find several in a community) and we don’t uphold the typical dress code of head coverings and skirts. Also my mom was the daughter of an army chaplain, so because of her experiences growing up and being around people of many Christian groups combined, we are pretty comfortable with many denominations. Here are some basics, though:

Mennonites are part of the Anabaptist movement, which is largely noted (among other things) for believing that people should choose baptism as adults as a sign of their commitment to Christ, rather than be baptized as infants.

We do still do dedications, which is where the parents and baby go up front at church and oil is put on the baby’s head and the congregation verbally commits to helping raise the child to know the Lord - basically showing they plan to be a good and supportive church family for this new member and the family.

Another notable difference is peaceful noncombatance. Mennonites generally hold that using force is wrong and that we shouldn’t join the military because it divides our allegiance between God and our country. This is another one that my church, at least, is more relaxed on - at least one of our members is a police officer, and my brother wanted to join the national guard (he couldn’t due to a minor but chronic medical issue). Also, as mentioned, my grandpa (who was not a Mennonite) was an army chaplain. I support my brothers and sisters in Christ who choose military service, but I also respect those who feel they should stay apart from it (and count myself one of them).

Fun Fact: Mennonites and German Baptists and other Anabaptist denominations are often confused with Amish because we are all Anabaptists and we all have a tradition of the women wearing head coverings and old-fashioned-ish skirts/dresses. However, the Amish came after the Mennonites, and Mennonites aren’t against using electricity or owning technology and such. I wont speak further on that because I am even less of an expert on Amish customs. (I mentioned German Baptists because I see them frequently around where I live; I know little of their differences from Mennonites except their head coverings are typically a cute boxy shape instead of the flat lace circle traditional Mennonite women wear.)

These next ones are, I think, pretty common across many or most denominations, and they are what I consider the core tenets of faith in Christ:

Jesus Christ is the Son of God and part of the Trinity (the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are all one God but are also distinct persons).

Jesus came to Earth as both fully man and fully God, He lived a sinless life and died on the cross to pay the debt of our sins so we could be reunited with God, and He rose from the dead to defeat the death that is the just punishment for our sin.

The Bible is the Word of God and it is true and good for guiding, teaching, comforting, and correcting.

We all have free will, and while God desires all people to be saved, the gift of salvation is freely offered, and we must choose to take it. We are saved by accepting Jesus as our Lord and Savior and asking forgiveness of our sins, accepting his payment of our debt.

We cannot “earn” our salvation through good works, but genuine faith in Christ should lead to doing good works as a demonstration of our love for Him and of His love for others.

The Holy Spirit is the one mediator between us and God, and we can ask the Holy Spirit to pray through us when we don’t know how to express what we want to pray. God always answers our prayers, even if the answer is “No” or “Wait,” and we can trust that His answers are for our good and His glory, even when we can’t see how from our limited perspective here on Earth.

I think that’s a decent summary, but let me know if you have questions or are interested in the Bible verses that support the different points. And thanks for asking!

#river replies #mennonites #anabaptist #Christianity #church #God #Jesus #Holy Spirit

[ggomos-maribat]

Rebirth Chapter 1 | Healed

This work is a direct continuation of the one-shot Remembrance.

Jason wakes up gasping for air. He feels the texture of the bed underneath him. Back at the hotel . He squints at the dark sky outside and focuses on his brothers' curious looks.

"I saw her."

Those are the first words he utters.

"Hey, wait. Don't strain yourself." Dick lays a hand on his shoulder. Face contorting into a frown, Jason shrugs him off.

"I saw her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The dead girl," Jason insists again. Dick and Tim share a worried glance, which he scowls at. He knows what he saw. He knows she's alive.

Jason notices that something is off. He looks down on his bare chest, which bears no marking, no wound indicative of what transpired earlier. His heart pounds. He's sure he has injuries from that encounter. He can remember the sting near his shoulder, the sharp grip of those monsters, and his muscles aching from the effort to escape. A concussion. I should have a concussion.

But there's nothing. Not even the cuts from the friction of the solid ground can be seen on his palms. What he notes, however, are the bloodstains on his pants and arms. 

"What happened?" he hisses.

"You sent a distress signal," Tim replies, readjusting his laptop on his lap. "We found you unconscious in the middle of the road."

"Didn't you see anyone there? I'm supposed to be out of blood." Jason rubs his head. "I'm supposed to be dead."

"You had blood all over you, but no sign of injury," Dick explains.

