#I went in the inner world for 2 seconds

[thetechypurpletwin]

#I went in the inner world for 2 seconds #AND HE WAS THERE #DRINKING COFFEE #wearing the dad outfit #I posted this to our main blog had a heart attack speedrun deleting it #leo rottmnt #rise leo #rottmnt leo #osdd 1b #osdd system #osdd #leo txt

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar angst #a court of thorns and roses #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

[tarjapearce]

soccer family Miguel meeting wife’s family for the first time and vice versa?

Oh dear. What a bumpy ride. 🙃

Bit of angst in the end. (Will do her meeting his family later, don't worry ~)

Pt 2 here

Teeth pulled at the inner soft skin on your lips, chewing and biting away the waves of raw anxiety that washed over you.

"Stop that. You'll hurt yourself."

Miguel mumbled as he drove to your family's home. It was an unsettling surprise for you to know that your family wanted to meet him. But what truly surprised you was the fact that they knew.

Ever since you moved out from your family's home at 18, many things stopped happening. Fights, verbal and emotional abuse that went both ways, the constant comparison to your other same age family members and you, and of course, you being pushed around and invalidated.

College was a different kind of freedom for you. And the start of a new life without them. You barely visited them, even skipped the most important holidays to be away from them. In a way, it was thanks to that that you met Jessica. She had been a wonderful support on your life.

"I know... just-"

His large hand covered yours to then give a kiss on the back of your palm

"You'll be fine. And if you don't feel comfortable enough, we can go."

"I'm uncomfortable already and we haven't even arrived yet."

"They can't be that bad"

You deadpanned and sighed.

"Corazón, look. I know family's difficult. I really do, but a couple of hours won't kill you. It's a good chance to prove them wrong."

"I've got nothing to prove them, Miguel."

"Right. Still, won't be a bad idea for them to see you doing fine. Talvez asi se callan el hocico y te dejan en paz" (Maybe that way they'll shut the fuck up and leave you alone)

You giggled at his words.

In truth was that you told him everything, it was sort of sad yet amusing that you bonded over trauma sharing. It was a mutual catharsis that somehow ended up strengthening your relationship. He didn't know them, but for the things you had shared with him, he knew he'd be curt and polite.

You'd warn him about their modus operandi. They'd present themselves as kind and welcoming, but bit by bit the snide and passive aggressive remarks and comments would show up. You had hope that after years of barely visiting they'd change.

Something you were about to find out as he parked outside the colonial looking home.

"No matter what, stay away from the Horchata. My auntie thinks she is good at it but... it's yuck."

He chuckled and soon, you'd get out the car. Miguel rubbed your shoulders soothingly in an attempt to ease your restless nerves.

----

"Buenas gente" (Hey, People)

One of your elder aunts, the only one you truly liked and always supported you back in college came to greet you with a loving hug, "Mija!"

"Hola tía" (Hey auntie)

You hugged her back and mumbled a quick 'I missed you' before letting Miguel come into view.

"Tía, This is Miguel. My boyfriend."

Auntie gasped at the sheer size of him but gave him a gentle smile.

"Nice to meet you, mijo."

"El gusto es mío, madrecita" (The pleasure is mine)

"Oh! He speaks Spanish!"

The two shared a brief laugh as auntie invited you further. With a hand Miguel held a small present, a bottle of your dad's favorite rum and bunch of roses for your mother. and the other one he held your hand.

It seemed like a regular carneada for him, except that this time there wasn't meats to roast, but soup. Your mom's special seafood soup that was only done in special occasions. You could tell it would be difficult to leave emotionally unscathed when your mom and dad, three aunties, two cousins, and your brother were there.

Upon you making an appearance before all of them, the world stopped for a second, your breath was caught in your throat as you mentally prepared for the game of pretense.

"Mi niña! Come here!"

Your dad followed by your brother made the first ones in making an approach. The size difference sure was shocking for them all. Your father and brother had to crane his head up to see Miguel.

"¿Qué tal? Un gusto conocerte." (How's it going? Nice to meet you)

Miguel shook his hand with him firmly, something your dad approved. And then Miguel handed the packaged rum to him.

He had explained how you'd told him about his favorite drink. Your dad invited you and introduced Miguel to the whole family.

Some of your cousins oggled him shamelessly. Earning a frown from you.

However the biggest challenge laid ahead. Your mother had been watching both from afar, tending to the food with some of your aunties.

And when it was her time to be greeted, you held tighter on his hand. His thumb rubbing on your skin, reassuring.

You'll be fine.

"Mamá" You mumbled and her so ever deep stare settled on Miguel. Not even in you first, but Miguel.

"Fo you, Ma'am" Miguel gave her the roses which she took with a strained smile.

"Thank you very much. Miguel was it, right?"

"Así es." (Correct)

"Are you hungry? Made your favorite soup."

Her stalking gaze shifted between Miguel and you.

"Thanks. A bit would be nice."

"Hm. Go sit, Miguel. We'll tend to this."

Her gaze returned to the food and you nodded at him. He wasn't comfortable with the idea to just sit and watch. But by the things you had told him, it was better to not create unnecessary drama for you.

-----

Everyone seemed at the expectance of something happening between you and your mother. Your brother was trying to make casual conversation with Miguel, but his curt and simple answers made him desist. Plus, it didn't help his mahogany eyes seemed lighter.

If they were nervous about him looking so big with deep red eyes, they'd surely freak out by his fangs. It instantly made your stomach churn, you knew Miguel didn't appreciate people pointing at his insecurities so brazenly, even worse without knowing him.

Everyone sat down, a little blessing before anything and soon the feast begun.

Of course, eyes were settled on both of you and your interactions. Miguel followed your instructions to then help you break the crab.

One of your aunties smiled at it.

"So, Miguel, where do you work?"

Here we go

"Lab Manager at Alchemax."

Your brother whistled and nodded approvingly, just like your father.

Your relationships with him sure was strained, but at least he seemed to have a bit more self criterion than the rest when it came to pick sides. You'd rather him neutral. Just like your dad.

"Wow, you surely outdid yourself this time, cariño."

That cariño sat sickly fake in your stomach. She was the one that always instigated the fights further when you thought everything would calm down. You didn't smile, just ate.

Miguel was given a beer, a round of collective gasps as he tried to open the beer with his fangs. Your other auntie made a cross sign on herself and your mother's eyes widened.

A custom you still couldn't get out of him.

"Do they hurt?"

"How does one get those? They look so cool!"

"Are they comfortable?"

Your eyes caught the glimpse of him tightening his grip on the spoon.

"Ya pues!" (Knock it off!)

"There is no need to yell"

Silence immediately came to the table as your gaze and your mother's clashed.

"Disculpa eso, Miguel." (Im sorry for that, Miguel)

your dad shook his head at your cousins.

"Do you plan on having kids?"

You couldn't help but hide your face in your palm.

"Mamá, stop."

"What? I just wanna know! You're getting old enough to have kids. And Emanuel is always asking about you."

"We haven't discussed it yet." Miguel cleaned his hands with lemon, rinsing away the fishy smell out of his fingers. The coldness in his voice only matched your mom's icy stare.

"Oh."

"But do you want to have kids, Miguel?"

"Dios mío, ma! Ya basta." (My god, Mom! Enough.)

"Why are you so mad over a question?"

Miguel's jaw clenched. It made sense for him why you didn't visit. The way you rolled your eyes, made the ones that had finished already to stand up and leave. Their cue to leave things unfold.

Your elder auntie seized your mom with a glare. Your dad only recoiled to himself and your brother sighed.

"Ma, eso no se pregunta." The only attempt of him to calm the boiling tension between the two. (Mom, you don't ask such things)

Miguel gave you a 'do you wanna go now' stare. And you shook your head. Leaving would only make things worse. But you found the perfect excuse to leave the table.

"Need help, mi amor?"

"Sure."

He was perceptive to pick up your cues, the both cleared up the table and took the dishes to the sink.

---

"I'm so sorry you had to put up with it." You mumbled as you washed and he dried. The kitchen felt tiny for him.

"S'fine."

"Are you mad?"

"A bit uncomfortable. But no, not mad."

"We're leaving after we're done here." a deep sigh escaped your lips, "This is exactly why I don't come here."

"Whose Emanuel?" You groaned and shook your head.

"A man mom thought it was fun to pair me with a long time ago. I never indulged him but he never got the memo ever since I left this place"

"Sounds like he never got over you."

"Yeah, cause mom kept feeding his hopes of me getting with him together."

"Is that why you moved out?"

"One of the reasons, yeah."

You finished the dishes and Miguel excused himself to the bathroom.

He could hear the voices from the other side. One of your aunts surely and your mom.

"I give them a year."

"Did you see his... fangs? I've never seen something like that! And his eyes too!"

"Esta niña... Me va a sacar canas verdes. From all The guys she could pick, she gets one that is twice her size. Why she can't pick up normal guys?" (This girl, will get me green hairs)

Miguel's eyes turned apprehensive as his mouth settled in a straight line.

He had to hunch over the sink to take a look of himself in the mirror. He looked pretty normal, by any standards, until of course, he smiled. Pointy canines bigger than the average people stood out the most. His eyes were a different shade of brown. That was all.

He was fine.

He was normal.

He knew things like this would happen, he expected a bit of trouble. Not this.

His head felt heavy. Sudden spiral thoughts plagued his mind, corrupting the good things he held dear in his mind.

"As long as he's rich, don't care."