"The cameras." Jason scrambles out of the bed, clutching the edge of the cushion. It can't be a hallucination or a fucked up nightmare. The blood and his nausea are enough proof for it.

"We already checked the cameras," says Tim. "We need you to explain first what you saw."

" I told you. I saw that girl. Her eyes were green. She got revived by the Pits. She fought off those monsters." When Jason stands up, he feels strangely reenergized, more invigorated than before he started the day. "I think she healed me too."

Tim turns his laptop around and presses one key. It shows a grainy feed from one of the street cameras. The ghastly creatures that appeared are there, along with Jason himself. The events are repeated in the video just as he remembers, but his savior's presence is entirely absent. Instead of the odd lights he saw, there's only the shine of the moon. It ends with the monsters melting into the shadows like liquid and Jason passing out.

"That's impossible." Jason weaves his fingers through his hair. "I saw her. I swear I did."

She's alive. She's actually alive.

"Okay, before we get to that part," Dick steps in. "What the hell were those things? I thought the situation was resolved in Paris two years ago and none of the Miraculi are active anymore."

"I did a bit of research." Tim begins to type on the keyboard again. "It's true that the Miraculi aren't in use anymore, but there is one that wasn't retrieved during the final battle."

A picture of a brooch emerges on the screen.

"The Peacock Miraculous," Tim supplies, "It has the power to create sentient beings. Sentimonsters, as they called it. The sentimonsters come from deep emotions."

"So whoever has this Miraculous, they made those monsters?" Dick asks. Tim nods in confirmation.

Jason makes his way to the closet to grab a new shirt. That partly explains the appearance of those monsters but there are other pressing questions. Who made them? Why did they only come out now? Why make them?

"About Marinette . . ." Tim's wary gaze strays over to him. "She didn't show up anywhere in the feed. I checked the other cams too. Are you sure—"

"Go back to the video."

Jason studies the playback again. He directs Tim to pause and slow down at a certain mark. It's evident in the slowed version: as one of the sentimonsters pins Jason down, it suddenly gets knocked to the side without an apparent source of the blow.

"See?" Jason crosses his arms. "Something hit it. Some one. Obviously not me."

"Why wasn't she in the video then?" Tim questions.

"What else did you see, Jay?" Dick plays the video again.

"I was already losing blood, mind you." Jason racks his brain. Memories flutter in his head. "But I saw . . . like a green shield thing. It looked like a sphere. There was also a black light and she had two swords with her. I didn't see other weapons."

Tim blinks at him tiredly, perhaps wondering if he's in the right mental state. "Okay, assuming she was actually there, that doesn't make sense. A green shield? That sounds like the power of the Turtle Miraculous. And that black light, I think, comes from the Black Cat Miraculous. As far as I know, both Miraculi are under the care of the former hero Chat Noir, also known as Adrien Agreste."

"And if we try to guess that a revived Marinette borrowed those Miraculi from him, that's unlikely. As far as they know, she's dead. We saw them grieve her this morning." Tim shoots Jason a pointed look.

"We should ask them then," Dick pipes up. 

"We can't do that." Jason narrows his eyes at him. "What do you expect us to do? Knock on their door at two fucking a.m. and tell them that their dead friend is alive? In civvies? "

Jason forces himself to calm down. Dick, of all people, should know what it's like to receive that kind of news. He sees his brother's fists clench but he doesn't say anything more.

"We should look more into it." He turns back to Tim. "But I bet all my guns I saw her. Maybe if those monsters show up again, she'll be there."

"No, I think I believe you." Tim massages his wrist. "If she can use the Miraculi's powers without the actual Miraculi, then she could've used the Fox's illusions to make herself disappear on cams."

Tim opens his mouth again to add something but Jason snaps at him. "If you're just gonna say 'I told you so', you better shut your mouth, Replacement." He turns his head towards the other doors. "Where's the old man and the brat?"

"Sleeping," Dick responds.

Jason nods. He doesn't want Bruce to catch word of it yet; the man will wear himself out in deep investigation if he gets the hint that his daughter may be alive.

They just have to figure it out before anyone else does.

---

Adrien wakes up slowly, in soft waves that carry him in and out of dreamland. He realizes that he's not imagining the chatter coming from the corner of the room. There are, in fact, two voices conversing by the door. He wearily blinks up at the unfamiliar ceiling, remembering that he was staying in Chloé's room in Le Grand Paris.

Rubbing the skin at the base of his ring finger, he stands up and walks to the door to see a jacket-clad Chloé arguing with a red-headed man.

"Officer Raincomprix?" He says hoarsely.

"Adrien!" Roger breathes out. "I wanted to talk to you! There has been an emergency—"

"At five fifteen in the morning, really, Roger? " Chloé put one hand on her hip irritably.

Adrien puts a hand on her shoulder. "What emergency?"

"There was—um—a bunch of noises reported earlier. We checked the cameras and we think it might be the activity of sentimonsters."

Adrien stops breathing for a moment.

" Sentimonsters? Are you absolutely sure about that?"

"There's no other explanation Miss Bourgeois."

He closes his eyes, feeling bile rise to his throat. Sentimonsters. The Peacock. They only retrieved one Miraculous back then. At the cost of his best friend's life. His legs shake at the thought of a new person terrorizing the city.

"We don't have to go see it now, Adrien," Chloé tells him. "We can go with Gams and Luka later."

"No." He checks his other friends. They're still sound asleep. "We'll go see the tapes now."

Chloé complains to Roger for the duration of the trip to the police station, while Adrien only stares at nothing with a blank expression. A part of him already knows the danger of the missing Miraculous, but his trembling fingers say that he's not yet ready. He won't know what to do if another terror plagues the city.

And he won't have her .

Chloé starts talking to him, soothing him out of a potential panic attack until they reach the station. Roger shows the videos and true enough, the monsters are mostly likely from Duusuu's power. But those monsters are different from what they've seen before. They're ruthless. Grotesque. He flinches at the blood of the victim, aware that no healing light comes afterwards.

"Who did they attack?" Chloé asks following the third loop of the feed. "He looks familiar."

"Jason Todd-Wayne." Roger removes and fiddles with his hat. "Adopted son of Bruce Wayne."

Adopted son of Marinette's biological father, Adrien completes the statement in his head. He recalls the tall man with a white streak in his hair, who he first saw during her funeral. He never bothered talking to the Waynes before. "What happened to him? Is he okay?"

"A couple minutes after this, two of his brothers came to get him." Roger frowns. "But he hasn't been taken to the hospital as far as I know."

Adrien and Chloé exchange bewildered looks. Were the damages reversed after all? Or are the injuries not as worse as they looked?

"The police can't handle this themselves, but we’ll help you with anything you need," says Roger.

Adrien purses his lips. Consequences of revealing yourself to the public. There's a million questions begging to be answered, but they can't rush into it carelessly. Even if two years have passed, Paris is still in the process of healing.

He straightens his shoulders, looking at Roger in the eye. "Take us to the place."

---

The first drops of sunrise kiss the ground when they finish looking around. The police closed off the area, so there aren't many people around. The authorities are yet to disclose the happenings to the public.

Adrien takes slow steps to the corner where the monsters disappeared during the incident. A few bloodstains taint the white lines on the road. Strips of metal decorate the cracks on the sidewalk, faded muddy footprints show signs of an intense scuffle, and the pools of water in the potholes are yet to dry.

"Not much clues," Chloé murmurs, pinching the edges of the police tape with manicured fingers. "I wonder why they backed off."

Adrien rubs his finger again. There is no requirement for amokized objects to be near the sentimonster itself; there's little to no chance that the holder was around during the attack.

"Officer," he calls out. "Have you spoken with the Waynes?"

Roger momentarily pales. "I—I can't possibly disturb them at this time—"

"Where are they?" Chloé folds her arms. "Our hotel?"

"At a different hotel, Miss Bourgeois, to keep away from the public eye. We will ask them later this afternoon—"

Adrien interrupts the fidgeting man. "When you do, we'll come with you."

Roger heaves out a sigh. "Listen . . . both of you. They're not from around here. They're not used to these kinds of stuff 'kay? I can't bring you two. You might scare them off. Mayor Bourgeois won’t be happy if you do."

"They're from Gotham, Roger. They probably see blood everyday," Chloé says, tugging on her jacket. "Maybe that’s why they didn't go to a hospital. As for my father, I'll have a word with him myself."

Adrien makes his way to Chloé's side as Roger relents and turns to speak with another cop. He nudges her arm, tugging them into the side, out of earshot.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah. Thinking of . . . of asking the kwamis about this."

Her eyebrows raise. "Are you sure? You're going to open up the box?"