"Emanuel's surely richer than him"

That was the final straw. He knew you weren't that type of woman. Hell, you had invited him multiple times, knowing that you'd get broke for a couple of weeks. And still did it anyways. You loved to pamper him.

Why?

His steps guided him back to you. You were stressed and surely would cry at night. But so far you were keeping it together.

Your heart sunk a bit when looking at him. Neither of the both could stand being a second longer in the house. He followed you as you said your goodbyes. You didn't hug none but your elder aunt, and your dad, though the latter got an awkward hug.

You went back home. Neither of you said much during the trip back.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️ #t writes✨ #Pre Soccer Family ⚽🕷️

[imtryingbuck]

Affair Part 2

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x ??

Summary: The aftermath of reader telling Bucky she’s divorcing him

Word count: 3157

Warnings: Bucky is a big huge gigantic humongous dumdum. Swearing, if there’s more let me know.

Translation: милая девушка - beautiful girl. ангел - angel.

Masterlist

Part 1

“I filed for divorce” kept playing on his mind for the rest of the night long after she had gone to bed. His phone kept going off nonstop, the messages and missed calls all from Sharon.

He stayed at the home he shared with his wife and children for four hours waiting, hoping his beautiful wife who he betrayed would come back down the stairs and tell him she forgave him.

It never happened.

He left, getting into the car his wife brought him, the same car he fucked his mistress in and went straight to Sharon’s. Knocking on the door he only had to wait for a few minutes before the wooden door came swinging open.

“You finally showed, I’ve been waiting for ages! We need to talk” Sharon stands there, red eyed as if she had been crying.

“She’s divorcing me” Walking past her and looking around the room he’d been in so many time before - double date nights, just seeing his best friend, cheating on his wife with his best friend’s wife.

“He’s divorcing me too” Her voice was happier than his. “Now we can be together, I had to cry in front of Steve pretending I cared. Then you wouldn’t pick up your phone I wa-”

“I don’t want you Sharon. I want Y/n. I want my children and my best friend back. Me and you biggest mistake I have ever made!” Cutting her off.

“You’re joking right? We are so perfect together not me and Steve and especially not you and that bitch!”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare call my wife a bitch” he seethes.

“Don’t act like you care now Bucky where was that caring nature of yours when you was sleeping with me for 8 months? And news flash she’s divorcing you she’s not going to get back with you!”

Having her remind him of the stone cold truth hit him in the gut. Sharon was right, his wife was divorcing him. She was never going to get back together with him.

“I don’t care if she’s divorcing me just don’t call her a bitch.”

“Okay, how about we don’t talk about them two okay? Here’s what I was thinking, I’m getting the house in the divorce so I’ll just sell it and me and you can get an apartment together? We can buy all new furniture and it can be a fresh start for us and oh I’ve already found -“.

As Sharon stands there rambling on he had the urge to ring his wife and tell her she was wrong. Sharon did want him now that they were divorcing, she’s even planned to sell her house so they can get an apartment together. Y/n was wrong about that Sharon and himself couldn’t run off into the sunset and live happily ever after because he stood there with his mistress in front of him and having to hear her rambling off about their new future together.

His wife who he loves more than anything in this world was wrong.

Because it wasn’t Sharon that didn’t want him now their affair was known to their spouses. It was him. He was the one that didn’t want her, he didn’t want the apartment with Sharon, he didn’t want a fresh start with his best friends soon to be ex-wife. No, he wanted his wife back. He wanted a fresh start with Y/n so he can get a second chance of being better. He wanted the love of his life back, and he wanted Steve back - he knew himself that Steve wouldn’t forgive him for his part of her affair.

“-Bucky? Bucky are you even listening to me?” Sharon’s voice cut his inner monologue off.

“Huh? Oh yeah sorry”

“You wasn’t listening was you? It’s okay silly bum I was just talking about an apartment I found the other day, oh Buck it’s beautiful and I honestly think it would be perfect for us” Her voice was hopeful and excited. He found himself comparing her voice to the one belonging to his wife when she found the house that became their home.

“Sharon this isn’t going to work”

“Of course it will, I love you and you love me”

“No Sharon I don’t. I don’t love you, I will always love Y/n”

“No! No you don’t James! You love me!” Sharon screamed at him.

Sighing “Listen Sharon I don’t love you, I never had. I have never been attracted to you-“

“Never been attracted to me? You’re joking right?”

“No”

“You prick!”

“We wouldn’t work anyway Sharon. You cheated on Steve with me and I cheated on Y/n with you. We would always accuse each other, we wouldn’t be happy I can promise you that”

“N-no you wouldn’t cheat on me though!”

“I cheated on my WIFE! You really think I wouldn’t do it to you? I love her for Christ sake, she’s the only person I have ever been attracted to! When I was fucking you I was thinking of her! C’mon Sharon don’t be so stupid, it doesn’t suit you” He’s only now regretting coming over here, at the time he didn’t know where else he could go.

“Yo-you ruined my marriage James” he watched her struggle to breathe for a moment “you ruined my marriage!”

“No I didn’t, you did. You are the one that made a vow to Steve not me. Like how I ruined my marriage with Y/n not you.”

“You-we made love James”

“We fucked. We didn’t make love Sharon” rolling his eyes at her petty attempt at making him change his mind.

“I-don’t-you don’t want me now? But you did earlier? You fucked me in your car, went home and get confronted by your wife, then you come here and tell me you don’t want me anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me right now?” Her anger and tears were on full display.

“I’m sorry. I am. It’s just I love Y/n more than anything. I’m going to go; I’ll see you around I guess” he was just about to touch the door handle when her voice stopped him.

“Fuck me one last time. Please James”.

And ever the fool, he did.

~~~

The months after she told him she had filed for divorce she flourished, no more crying herself to sleep, no more fake smiles and no more faking confidence. She was the happiest she had been since she caught her husband fucking a woman that was most definitely not her. Her and Steve’s friendship grew too, they became closer than ever. They were each other’s shoulder to cry on, they supported one another when they needed it.

But then came their divorce to being finalised, and that’s where Y/n struggled.

Nat had forced convinced her to go and see a therapist, Dr Grey was a lovely woman who didn’t care about telling her to stop putting herself down, happily called her stupid when she blamed herself for the affair. Dr Grey - Linda as she told Y/n to call her - became a good friend, a friend she needed and wanted.

In the aftermath of her divorce she became isolated, she didn’t want to see or hear anyone that wasn’t her children. Sam being the best friend that he is, would pick up the kids and take them to school and drop them back off. Nat would go to the shops and sometimes even cook them dinner. She felt like she was causing problems for Nat and Sam because they were spending so much time running around after her that they couldn’t spend any time together.

“Don’t be stupid Y/n. You know me and Sam love you, we are more than happy to help” Nat spoke one night when they were lying in bed together.

“I feel like I’m causing problems and I don’t want you two to argue becau-“

“Y/n stop! You’re not causing problems and we are not arguing, like at all. You know Sam loves them kids of yours, he actually loves taking them to school because and I quote ‘they make me feel cool’” both women chuckle at the red heads husband “so stop милая девушка, we are both here for you, I promise”

She cried herself to sleep most nights, cried for the loss of her marriage - for weeks she would find herself going to play with the ring that use to sit on her fourth finger only for her to look down and only see a fading white tan line. Signing her maiden name not married one took months to engrain as she was just so use to writing Barnes after her name. She would find herself reaching out to the other side of the brand new double sized bed searching for his warmth, always finding it empty, always leaving her feeling alone and cold.

She cried the loss of her friendship with Sharon. They had been friends for nearly three years prior to Sharon introducing her and Bucky to each other. She was the first person Y/n would phone whenever something good and bad happened, she was actually the first person to know Y/n was pregnant with her oldest child - hell it was Sharon that told her she was pregnant as she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Y/n was always there for Sharon night or day she was there. The pain of her betrayal was almost more unbearable than Bucky’s.

Her mental and physical health took a toll too. Constantly blaming herself for not being enough for him, blaming herself for being tired sometimes to not have sex with him. Blaming herself was so much easier and safer for her than to blame the two people who hurt her. Her weight loss was concerning to Nat and Sam, although she would find herself hungry she just couldn’t stomach anything. Nat cleaned the house whilst Sam took the kids to the park as Y/n had a shower for the first time in nearly a month, she felt like she could conquer the world all because she showered, washed her hair and shaved.

Then she accepted the divorce. She accepted that she was no longer someone’s wife, she even (more dramatically) accepted that she’d be single for the rest of her life. With the help from Linda she accepted that Bucky’s affair was not her fault.

~~~

It had now been two years since they were officially divorced.

Y/n made a friend at work, Peggy. Beautiful, kind and the sweetest person. She had set her up with Steve to help him get himself back out there, they’d been dating for nearly a year. Y/n couldn’t believe how much happier he looked now, she was happy for him truly she was. She believed he deserved it.

Dating for her was, well….

“You’re absolutely glowing ангел” Nat whistled as Y/n walked into the kitchen.

“Stop flirting with me”

“I can’t help it милая девушка”

“Sam come and get your wife!”

“What’s going on?” Sam asks coming to where the women were, placing a kiss on Y/n’s temple then giving Nat a quick kiss.

“Your wife keeps flirting with me”

Wiggling his eyebrows “well things can be arranged”

“Samuel!” Both women scold him but shortly after burst out laughing.

“No but I was telling her that she was glowing” Nat informed.

“You are, you seem happier as well” Sam agreed.

“Well… ikindofmetsomeone”

“What!” Both Sam and Nat shout in unison.