"They might have answers. I don't know. I have a bad feeling." That this will be worse than Hawkmoth. 

next

Permanent Taglist: @tinybrie

On AO3

#remembrance series #ggomoz #maribat #maribat fanfic #maribat batfam #maribat jason todd #maribat adrien agreste #bio dad bruce wayne #dc x mlb #mlb x dc

[imaginarydaydreams]

the puppet’s revolver

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Concept: Ray has only known the life of a puppet, fated to bend to the wills of others. It’s better this way. (Saeran/Ray x MC if you squint) Date Written: 8/21/2022 Thoughts: Didn’t think I would write again for mysme tbh. But, as my good friend @thatrandomlittlegirl says, “this is our therapy arc.” I’m still not comfortable writing fully again so please take these segments that I offer. I’m rusty so forgive me if it’s bad; it’s been 2 years after all.

Ray was meant to be nothing more than a puppet. Ever since the beginning of his meaningless life, he had existed only for the sake of others. Taught to obey, to question nothing, kept blind from everything around him, he had waited in the small bubble of his limited world, doing what he was told without a sound…lest he incur the wrath of the one he had called a mother—if she could even be referred to as such. For him, everything was fleeting.

All of the good things in his life were barely even counted on a singular hand—the source of those moments of solace long gone, even though in his heart of hearts, he wished for a miracle to return to him—and Ray thought that, perhaps, he had done something to anger the gods above. Simply by the nature of existing. Perhaps sinners like him deserved their lots in life, trapped in an endless nightmare. And so he had continued on in this monochrome world of his, his emotions drained like the tears that escaped his eyes for days on end after his beloved twin had disappeared like the wind. No happiness, no kindness, nothing to keep his sanity. -------------------- On days when he was alone working the nights away, his sleep-addled mind would dream up sacrilegious ideas. He had entertained on a few times that, perhaps, his savior was just as lonely and weak as he was, hiding her true emotions behind a well-placed mask. After all, in the rare times the two of them were alone—a messiah and her ever-loyal believer—he would catch a glimpse of the dark despair that lurked behind her gaze as she told him of her plans for the RFA, his fellow believers, their Paradise. Sometimes when she thought no one was looking, he would see her mask break for a brief second, a flash of pain across her face and incoherent mumblings that he never understood. He thought of the beautiful being who had taken his hand blindly, trusting him enough to come and reside to a place unknown to them and test his “game.” He thought of their bright smile as they grinned when he came through the door of their room; their voice light as angel feathers in the rare times he could afford to take a break…or rather, the times when his will was too weak and he yearned to hear them speak. He dreamed of taking a nap with them in his beloved garden, their hand in his, as they basked in one another’s warmth. The touch of their lips against his felt still felt warm after all this time, his cheeks dusting with a pink as he remembered how elated he had been. But those thoughts were quickly banished to the deepest recesses of his mind. He could never afford to think that way, let alone form his own thoughts and opinions. He was too stupid to understand anything. He was only a puppet after all. To consider either of them as his equal? Who was he to even have the gall to think such? His savior would be disappointed. His beloved would be disgusted. -------------------- A puppet can never go against its puppeteer. And as such, Ray chose instead to destroy himself. He could never betray his beloved savior, but he also could never dare to hurt the one he held in his heart, the one who trusted him with their everything wholeheartedly. A conflict of interest, a choice he should never have had—he was supposed to just blindly follow orders. How did he even manage to mess that up? Maybe the puppet Ray was better off just disappearing. Perhaps if he had wished on a star hard enough...or sooner...he could have had a chance to stay with his beloved for a bit longer. But even the magic of midnight runs out eventually and all must return to reality. It was just sadly his turn to exit the stage before he even had a chance to shine. So with the final thoughts of the smiling face that always waited for him, he succumbed to the darkness in favor of being the perfect marionette—one who followed his puppeteer with absolute obedience. Never again would he waver. Never again would his convictions be weak. It was…better this way. -------------------- Rika looked down at the boy kneeling reverently before her, looking intently at the way those once-soft features hardened with hatred. His head was bowed in respect, awaiting her orders with a diligence that she hadn’t seen ever since that…pest…had come into her paradise. Satisfied, Rika dropped the emptied bottle of elixir and reached over to hand the new set of clothes to Saeran. Ray was finally gone. That weak boy, that failed puppet…she would never have to worry about losing her strongest and most beloved believer now. Perhaps she should thank that person who dared to defy her. If it wasn’t for them, the change from the weak Ray to the strong Saeran would have never taken place. Now she could carry out her plans without a hitch, as she ordained…first starting with eliminating that outsider. She now had her strongest tool; no one would dare to defy their paradise any longer. After all, a revolver is only as strong as the ammo it fires.

#mystic messenger #mysme fanfic #saeran choi #mysme ray #mysme saeran #stories weaved from the stars

[kpop-kitkat]

Starry Eyes | Ngô Ngọc Hưng

pairing | high school crush!ngô ngọc hưng x f!reader

genre/cw | slight angst, fluff, idol au, trainee au, attempted kidnapping, reunion, police, fainting, medical emergency, fluffy end

wc | 1.1k

notes | none

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was a typical trainee day for Y/n. She danced for ten hours, sung for two, and had little to no breaks in between. Chasing after your dreams really did come with a cost. She just never thought it would be this exhausting.

 "Y/n, maybe you should go home a bit early today. You look exhausted," her best friend and fellow pre-debut trainee, Daesong, suggested.

 "No I'm okay," she panted, chugging water to rid herself of the nasty headache she had.

 "No, I agree with Dae. Go and get some rest. You need it," Jia smiled.

 "Fine," Y/n sighed, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder before exiting the room. 

She did her absolute best to avoid any dance instructors on the way out. They'd tell her to get back to practicing with no sympathy whatsoever. And she avoided them sucessfully. But now the real challenge: walking home.

It wasn't like she had some boyfriend to protect on her late night strolls. She was always armed with pepper spray and what she had learned from her self defense classes. And not only were people a problem, but herself. She was so tired and drained of her energy that she could barely walk in a straight line.

All Y/n thought about was her next step as she walked the three miles back to her apartment. And yes, her company refused to escort her. How professional. The dark city around her seemed so frightening. She never knew if someone was just waiting in a dark ally to taken her away. 

A cold wind blew, causing her to grab her jacket and pull it tightly around her. She stopped in her tracks when she felt that someone was behind her. She turned around, but nobody was there. She shrugged and kept moving forward. Her apartment was getting closer. 

~~~~~

Hanbin hummed along to one of his favorite songs as he walked down the cold and dark street. As he did, a certain girl caught his eye. And if he was seeing things right, it was Y/n. She was his friend in high school. He stopped and debated crossing the street to get to her.

Suddenly, a man in a black hoodie came up behind Y/n and grabbed her. She writhed and screamed in his hold, trying to break free. But nobody was there to help. The streets were empty. Hanbin was the only one who could save her. And that, he was going to do. He ran across the street as fast as he could and tried to pry Y/n out of his grip. 

 "Hey kid, back off," the man seethed, as Hanbin successfully removed Y/n from him.

 "No, you stay away from her, you sick and twisted bastard," Hanbin growled as he stepped in front of Y/n protectively. 

The man was about to lunge at Hanbin when some blue and red lights shined in his peripheral.

Hanbin smirked as the police detained him. Then he turned to the damsel in distress. "Are you hurt?" He asked, taking her hands in his, scanning her arms for injury. 

Y/n looked up at her savior and her jaw dropped. She would've recognized those starry eyes anywhere. Instead of a verbal answer, she hugged his torso tightly. "Thank you Hanbin."

His cheeks flushed when he realized she remembered his name. He hugged back and closed his eyes, missing his hugs from Y/n. "Of course."

 "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt a tender moment, but what exactly happened here?" The policeman asked, and the two immediately detached.

 "This man attacked her, and I pulled him off of her," Hanbin explained.

 "Is this true?" He asked Y/n.

 "Yes. This is Hanbin, and he's my friend. He saved me," she smiled.

 "Okay well if there's anything else we need to know, we'll talk. Have a nice day," the policeman smiled and walked back to his car as his fellow policemen arrested the man. 

Hanbin was confused when Y/n began to lean on him. "Hanbin, I don't feel so good," she whimpered, before losing consciousness. Luckily, Hanbin caught her.

 "Wait!" He called out to the police before they got in their cars. "I need help! Somebody!"

~~~~~

Y/n's eyes fluttered open and she realized she was no longer on the streets, but in a hospital bed. "What... what happened?" She thought aloud, rubbing her eyes.

 "You passed out last night after I saved you from a random creep, remember?" Hanbin chuckled from the right side of Y/n's bed.

 "Oh, right," she sighed.

 "How are you feeling?" Hanbin asked with much kindness in his eyes.

 "Better," she smiled with a tilt of her head, which Hanbin found a bit too cute.

 "You know uh... the doctor said you passed out from exhaustion. What did you do to exhaust yourself, Y/n?" He wondered.

 "So you do remember me too," she said, earning a nod from him. "Well, I'm a trainee for Pledis Entertainment and I've been a little overworked I guess," she shrugged. "But it's been like this for the past three years so, you know."