“I met someone..”

“Who?” When? Where? How?” Y/n rolled her eyes at the pair talking in tandem.

“His name is Ari. I literally bumped into after I ran out of the cafe after setting Steve and Peggy up on their date”.

“Is he good to you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great with the kids”

“Wait…he’s met the kids?”

“Yeah it was an accident, James said he couldn’t take the kids because of work and Ari came to pick me up for our date but ended up staying at mine. The kids love him”.

“I can’t wait to meet him!” Nat smiles.

~~~

Bucky hadn’t seen Sharon after he left the next morning, he felt ashamed and guilty for sleeping with her. For some bizarre reason he thought it would be a great idea to go to Nat and Sam’s to talk to Steve.

“Absolutely not. You’re not coming in Buck”

“Please Sam I know he’s here, I jus- I just need to talk to him”

“About what? Jesus Bucky you were having an affair with his wife!”

“I know I just need to apologise” He heard movement behind Sam, when he saw Steve’s pained expression his heart sank.

“I don’t want to hear any apologies. But you will listen to me.” Steve gives Sam a small nod, stepped further out of the doorway. “I have known you since we were kids and not once have I ever not trusted you. Not once have an ever wanted to punch you as much as right now. But.. but I’m not going to, it’s not worth it. You betrayed me man! You knew how much I loved her! And there’s Y/n, you had this perfect woman and you cheated on her!” Slightly shaking his head “you-you had the perfect family and you fucked it up by fucking my wife! I was always jealous of you, did you know that? Sharon never wanted kids so when you told me Y/n was pregnant I was jealous. You two had this perfect relationship whilst me and her were arguing all the time, I was jealous” swallowing hard and taking a deep breath “but you see James as much as I wanted the life you had I would of never and I mean never of done what you have done!”

Bucky stands there with tears rolling down his cheeks, wanting to say something but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“You know when Y/n told me about the affair she couldn’t stop apologising, couldn’t stop crying, she even puked up. I had to calm your wife down trying to reassure her that what you did wasn’t her fault! And where were you huh? Screwing my wife!” Chuckling lightly to himself. “Me and Y/n deserve so much better than you two. I really hope it was worth it James because I can’t forgive you. And the fact you have the audacity to come here after spending the night with Sharon just proves how little you care” when he sees Bucky’s eyebrow twitch in confusion he laughs “I really can’t see Y/n giving you a hickey after she’s told your sorry ass she’s divorcing you. Goodbye James it was nice knowing you”.

Y/n was right, he was alone. He had no one in his corner. Going through the divorce process was difficult for him, like she said she wasn’t going to take anything from him. Custody had been split between them evenly as agreed. The part he was struggling with was, only being able to see her at the weekends, their conversations was just about the kids nothing more nothing less.

Then Sam started to do drop offs and pick up leaving him completely crushed. He no longer got to see her even if it was for 10 or if he was really lucky 15 minutes. The friendship he had with Sam and Nat became strained, he didn’t blame them. He did miss them though.

To deal with the loss of his marriage he turned to drinking. Sometimes he would come home from the bar and call out for Y/n, cry when he got no response, 9 out of 10 times he’d fall over and then fall asleep on the floor.

Then that dreaded day came.

Sam had long gone after dropping the kids off, he was in the middle of cooking dinner with his oldest talking about school when he heard a name he hasn’t heard before.

“Sweetheart what was that?”

“Me and Tommy and Billy are now best friends they’re new to school”

“I’m glad but not that bit baby, you said someone helped you with your homework?”

“Oh Ari, he helps me he’s so clever daddy”

“Who’s Ari?”

“Mommy’s new friend. We saw them kissing” giggling when her younger brother pulls a disgusting face.

Of course he knew that it would happen, her dating. Of course she would, she had every right to find happiness and love after he destroyed that for her. Any man would be lucky enough to be with her - she’s funny, beautiful, loving, kind and passionate, the list goes on - he should know, he was once that lucky man before he fucked it all up.

The knowledge of his now ex-wife is dating again broke something inside of him. What? He doesn’t quite know, he shouldn’t have felt anything other than happiness for her.

~~~

It was their son’s birthday party today, the squeals of close to 30 children running around the backyard full of sugar could be heard from down the street, most of their little faces decorated with face paint.

The birthday boy was currently bouncing around on the dinosaur themed bouncy castle - that he just had to have - after laying on the grass for 10 minutes complaining he was ill. Their oldest daughter was walking around showing the adults her butterfly wings that went with the butterfly paint on her face.

Y/n was rushing around making sure everything was okay and running smoothly as well and making sure everyone was having a good time. Bucky thought she looked absolutely breath taking in the white floral dress and white pumps. Her hair was up in two fishtail braids, just like his daughter.

It was the first time in two years that he saw Steve - like Y/n he looked happier, healthier, freer. The woman that was placed snuggly under his arm was beautiful and when Bucky noticed Steve’s hand position when talking to Sam he saw the pregnancy bump, Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his former best friend finally getting his dream of being a dad.

The cheerful scream pulled his eyes away from Steve to his daughter who was running past him heading towards the sliding glass doors. A tall, well-built man stood at the doorway with a huge smile on his face.

“Ari Ari - look mommy Ari’s here”