 "There years?! Why haven't you left?" He was confused.

She sighed. "Because they told me nobody else would want me anway. This is my last chance to follow my dreams and debut as an idol, Hanbin. My last chance," she looked down.

His heart went out to her. He was an idol, but he remembered how tough the trainee days were. "Y/n, I'm an idol now, and I remember how hard it was to be a trainee. But nobody should be overworked like you. I think you should join my company," he suggested.

 "Your company?"

 "Yeah, Yuehua Entertainment. They've been really good to my group and everyone else under them. And they're always looking for talent. I bet they'd like you," he blushed.

 "How would you know? It's not like you watched me in dance class, did you?" She raised an eyebrow.

 "Well," he scratched the back of his neck.

 "Hanbin! You are bad," she laughed.

 "I couldn't help that I had a crush on you!" The words slipped out of his mouth unintentionally.

 "You know, you should've just asked me out, I woulda said yes."

 "Is it too late to ask now?"

 "I'll give you a chance."

 "Will you go out with me?"

 "I thought you'd never ask."

#ngô ngọc hưng #hanbin #tempest #hanbin tempest #tempest hanbin #tempest fluff #tempest angst #idol au #fluff #angst #tempest x reader #tempest imagines #hanbin fluff #hanbin angst #hanbin x reader #kpopidol #kpop boy group #kpop #kpop boys #hanbin scenarios #kpop group

[thisdreamplace]

hi! i was wondering if you've got any advice when you're paralyzed by fear? meaning i'm so afraid of even trying to see if the law works, so ended up putting it off. yet i keep reading about it, seeing other people's success stories doesn't help and logically i know i won't understand if i don't see it for myself. but then i'm just too afraid of what will happen if it is fake - i feel like i built it up so much to the point idk how to live if it doesn't work. like i just don't want to live if it won't work, but! i won't try bc self-preseravtion i guess. other part of me thinks it's saving my life by not doing it. but i'm so tired, i can't willpower thru it and i just at this point just want to try it out but it just won't let me. and i tried confronting it to see what my life would be like if it won'r work and i feel like i won't have any prospects and it turns depressing and i just don't have any motivation to live. sorry for weighing on you like this, but i'm beyond desperate.

okay, wow. thanks for sharing, a lot of that is definitely heavy to carry.

my best advice to you would be to let it go ? i mean. im thinking of myself, when i was in those dark places, and when i saw the law as my saving grace. it put so much pressure and weight on myself and my life. it’s no surprise that instead of doing something, you just do nothing because it’s all too much.

so stop putting all that power in something outside of you. i think the law is so cute and it promises you this wonderful perfect life and then you have all the people and their success stories that keep you fired up. i get it, but its time to leave it behind. your actual well-being is on the line here, as you expressed you’re clearly in a dark place. i’ve seen so many people use the law as their anchor, as their reason for still being alive and it’s honestly unnerving. i get it because i’ve hit new rock bottoms quite a few times while making the law my savior too.

as much as we hate to hear it, the truth of the matter is not even the law will save you. because while you’re calling the law your one true shot at life, you’re totally misunderstanding that you are your shot at life.

life gets so much better when we stop trying to make it be something else and we let it be what it is. through this we can enjoy it more, we can say okay. what’s in front of me that i can work with ? what’s in front of me now that i can enjoy/do/experience ? i won’t wait on a false god anymore — i go out there and experience life for me.

of course, along with that, allowing yourself to live and be a human being, comes a change in mindset you must work on along side yourself. allowing neutrality, allowing beauty and lovely meanings where you decide. dedicating yourself to allowing yourself to be the true you and not the you who’s identity was born of fear and survival — but the true loving and free form you that exists beneath it all. it all works together, but its one moment at a time.

and i would suggest you begin at actually letting it go. get offline, sit with yourself and stop asking what “should” life be like but instead ask yourself “what can i do now ?” it might be small. but it’s important because you’re doing it for you and not for some special outside force you’ve put all your faith in. it’s time to build the faith in yourself. because you quite literally have the ability to live your life. it’s time to remind yourself of that again.

i feel like this may not have been the advice you wanted :D maybe you were hoping i’d say don’t give up now ! keep going ! but no. give up now. and by give up i mean let go of what clearly isn’t working and find a direction that fits more true to your soul. if you thought that following the law the same way everyone insists you follow the law is the only way to your dream life, you are fully mistaken. the best path is the one that works for you, not the one that’s hyped up online lol