“I can see that sweetie-“

He started to struggle to breath, his own daughter was more happier to see this Ari guy than him, the smile that lit up Y/n’s beautiful face crushed him. Then it got worse for him. He watched as his former best friend go up to Ari and greeted him in the same way them two use to great each other.

~~~

Going back to the once lively and warm house that he once called home the realisation of how truly alone Bucky was, was a tough pill for him to swallow.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #yn x Nat x Sam #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes cheating #bucky x y/n #bucky barns imagine #james barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes

[adviceformefromme]

My recent journey with self love… 

Context: last summer I probably felt my most radiant yet, I was glowing, my life was thriving. But all that changed when i had a health scare and had to have an emergency surgery. I had to remove my nail extensions for the surgery, I deleted social media (and haven't returned since). I decided to embark on a natural journey. So goodbye gorgeous long hair extensions, and thank you for completely thinning out my own hair, good bye nail extensions, (I no longer wanted chemicals on my nails). And hello, and welcome natural, authentic version on myself.

I’ve spent months looking in the mirror, feeling average. It felt so disheartening to notice my flaws every time I caught my reflection. Everything about my image felt inadequate. The lines in my forehead, the scarring from old acne. But who was judging me? 

I had truly become my own worst critic, and after two months of deep reflections and shifting my energy I can finally say I have got to a place where I love what I see….  What did I do?

1) I set the intention. I knew I had to heal this inner self-depreciating, harmful voice and tune it into love. I did the mirror affirmations (they didn’t really work because I didn’t feel beautiful reading them), but what they did is remind me constantly of the work I needed to do, on shifting my inner voice. I journaled on this topic, I cried. I remembered a situation as a child where i felt less than average and processed the emotions. I listened to subliminals briefly on youtube. Podcasts on self acceptance. I went hard on clearing this lack of self acceptance.

2) I spoke to my mindset coach about my insecurities as it started to impact how I was feeling everyday, as if I was second class, less than average. He guided me back to God, and reminding me that my validation does not come from the outer world. His delivery of words, shifted my mind completely. I accepted where I am in this current chapter and let go of this idea that I need to be perfectly groomed and presentable to be accepted by the world. God loves me just as I am. Period He also reminded me that I was feeling the discomfort so strongly because it doesn’t resonate who I am. It’s not my truth. It needed to be cleared.

3) I took action. I went for a deep cleansing facial to help with my skin texture, got my brows did, also went for botox. I watched youtube videos of natural hair transformation and started speaking life into hair, and making homemade hair masks.

While point 3 might seem like a short-cut in some regards, because botox resolved one of my main insecurities when I looked in the mirror. There is no shame in making changes that make you feel good. The pain comes when you don’t accept or change what's bothering you. Your self love journey is completely unique to you. So if you need to spend money, invest, and make changes, go ahead. Investing in yourself is the very best investment you can make. Because how you feel each and everyday ultimately shapes the energy you carry with you moment by moment.

#manifestyourreality #levelup #lawofattraction #growthmindset #manifesting #levelup confidence lawofattraction powerofthemind #levelupjourney #manifest #manifestingmindset #selflove #selfworth #selfcare #self respect #self love #positivevibes

[skayafair]

Hell Circles

Alright time for a soul-crashing post!

When I saw Edwin curling down on the floor in that room in Hell, trying to be as quiet as possible and not even trying to run when Charles found him, my mind faltered.

We know Edwin escaped Hell. So why did he look like he gave up? He hasn't been there for as long as the first time, I think even with hell's no-time he should have been able to feel this.

I explained it to myself in 2 ways, they aren't mutually exclusive and are both pretty painful to think about.

It was just this devastating to end up in Hell for the second time, and Edwin clearly didn't expect for anyone to come for his rescue. So his resilience and resolve weren't as strong as the first time or, rather, he felt broken by this sudden developement and didn't manage to bounce back from it yet (again, it wasn't very long this time). The boiling point of "I WILL get out of here again, everything be damned" wasn't reached yet. (As you can clearly see, I have no doubts whatsoever that he WOULD HAVE done this eventually, just after much more trauma and suffering. I'm so glad Charles came before all that.)

This is a psychological cycle. I often go through a similar one so I couldn't help remembering it. When you run as fast as you can and try your best to no avail until you're out of all the resources to go on, and so you give up. Curl up in the corner and hope the outside world won't notice you, give you some respite. The future seems bleak or non-existent. You give. up. It won. And then over time the inner battery charges, or the desperation reaches its breaking point, so you grit your teeth and get up. And run and try again and again and again. "Impossible just means try again". I thought Edwin must have went through similar cycles time after time. The first time he was dragged into hell, then the second. After every couple of "deaths". The worst thing about it is that while real life has at least one escape (not recommended but as a last resort it's at least always there if everything becomes too unbearable), Edwin has none. His only choice is either to tremble in the corner forever (and who said the doll-spider won't notice him even so?) or to run and be torn to pieces. Forever is a very long time. Only with running there's still this very thin, very subtle hope to escape, so in a way this choice is unavoidable. Oh, right, Edwin actually has another possible escape - into madness can you tell I'm fond of loveraftian horror. Locking himself up in his own mind might help, although I'm not sure it would have been effective enough. And honestly I'm glad he wasn't this broken after all.

So yeah that was fun to realize :')

Also Edwin doesn't handle change well, as we know from Charles' words. How jarring (beside the obvious) was it to be tossed from one demon to another? I bet the "punishment" changed, too. It must have felt devastating to figure out the way of handling one and get more used to it, more mentally stable, however horrible it might be, - just to be thrown into a completely new situation.

Let's add insult to the injury, shall we? Look at the corridors Edwin was kept in. The greenish hue, the dim light that makes even the most spacious halls feel claustraphobic. It feels heavy, weights on your mind. There are no windows, no outside, forever. It's suffocating. This place is a pure torture on its own, even without demon doll head spiders.

All in all, I didn't like Edwin much when I first started watching, but after completing the series and rewatching on top of that, I admire him. To go through all these horrors and get out of them is worth that on its own. But Edwin retained his kindness, compassion, moral compass and a will to help others in need. He didn't grow callous, didn't lock himself away emotionally from the world fearing to be hurt again - at least not completely, not even close. I really didn't expect to come to respect and admire a teenage series character like that.

This show has a heart in it, it's living and beating and big and kind, and its characters reflect that in full.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Can you do a part 2 for “Say yes to heaven?” Maybe where the mother actually finds someone whom the reader could marry and she tells Arthur about it and he gets angrily possessive and fucks her rough😇

Say Yes To Heaven (Part 2)

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader smut)

This shit is 8 pages long and is absolutely FILTHY I did not hold back. This is my magnum opus.

As the title suggests, there is a part one here. It's not absolutely necessary to read but it provides a lot of context.

Warnings: Smut and implied age gap

Your mother was not one for indecision. In fact, she often found the decisions you made to be puerile and childish. And with your twentieth birthday around the corner, she often asked herself where she went wrong, and why you hadn’t been married off yet. And especially now, why you weren’t showing any interest in any boys. At least to her knowledge. Your mother knew you were growing up, and she couldn't hold onto you forever, so she thought she might as well prolong her grasp for as long as possible.

But you lived in two worlds, as many young girls your age did. On one hand, you worked at the local saloon because your mother practically demanded you do. Your bar service was barely adequate but you made just enough to help your family and support your weekly trips to the general store. But that was one world. And the line between your two worlds would blur occasionally. The saloon is how you met Arthur after all, and being fucked up against the back wall of the saloon some days after your shift sure did help you come home in a lighter mood. Not to mention the rides you got. That was your second world.

Your mother's idea of proper courtship involved you in tight silky dresses, corsets cinched so tight you swore your organs were being pushed up your torso, sleeves so puffy it was embarrassing, and a skirt wide and puffy enough to not show any of your natural curves. The make up she once again did for you was modest, light. A dust of pink blush on your cheeks and a deep red lipstick; the lines of your eyeliner tracing round your water lines. Your outfit was hot and suffocating, and you stared at yourself in your full length mirror, your face scrunching up in disapproval. You pulled at the fabrics hugging you, but not too much, or else your mother would hound you for it. Your mother’s outfit choices for you seemed to be as suffocating as her grasp on you and your life.

“(Name)! Are you almost done in there?! You gotta hurry, they’re almost here!” Your mother called out from the kitchen.

“In a minute Momma! I’m just… fixing myself up a bit…” Your tone quieted at the end, afraid of the absolute reign of terror she would send your way if she knew you were changing the look she arranged for you.

Much to your horror, your mother had arranged your meeting with a boy from a wealthy family in Saint Denis. Something about his daddy owning steel mills. How she even managed to arrange something like this with people like that was beyond you. And they were to arrive any minute now.

You sighed in dissatisfaction, sitting down on your bed. You clasped your hands in your lap as you glanced pensively down at the skid marks on your wooden floor. You pursed your lips to suppress a smile, before breaking into a full on grin. You bit your bottom lip to prevent any giggles as you reminisced on the previous Sunday. Memories of your encounter with Arthur came flooding back, and you felt a sudden warmth blossoming between your thighs. You settled your gloved hand on your left breast, feeling your hardened nipple beneath the layers of fabric of your shirt. Slowly, your hand traversed lower, following the same path Arthur previously would have taken about a hundred times or more. Your hand came to settle on your inner thigh, gently sliding further in towards your clothed center. Your eyes slid closed gently as you imagined Arthur in your stead, and your pussy began to pulse as you rubbed yourself through the fabrics of your skirt, attempting to imitate the same roughness of your lover’s hands. Your breath hitched, goosebumps racking through your body— until there was a banging on your door.

“(Name), for the love of god, hurry up!” Your mother yelled from the other side of your door, audaciously interrupting you.

You came back to reality and rolled your eyes.

“In a minute!” You called back again.

You eventually burst out of your room, having rubbed on the same blue eyeshadow you favored; as well as adding more eyeliner. Your mother took one look at you and sagged her shoulders in defeat, sighing with all her pent up stress and frustrations behind it. It certainly served to piss you off, yet you got satisfaction out of it.

"Whatever, now, (Name)," she stepped forward and grasped your shoulders tightly, a vice grip on you to emphasize the seriousness of her words.

"Don't fuck this up for us." She spoke through her teeth, a dead serious look in her eyes as a shadow cast on her face. You almost laughed at her impertinence, shocked by how blunt she was. She walked past you towards the door, and you scrunched up your face behind her, wanting nothing more than to yell and hit her.

But proper ladies did not hit their mothers. And proper ladies did not contain any violence and anger within them. Proper ladies stood and looked pretty, and took the cards dealt to them. And if proper was what would get you through this painstaking meeting, you would kiss the dealer's ass and get through this quickly.

They arrived shortly in a horse drawn carriage, and you plastered on the best obligatory smile you could. You kept your hands crossed before you; in politeness or defensiveness, you could not tell the distinction.

"Good afternoon Mister Carter, we are so happy to have you over! Please, meet my lovely daughter, (Name)." Your mother nudged your forward, prompting you to walk up to the man before you. He looked at you with an interest that bordered on abnormal, his gaze curious and as soft as cold butter. Yet his smile was one of infatuation. And who could blame him. You were gorgeous. The money you spent on yourself was well spent; several strongly scented shampoos and perfumes along with makeup of all kinds. Even the way you did your eyeshadow had its own charm.

"A pleasure to meet you" He said, tipping his hat. And he had that terrible posh accent you hated. It was equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for you, much preferring gruffness in one's tone.

"The pleasure is all mine." You nearly choked on your own words, hating the taste it left on your tongue. It tasted of the bitterness of lies and the sting of forcefulness. A combination you were all too familiar with, yet you refused to become accustomed to it.

His parents followed him out the carriage shortly after, and introductions were carried out in full. The whole time, you wanted nothing more than for Arthur to come and metaphorically save you from this dumpster fire of a meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stormed out your front door, stomping on the wooden steps of your porch so harshly the wood groaned and creaked. You were beyond livid. Your mother followed out, but remained at the door frame, leaning on it and crossing her arms. She narrowed her eyes at you and stared, a sourness to her gaze that had a harsh bite to it. And you felt that bite. You felt every sinking tooth in your back.

The wagon was long gone from your front yard. The meeting has been over for hours. And yet, you and your mother had been at each other's throats since then. It began with a comment on how you weren't polite enough, to how you kept saying all the wrong things, even going as far as to call your makeup ugly. And it didn't help your case that you called Carter and his family stuck up snobbish pigs.

"Look what you fucking did, (Name)." Venom dripped from your mother's every word. And you were willing to spit some back.

"We were THIS close to marrying you off, into a rich family no less, and you fucking BLEW IT." She spoke down on you, both literally and metaphorically. Her anger was beyond disappointment for this one instance, it was an amalgamation of all the things you've done over the years that she did not approve of.

"You saw how his parents looked at me! Him too! He was such a creep! They looked down on us! On me!" You yelled back. You didn't care if your neighbors looked over, in fact, you hoped they heard.

"You keep ruining our lives!" She cried.

"Stop living vicariously through me! Fuck your dreams!"

With that, you stormed off to the nearest saloon, a place you knew you'd find your refuge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur welcomed you with open arms, even buying you a few drinks. The warmth of whisky was comforting for you, and so was your lover's embrace. When you first approached Arthur, you did not speak of what had transpired, preferring to let the sweet buzz of alcohol to lull away your adrenaline. The two of you left the saloon eventually, walking arm in arm to the nearest room and board. The familiar roads of your town sickened you; gaslit nighttime streets, sordid and suspicious alleyways, same dusty wooden buildings with faded and peeling paint, gossip obsessed mothers and girls your age who gave you sidelong glances, and the men themselves were short of eldritch.

You sat down on the plush bed of the room, taking in a deep breath as you looked around. The largely wooden interior of the room was cozy, the soft yellow glow of the oil lamp on the table providing a comforting finish to the room. A large full body mirror reminiscent of your own stood in the corner of the room; it also had the same wooden floors (you wondered if you could provide the same skid marks). The room was eerily similar to your own, but the knowledge of being away from home was much more relaxing.

“Room’s real homey.” You commented, attempting to start a conversation. A conversation that wouldn’t involve you telling him what had happened earlier today.

“Yeah, reminds me of yours.” He commented, a lilt in his voice at the end.

You sucked on your bottom lip as you observed Arthur remove his prized gun belt; the same belt he prided so much in it bordered on obsessiveness. Along with his bandolier, which you so desperately wanted to try on one day. He eventually sat next to you, the bed dipping significantly from his weight. His proximity to yours was so close, you could feel the warmth emanating from his body. You naturally leaned into him, smiling gingerly at each other.

"So, sweetheart," he began. "Can you finally tell me what's got you so worked up?"

You took note of the way his large hand slid over your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circled. You felt your pussy begin to throb from the small gesture. That's how much power he had over you. You pouted your bottom lip as you spoke. As much as you didn’t want to have this conversation, you would feel wrong keeping this from Arthur. You wanted to be transparent.

"Oh, Arthur. Momma wants to marry me off already. I met the man today." You told him. His grip on your thigh significantly tightened, bordering on painful, and the fabric bunched up in a fist.

"And how'd that go?" He asked. A metaphorical shadow cast over his face, and he looked at you expectantly for an answer. You could sense the fire you lit in him, which made you apprehensive.

"Well I… I hated it for one. It was so awkward." You turned your body to face him better, the hand on your thigh never moving. He looked at you in anticipation, waiting for more details about the meeting.

"I mean, I called him and his family stuck up pigs…" You trailed off, hoping that was the answer that would satisfy Arthur. He moved his arm around you, tenderly pulling you closer and placing his hand on the small of your back. You blushed like a schoolgirl when his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb smoothing over supple skin. The two of you were so close that your breasts were smothered into his side. You wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but his grip shifted to your jaw, tightening.

"Arthur…" you whimpered, his grip on your jaw becoming vice-like. And then he began to squeeze. He began to force your mouth open, the flesh of your cheeks squeezed by his fingers as he did so. It was forceful, painful, and so fucking hot.

"That's a good girl." You felt his chest rumble with every word he spoke. "But next time she brings another fool around you, tell me so I can kill him." You began nodding happily, smiling even in your state.

He spat in your mouth, letting your jaw go so you could properly swallow. You did so instinctively and opened your mouth afterwards to show him.

"Good fuckin' girl." He muttered before leaning forward and capturing you in a kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. Arthur was never gentle with you when it came to sex. And you preferred it that way. It was a stark contrast to how he treated you outside the bedroom, treating you as the most delicate, docile thing he was sent to protect. Like you were a porcelain doll he had to handle properly. You were like a heaven sent gift for him, wrapped in the most alluring wrapping paper and tied together with pretty bows that punctuated your enticement. And in the bedroom, you were his to tear away at and use. You might as well have had the words “tear me open” scribbled all over your clothes.

Your lips were shoved against one another, a sloppy exchange of tongues taking place. The hand on your back began to pull at the laces of your corset, undoing each one and loosening it. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, the release of the constriction downright pleasurable. Your poor sides ached, and Arthur quickly moved to rub your sides soothingly after popping off the corset.

"Poor girl." He breathed against you, shoving his tongue back into your whimpering mouth. You keened contently from the massage, allowing yourself to slump over, and in doing so, you heard a few pops from your back. You attempted to giggle but Arthurs tongue was so far down your throat you could barely do so. Your lips were surely bruised and busted, and it did not help that he kept biting down harshly on your lips. Your mother would definitely ask you about it later, but you couldn't be bothered to come up with an explanation now. Or at all.

Arthur grasped the hems of your cotton button up and yanked it open, buttons flying everywhere. You didn’t even complain, more invested in the way the veins on his arms popped at his show of strength. Before you could even realize, your chemise had been slipped off of you by Arthur, gasping at the feeling of Arthur’s calloused hands playing with your pert nipples. You sucked in a breath, involuntarily moving your body away. Just the sight of you squirming made Arthur's cock jump.

“A-Arthur..” You became frisky at the softer touches, the sensitivity of your nipples paired with the feather soft touch of Arthur’s rough thumbs was exhilarating. But his gentleness was short-lived, as he fisted your breasts with both hands, kneading and pushing them together for his own enjoyment. And you couldn’t help but whimper in masochistic delight at the way he slapped your tits. The way he rubbed your cheek before slapping it. And especially the way he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and unlooped it, using that same belt to tie your hands behind you. The leather of the belt dug into your skin, the tightness of it allowing you to even feel your pulse. And it was in feeling your pulse that you became acutely aware that your life was in this man’s hands. And you were more than willing to hand that over to him.

He moved you to stand, commanding your every move. If he told you to blink you’d blink, if he told you to stop breathing you’d stop at once, and if he commanded you to somehow stop your pulse, you would use every bit of strength in your body to will your heart to a macabre cessation.

He yanked your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion, leaving you starkly naked infront of him, standing in all your glory. As day turned to dusk outside, the orange glow of the sun and lamp combined gave you a gentle brightness. You moved to step out of the pile of clothing pooled at your feet, pushing it to the side with your foot. You looked at him hopefully, waiting in arousal. Meanwhile, he took his time looking you up and down, committing the image to memory as he had done hundreds of times before.

He stepped forward and moved his hand between your legs, landing a few slaps on your cunt before rubbing you teasingly. At this point, the throbbing between your legs was unbearable to the point you ached in pain. He snaked his arm back and over your hip (Arthur’s favorite handles), giving the bone a squeeze before reaching further and groping your ass. The mound of flesh filled his palm beautifully, the skin squeezing through from between his fingers. But Arthur was greedy, and he'd continue to attempt to grasp your ass cheek whole in his palm. He gave you a stinging slap on the ass before forcing you onto your knees.

"That is what I like to see." He chuckled darkly. You watched in anticipation as Arthur undid his zipper, shoving his underwear down before fishing his cock out. You took a moment to admire the happy trail you loved oh so dearly; trailing from his belly button down to his cock, surrounding it in a thick tuft of dark brown hair. It was second nature for you at this point to open your mouth up at the sight of it, and he chuckled at how well he had trained you.

"Atta girl." He growled, gripping your hair before guiding your head down his cock slowly. The two of you held eye contact the whole time, and you felt him twitch inside your mouth because of it. It was customary for you and Arthur to skip the cock teasing, immediately jumping to you throating him.

Arthur clicked past tonsils, sliding deeper into your throat as it went into peristalsis. You closed your lips around the base finally, leaving a ring of red lipstick around him, a sort of trademark that you left on Arthur. You hollowed your cheeks the most you could, attempting to accommodate the size of his fat cock. Your mouth began overproducing saliva in an attempt to ease the intrusion into your mouth.

Arthur watched with a sadistic grin on his face as he watched you choke on his cock; as you struggled to suck in a breath through your nose. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears streamed down your face, and you felt Arthur shove a thumb into the side of your mouth to help you accommodate for the size.

"Look at me." He demanded. And you did just that. Your bleary eyes, tear filled and watery as they were, looked up at him through soaked lashes.

"Such a pretty girl." He purred, stroking the side of your face. He hadn't begun to move, simply enjoying the sight beneath him. You were completely his. And he could do whatever he wanted with you. You blushed at being called pretty, even though you knew you looked like an absolute mess right now. Your eyeliner was surely smeared by your tears, not to mention the mascara that was definitely running down and spotting your cheeks. Arthur was never a man to put much thought into art, but he believed you were art personified. His god given canvas that he could paint and fuck up as much as he pleased.

After a moment of admiration, Arthur gripped your hair once more, and pulled you back from his cock. You kept your cheeks hollowed, sucking as hard as you could to maximize pleasure for Arthur. And you were rewarded in the form of deep, guttural moans. Though Arthur would not stick to the slow pace of moving your head for you, nor would he allow you to do the work. Instead, he began to thrust his hips in and out of your throat. The feeling of his engorged cock being hugged by warm, wet tissue was almost too much to handle.

You sputtered for air, sucking in jagged breaths through flared nostrils. The lascivious shlucking of your throat made your face warm with embarrassment, and more saliva than your mouth could handle spilled over your lips and dripped down your chin. For a moment you choked particularly hard, causing you to cough around Arthur. But that did not stop him, he was far too enamored by the way your mouth hugged him. You willed it away by swallowing, and you felt him shudder with pleasure. But his shudders were an all too familiar sign to you that he was close to cumming.

Suddenly, he sheathed his cock from your mouth; a sheen of your saliva cascading down it. You gulped in as much air as you could, panting heavily as you felt Arthur slap his sopping wet cock on your forehead, then rubbing it all over your face thereafter. As you caught your breath, you looked up at him and smiled, total adoration in your eyes.

“I love you.” You gasped.

“I love you too, doll face.”

When you stood up to move to the bed, your knees were sore and stung from being scraped against the wooden floor. Flecks of blood spotted your knees, but you paid it no mind when Arthur lifted you up off your aching legs and into his arms with ease.

“I’ve got ya, girl.” He reassured, kissing the side of your wet cheek. Your heart fluttered as he settled your weight on the plush mattress. Arthur unbuttoned his shirt, and his cock stood so hard and high that it bobbed. You felt shivers go up your spine in anticipation of having it inside you. Arthur settled his back on the mattress, legs spreading wide as he patted his pelvis as an invitation. You loved riding Arthur. And even though you were on top, he continued to be in complete control over your body.

You climbed on top, back facing away from him to give him a good view of your ass. He wasted no time in gripping your ass and shaking the flesh, giving it a swift smack as you began to position yourself. Arthur did not want to move slowly and guide you down, no. Instead, he shoved you down in one swift motion, allowing you to swallow his cock completely with your pussy. You could not help screaming in pain and pleasure, shimmying on his cock as you tried to find your comfort. You planted an arm behind you on Arthur’s downy chest to steady yourself, gasping when he immediately began thrusting up into you.

Arthur wrapped his arms around your hips and held you in place while he rammed into you from below. The impact of his hips smacking into your ass caused the skin to ripple just like he liked it. You let out one long, continuous moan while Arthur fucked you. His thrusts became frantic, absolutely losing himself to the pleasure of your soaking cunt. His jeans subsequently became stained and ruined by your slick, something he would cherish rather than complain about.

“You’re such a good girl.” He moaned. He tilted his head back and allowed his eyes to slide shut, relying on his sense of hearing to visualize you. You looked completely disheveled, face smeared with sweat, tears, and saliva. Your makeup was absolutely ruined, your body sweaty and exhausted. But you kept going. The wet slaps of skin on skin bounced off the walls and made Arthur shudder in pleasure.

You felt Arthur’s body shudder once more, realizing he was close. But before Arthur could release, you ended up cumming all over his cock, trembling violently as you did so. Your back arched where you sat, feeling Arthur still under you as you came down from your high. The two of you remained in the same spots, and you were able to realize now just how thick and suffocating the air had become. The windows themselves had fogged up.

“You made a mess all over me, girl, and good girls clean up after themselves.” It was a gentle command, yet one you would follow nonetheless. You climbed off of his lap, noticing a dampness on your ass from all the slick; you didn’t even want to imagine how Arthur’s pants felt on him right now.

You grunted as you leaned over his cock, taking a hold of it. Exhaustion overtook every limb of your body, but you wanted to make Arthur cum nonetheless. Your hand became sticky and wet, and you lowered your mouth onto Arthur’s tip and sucked. At the same time, you pumped his shaft, twisting your wrist in time with each stroke. The exhaustion became all worth it as you heard him moan and whimper, and you willed yourself to lick a swath up his cock from his balls as if you were cleaning it.

You took him deep in your throat a few times until you felt him shudder one last time, releasing into your mouth seconds later. Rivulets of cum spurted down your throat, some of it even running down the side of your mouth. You pulled yourself off to prevent yourself from choking, swallowing what you could and watching as he finished cumming on himself.

“You did good, sweetheart.” Arthur sat up and pulled you towards him by your arm, feeling just how worn out you were as you went limp against him.

“You sweet, sweet girl.” He continued cooing sweet nothings into your ear, slowly lulling you to rest. “I won’t ever let anyone take you from me, you understand?”

You nodded sleepily in response, your head resting on his shoulder. He pulled you to lay on his side, the skin on skin contact making both your stomachs flutter. Soon enough, you’d have to bring Arthur home to your mom and show her what a real man looked like.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Good lord

.

Say Yes To Heaven - Lana Del Rey

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #van der linde gang x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #writing #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption smut #red dead fanfiction

[hee0soo]

Ambassador of the Heart

PAIRING — Kim Hongjoong x afab!ModelReader

SUMMARY — An encounter at the Balmain Winter Show 2023 leaves you flustered...

GENRE — FashionAU

WARNINGS — none?, maybe racism if you squint

WORD COUNT — 1.3k

~Part 2~

March 2023

As a close friend of Oliver Rousteing and House Ambassador of Balmain Paris, it was a given that you were going to attend the presentation of the Balmain Homme 2023 Fall/Winter collection.

Excited to see what the head designer had come up with you were sitting in your hotel room, waiting for your stylist to put the final touches of make up on your face. The shimmery black and white dress which was put on a hanger, almost calling for you and you couldn´t wait to see it on your body.

The garment was a special creation from Oliver, gifted to you for your birthday not to long ago and so far, you had not had the chance to show it off, making this the perfect occasion to show once more why you were one of the faces of Balmain Paris!

“Aaand, you are done! The only thing missing is the dress!” Juliana said, gluing one last sliver rhinestone to the inner corner of your eyes to give them a little extra sparkle.

You looked in the mirror, baffled by how much a single gem could change the entire look.

“Thank you Juli, It looks amazing as always!”

Putting down the tweezers, the woman handed you the dress to change into, helping you zip it up and fix your hair one last time.

“It was my pleasure dear and now go and get your shoes. You got a show to attend!” she said, smiling proudly at the sight of her work.

The security guard hired for your safety, was standing outside the door, already waiting to escort you to the car.

What you were not expecting however, was the company he already had!

The blonde man, dressed in black velvet, with sun glasses sitting in his perfectly styled hair, looked at you curiously before saying something to, who you guessed was his manager in a language foreign to your ears.

“Mademoiselle! It is an honor to work for you while you are staying here in Paris! My team and I will be with you and Monsieur Kim for as long as you need us! Outside, there are 2 cars waiting for you. Mademoiselle, you will take the first one and Monsieur, the second one will be yours.”

So he would also be going to the presentation?

Having received an understanding nod from the both of you, the guard ushered you into the elevator and into the lobby.

You could hear the screaming of fans from where you waited for the securities go ahead which came just a few moments later.

Bowing your head ever so slightly to the good looking stranger, you said your goodbyes and went straight to your assigned car. The chance of getting to know the man who would be taking the second car, very slim, if not nonexistent!

It was sad if you thought about it. He seemed nice and you didn´t have many real friends as your job didn´t allow you to let your guard down with most people you met.

You always had to be careful of who you let into your life, too scared of getting used for the status you had as one of the most reputable models the fashion world had to offer!

The drive wasn´t very long and you once more were glad that your agent had picked a hotel close to your destination. The thought of you becoming motion sick, sending a shudder of disgust and horror down your back!

A soft sigh escaped your lips, eyes following the beautiful scenery of Paris.

“You´ve always loved France,” the manager teased.

“Why wouldn´t I? It´s a beautifully country,” was your answer, eyes locked on the man in the passenger seat.

The car was filled with comforting silence, thoughts drifting back to the handsome man that you had met in front of your hotel room.

“Who was that?”

The question has slipped out from between your lips before you could stop it.

“Who do you mean?”

“The man in the other car,”

You could see your manager shake his head. A scoff leaving his mouth.

“Nobody really. I think he is part of a Korean boy band or something, I honestly don´t think anybody really knows him.”

Something about the words spoken and the tone he used irked you greatly. It seemed that your manager was not really a fan of the other but you didn´t know why.

To you it had not seemed like he was as unknown as the man in the front seat made him out to be and from the very short interaction in the hotel hallway, he seemed like a good man.

You only hummed, not wanting to seem rude.

When the car pulled into the driveway and came to a halt in front of Hotel Place Vendôme, where the event took place, you registered how many young girls had come to wait in front of the venue this time around.

You didn´t mind and instead enjoyed the screaming and shouts you received as soon as you got out of the car.

Waving at the crowd, you made your way inside, barely noticing the noise from outside pick up just the slightest bit as the next guest arrived.

Meeting all the other guests, greeting everyone and taking pictures was something you knew a lot of your coworkers and fellow people of interest saw as a chore, brought you more and more joy the longer you spend in their company.

It gave you a sense of comfort to know that the attention of the night would not be solely on you!

You made another pose for the camera, playing with it as if it were a toy before waving one last time.

The presentation began and ended without a hitch.

In a quiet corner, Juliana touched up the makeup on your face and fixed your hair.

“Y/n my dear! Come join me!” came an accented voice from a little further away.

Your head whipped around at the mention of your name.

Oliver was standing there in all his glory, waving at you with a bright glint in his eyes.

“You can go,” Juliana patted you on the back only to step back and start a conversation with your manager who looked a little annoyed by the commotion around him.

Oliver met you half way, engulfing you in his arms.

“I missed you dear! How have you been?” He asked, genuinely interested in your well being and cupped your cheeks in his hands. You were used to the affection he liked to show you so this was nothing new.

“I´m fine, thank you for asking. The presentation was amazing as always, your work always amazes me!”

The tall man waved the compliment of and stepped away.

“Don´t try to flatter me you little devil! And now come, I’d like you to meet someone!”

Letting him take your hand, you followed.

“Y/n, this is Kim Hongjoong! Monsieur Hongjoong, this is my good friend y/n y/l/n.”

Now able to put a name to the stranger from your hotel, you watched as the man, Hongjoong, bowed his head and took your offered hand. Even if a little awkward, the other seemed genuinely happy to meet you properly.

“It is, nice, to meet you y/n! You look, lovely?”

You didn´t know what you had expected him to sound like but not like this. 

His voice was higher pitched than you thought but soft and clear at the same time. It was very pleasant on the ears if you were honest. The slight stutter and accent making it more endearing than you would like to admit!

“It´s nice to meet you too!”

You said, letting go of his hand and sounding a little breathless as you were still stunned by the beauty this man radiated.

His eyes lingered on you for another few seconds, smile never slipping from his lips before the moment got cut short by one of the photographers asking for a picture of the 3 of you.

It was almost like you were getting ripped out of a trance and you had to stop yourself from flinching in surprise at the sudden question by the man with the camera.

The pictures were snapped and you added searching for this picture to your to-do list for later.

#cromernet #ateez #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong imagine #hongjoong x y/n #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #kpop writing #kim hongjoong x y/n #ateez x reader #kpop x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong #divider by cafekitsune

[eddiessluttywaist]

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 6,118 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, angst, fluff, swearing, loneliness, family issues, feeling unwanted, mentions of bullying, low self esteem, anxiety, mentions of inappropriate and abusive relationships from reader’s past (nothing detailed), mentions of relationships with an inappropriate age gap (adult men dating reader when she was still a teenager—nothing detailed), brief mentions of imprisonment, crying. i think that’s it!

a/n: sorry to say not all updates will be this quick 🫠 this is only ready now because i had already written a good chunk of it when i wrote part one. creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

*

“How’d it go?” Martha pulled herself up to get a better look at you, hands on the inner edge of the service desk.

She probably thought with how much time had passed, that things went well. That you spent time with Eddie while he worked, talking when he wasn’t too focused on something else. Maybe you went out to eat and caught up—surely that was why you were returning now when you had left to see him around late morning. It definitely wasn’t because you drove off after he snapped at you and didn’t even give you a chance to defend yourself. A prank? Why would it have been a prank?

It certainly hadn’t been so long because you couldn’t stand the idea of facing her with tears in your eyes and a waver to your voice. Surely, you hadn’t been crying and chastising yourself in your car in some random parking lot until you felt you could be seen in the outside world again. There was no way you were showing up now because when you were on your way to get more greasy food, your car sputtered to a halt because you’re an idiot who had the engine running the entire time you were in that parking lot.

She imagined your afternoon spent with Eddie—not a few strangers who helped you push your car to the nearest gas station (which was thankfully rather close, your only bout of luck thus far). You didn’t need to stop to cry a second time in one day (this time with the car off) just so you could get it out of your system before going into the market on your way back. And by that point it wasn’t even about Eddie. Okay, maybe a little bit, but mostly just because you were so overwhelmed by how everything was going wrong.

She was sure during all that time that you had successfully reunited with your long lost friend. But then as you trudged over, you pointed to your temple.

“Always better up here, right?” you murmured, voice tired and your eyes still somewhat raw.

“Oh, dear…,” she sighed, reaching to pat your hands that were now settled on the ledge where guests were greeted.

“I don’t… I don’t really want to talk about it…,” you admit, and she gives your hands a small squeeze. She can’t help but notice the scent of salt and grease—you definitely had a bag with cheeseburgers and fries waiting for you, probably settled on the floor beside your feet so you weren’t leaving oily stains on her countertop.

Maybe it was ridiculous to be so upset. Stupid emotions. Stupid, stupid emotions that you should be able to control by now. Maybe it was because you let yourself get caught up in your hopes more than you thought and now you were left not just disappointed, but humiliated too.

“Oh, I got you this,” you continue after what you hoped was a forgettable dab to the corner of your eye with the knuckle of your right thumb. You pull your purse to the side to grab a small brown paper bag—one that didn’t have stains collecting on the bottom. “They didn’t have tuna, but I know you said you like turkey better than ham so…”

“You don’t need to keep bringing me food,” she reassured you with a sweet smile, as if it didn’t make her day whenever you did. She wasn’t used to such a kind young girl being around—someone who thought to get her something to eat or listened to her stories with all the respect and attentiveness that makes a person feel like they matter.

“It’s rude to show up with food for myself and not for you,” you argued gently while offering her a weak, closed mouth smile.

“You still don’t have to, though… Why don’t you go lie down, hm?” Martha patted at your hands again before sinking back into her seat. “Rest up a little. I’m here if you need to talk.”

*

As you laid alone in your bed that night with your hair still partially damp after a shower—memories of your childhood flooded in. You hated feeling so utterly lonely and rejected. It only made you think of growing up which always made you feel worse. It reminded you of being all by yourself at ages where you really should’ve had your parents around, or at least a babysitter.

They hadn’t been ready to have a kid, not really. The couple had been all wrapped up in the romanticism and fantasy of starting a family, and didn’t listen when other parents shared stories to hint at the fact that it’s not that easy. You wondered if that’s when they started to hate you. When you cried all night when they wanted to sleep or go bar hopping with friends. When you’d spit up on them; or suddenly have a shift in your sleeping habits just when they thought they had a grasp on them; or when you constantly grew out of those clothes they swore they just bought. You were a waste of time and money. They looked forward to you growing up more than anything so they could leave you in the house and eventually kick you out of it.

Once you were old enough to make a sandwich or pour a bowl of cereal on your own, they abandoned you as much as possible. Sure, you could handle a peanut butter and jelly or a bowl of Cheerios—that didn’t mean you felt secure in the house all by yourself. At first you would leave all the lights on to give yourself some semblance of security, but then they yelled at you over an electric bill you didn’t understand. Then you’d have “accidents” just so they’d come home—whether that was slicing your finger while trying to cut your sandwich or because you fell or something else you thought of. You found comfort in them being around even if they were pissed at you for being the reason they had to come back early. Then they stopped coming home when you called them crying. Instead, they reassured you that you were old enough to clean your finger and put on a bandaid; or that the fall wasn’t that bad if you could get up and go to the phone in the kitchen. So that ended up being a lost cause.

The habit that stuck the longest was from that little magic 8 ball you got one birthday from an aunt you never saw. It actually listened to you and gave you the reassurance and guidance you needed. When you were scared of the dark, you’d whisper “Do monsters exist?” and it told you no. When you thought you heard someone in the house just because it was settling, you’d ask it if someone broke in and it helped ease your racing heart with the same reply. Besides Eddie, it was your only companion. That stupid hunk of plastic.

Hot tears that you assumed were all spent earlier today stream down from your eyes and into your hair as your train of thought turns to one memory in particular. That night you shook the child’s toy with all your might as you asked it if your parents loved you. This time the familiar phrase scratched into that floating blue triangle wasn’t so comforting.

It was a flash. A blurry replay from the back of your mind, but it still hit you hard. You wipe at your wet cheeks with the feverish haste of someone who was crying in front of a stranger. No one was in the room with you, but you still hated the way it felt. You should’ve never let any of those tears fall today—that’s what made them real. That’s what cemented how miserable you really were.

“Just look up at the sky and blink if you don’t want to.” Eddie had said as he sat next to you on the pavement.

He had been teaching you how to skate and you fell off of his board, leaving your knees and palms all scraped up and bloody. You wanted to cry, but you hated crying. It made you feel like a dumb kid. Mom and dad hate dumb, crybaby kids. You should be able to control your emotions better than this by now.

“If they don’t slip out then they’re not real. They never happened, I promise.” The boy lisped around the gap in his teeth. He had lost his last baby tooth earlier that week. He was all grown up, you guessed.

“But what about when I can’t keep them in?” You whimpered, unsure if you’d be able to blink them back the way he suggested. The boy toyed with a piece of gravel between his fingers and shrugged lazily.

“I dunno. Just wipe ‘em away, I guess. I don’t have any tissues, but you can use my sleeve if you wanna.”

He pulled his long sleeve down until it was over his hand and offered his covered fist to you.

You huffed out a broken laugh at the memory and pulled your own sleeve down to continue wiping at your face. God, you missed him. He was your first best friend, and honestly your last. You had never felt that close with anyone else, and sure it was dumb because you were only kids but it still meant a lot to you. He was who you went to when you didn’t want to stay in an empty house, and even though most parents would throw a fit over a girl and a boy having sleepovers—yours couldn’t care less. At least someone else was in charge of you, even if it was Eddie’s dad who they thought was shit for reasons you didn’t understand.

He was a kind of intimidating looking character and sometimes he insisted you two stay at the local park until he came to get you when he had some friends on their way over (which you realized the implications of later), but he was a nice dad. You were around so often that he’d call you “kiddo” and ruffle your hair the way he did with Eddie’s buzzed scalp—which was more grabbing the fuzzy top of his head and nudging him around playfully than really ruffling hair. He knew you didn’t like crust on your sandwiches. He knew you liked strawberry milk more than chocolate milk, which Eddie appreciated cause it meant more chocolate Yoo-hoo for him. His dad was relatively busy and a little intense, but you liked him and you liked staying over.

Even at 24, you missed blanket forts. You missed making up stories under all the blankets and sheets as you held flashlights under your faces. You missed “camping” in the backyard. You missed wrestling. You missed watching tv until the American flag was fluttering and the national anthem played until the screen faded to black. You missed the anticipation of trying to see who was faster at turning off the tv before the screen flipped to those streaks of color and let out that god awful noise. You took turns to see who could get the closest to right when it was about to switch but before that noise could sound. You had the best score before he left.

You smiled lightly now as you settled into the bed, face still warm from all your distress of the day. Despite Eddie being part of why you had been crying in the first place, you still turned to memories of him to calm yourself down. You thought about when you were sure he’d be your first kiss—a decision you had made unfortunately a few weeks before he left. This was the kind of childish memory that made you roll your eyes, but deep down it actually made life simpler and sweeter so you still cozied up to it whenever you remembered. Reminiscing about when those kinds of things were new and exciting—without the burden of knowing all the mess that eventually comes with endearment—soothed you.

At the time, you were steadily approaching adolescence and starting to pay attention to romance novels and tv programs. It made having a boy as your best friend suddenly feel different in your stupid little prepubescent brain. The same shit he always did started to make you go shy and blush, and he’d nudge you and call you a “fuckin’ dork”. He was still in his “girls are gross” phase whereas you were already forming crushes. You developed crushes just about every day by the time you were in fifth grade, but you liked your best friend the most.

It’s funny actually—or maybe just sad—but you still had a habit of constantly forming crushes. The thought of being desired by someone thrilled you, but that love for attention put you in shitty situations sometimes. No one even liked you until you were maturing in a way that felt so much sooner and so much faster than the other girls by grade 6. Maybe that should’ve been the tell that the sudden interest in you was hollow, but it made you feel special. You kinda liked knowing boys fixated on you even if they were mimicking lewd comments they overheard their older brothers say or wrote about you in the boy’s bathroom—no matter how much you hated yourself for secretly basking in all of the attention.

It wasn’t always dumb boys in middle school, though, even if it would’ve been nice for things to be that basic forever. Eventually it was guys who were too old for you when you were in your late teens. The types who’d say shit like “That’s what you gotta love about high school girls. You get older, and they stay the same age,” and made you feel like you were grown and capable—when it benefited them, of course.

The nights you regretted getting wrapped up in the excitement of an older man or someone you had never met before at a bar or someone who had a bad habit of punching holes into walls awfully close to where your head was against the plaster—you thought about Eddie. You wondered if he grew up to be as awful as all the other boys you knew. If he turned into a creep or if he was the same, sweet boy who—sure, would hold you down and pretend he was gonna spit on you—but had also been taught to hold the door open for you or gave you a flower on your birthday or held your hands when he taught you to skate, promising that he wouldn’t let you fall. Well, except for when you insisted you were ready to do it by yourself. Then he said “Okay, but if you fall on your ass then you don’t get to yell at me.” And you didn’t yell, but he gave you his sleeve if you needed to cry.

There were parents who disappointed. Extended family you rarely heard from. Friends that came and went. Boyfriends who broke your heart, but best friends were forever in your mind. Wasn’t that why you made those bracelets and spit into your palms before shaking on the decision that you were always going to be there for each other?

*

Eddie’s shift dragged along after that strange young woman showed up. He knew his reputation. He knew that he was the butt of most jokes. He knew he was the town freak even when he had finally graduated and was trying to be a responsible adult. There would always be a few who remained unrelenting in their efforts to make him miserable, or at least that’s how it felt. And it wasn’t like you were someone he recognized as guilty for his constant harassment, but it wouldn’t be the first time some local asshole’s cousin or friend came to visit and was put up to the task of making him feel liked just for it to be some cruel punchline. He was tired of the jokes and the pranks and the muttered comments as people watched his every move. He needed to stay one step ahead or he’d be dealing with it forever. Why else would you pull him away from the back just to talk to him? He didn’t even know you. The frustration burned at him through most of his shift, which he took out on all the exertion he had to put into fixing that crappy Ford Ranch Wagon. He prayed that he would finally sleep tonight, the thought of a hot shower and an old bed waiting for him steadily bringing his mood back up.

Eddie sighed happily when it was time to clock out, holding the door open for Linda on her way out so she could lock up for the two of them.

“Night, Lin,” he sighed with a small smile that spoke of apologies for his constant grouchiness, and parted from her to head to his van.

“Oh, wait!” she suddenly called out, making him raise his brows and twist on his heels. He watched her make her way over to him all while holding something out for him.

“This was left for you by that odd girl who came by.”

At the mention of you, he scowled a little—certain it was a continuation of some joke, until he felt the plastic beads strung together on some string.

“Uh… thanks.”

“She looked real upset. All teary-eyed. Did you break up with that poor girl?”

“What?” Eddie’s head snapped up to eye her incredulously. “I—No! I don’t even recognize her. I don’t think we’ve even met before.”

Lin eyed him suspiciously before letting out a small hum. Men, she thought, although Eddie had always been a good kid, in her opinion—no matter what others said.

“Really, I swear.”

“Okay, hon… well go get some rest, alright?”

He hoped the same for her, and walked back to his car once she was safe in her vehicle and driving off. Eddie clambered into his old van and carelessly punched the button that turned on the light above his head. The bracelet in his hand was small and crowded with an odd assortment of different shaped and colored beads except for seven of the nearly identical beads that were lined up in the center. At both ends there were knots in the thick string to keep the beads from slipping off and had tails left on either side so you could tie and untie the bracelet whenever. Not that you two ever did untie them. The only time you took yours off was when you went swimming at the community pool and were scared you were going to lose it—and that didn’t count. You both promised it didn’t count cause you were just avoiding disaster.

He held it up to get a better look and read the lettering on those seven beads.

C-R-I-T-T-E-R

Critter. Eddie’s brows furrowed together and confusion was only welcome for half a second—maybe even less—before a pang of familiarity punched him in the gut.

“You’re doing it wrong!”

“How can I be doing it wrong? Will you screw off?”

“Eddie, you have to make a pretty pattern of colors, not just random mish-mash. See?”

You held up the bracelet you were working on for him with a pattern of his favorite colors: red bead, blue bead, black bead, red bead… and so on. His was just whatever bead he grabbed that he thought looked cool since you had so many to choose from. There were bulky wooden ones; those tiny little rainbow ones your mom let you have when her long necklace full of them broke (she didn’t want to clean them up so she promised you could keep them if you did); sunburst ones; chunky square ones that had letters and numbers on them; tribeads that were half in and half out of that thin plastic Beadery bag in your collection; and those dumb pop beads that he couldn’t even put on the string but of course kept picking up by accident.

“Screw off,” He insisted a second time and you rolled your eyes before continuing with your craft.

For all the shit you gave him, you loved the bracelet. Once it was done and he gave it to you, it was officially the most beautiful piece of jewelry you owned. You had insisted you two trade the bracelets like you heard the other girls in your grade talk about. You had to make them for each other rather than make your own and you had to tie them around the other’s wrist while they closed their eyes and made a wish.

Some of the boys in school gave him shit for it, calling him names for wearing jewelry he got from the girl in the grade below them. He didn’t care though. After all, Eddie wasn’t one to change himself for the sake of fitting in and he loved his bracelet.

He laughed a bit in disbelief now as he looked down at the bracelet he made for you back in 1975. You remembered him? God, he hadn’t thought of you in forever. Not to be an ass, but because it got too painful.

Among all of the stress that night his dad was arrested, he had been so overwhelmed that he completely shutdown. He was quiet and his expression was numb as he answered questions and packed his things. He was apprehensive and apathetic when he was brought to his uncle he rarely saw, but he didn’t cry. And he never told anyone this, but he never cried until a random thought of not seeing his best friend anymore suddenly set him off while he was trying to sleep. That was what made him realize the reality of everything that occurred. He didn’t have his home anymore. He didn’t have his dad. He didn’t have anything other than a new guardian and a trailer with one bedroom that Wayne had to pull all of his stuff out of so Eddie could have it. And he didn’t have you.

He brought you up a few times, but eventually stopped when he realized how stressed Wayne got over the mention of a trip into Ohio. A trip that meant dipping into his funds—that were already starting to run spectacularly low now that he was responsible for an 11 year old—for the gas money and probably a fee at the state line. Likely a motel room too, if your parents didn’t let them stay at the house.

How did he not recognize you? The more he thought over your interaction, the more he recognized your eyes and the shape of your nose and the curve of your lips even if they were fuller now. Little things here and there that even as an adult made it easier to see the bits and pieces of how you used to look. Here he’s been sulking in all his misery and loneliness, and he had completely scared off the chance to have an old best friend back. And Linda said you had tears in your eyes?

Eddie groaned as he let his head sink forward and rest on the center of his steering wheel. He didn’t even care about the horn that permeated the still night around him as self deprecating thoughts swirled before finally letting up on the button. This groan wasn’t a useless cry to the sky over the state of his life like the others so far, but rather a display of anger at himself for being such a dick. And he couldn’t even fix it. He didn’t have your phone number. He didn’t know where you were staying, if you were even staying. Did you move here? Were you just driving through the state and thought to drop by? Maybe have lunch and catch up before leaving again?

Why did he always have to fuck everything up?

*

You spent a good portion of your weekend sulking until Martha dragged you out on Sunday. You had been eating all the food you brought with you alone in your room and only went outside when you craved your bad habit enough.

“This has to be a violation of a paying customer’s privacy…,” you groaned as you rolled over and shoved your face into your pillow to avoid the light coming in full force from the windows. Martha had unlocked your door and came in to throw the curtains open to pull you out of your post-humiliation funk.

“It’s a beautiful morning. We’re going on a walk to take it all in and I’m taking you to that diner I keep telling you about.”

“I could’ve been naked. What if you came charging in here and I was laying here naked? Neither of us would’ve recovered. And our friendship would be ruined.”

“Oh don’t be so childish,” Martha huffed, hands on her hips. For an older woman she sure could be spritely when she wanted to be—whipping around your room the way she had been and insisting on a journey into the outdoors.

“It’s too cold.”

“Not when we start moving. It’s not even Autumn yet.”

“Technically the first day of Fall has already passed,” you corrected, still face planting your pillow and raising your hand up as you made your point before dropping it back down.

“Well the cold hasn’t reached us yet. I think you’ll survive. Come on, dear, it’ll be good for you. Good for both of us. I’m always cooped up at that desk.”

You sigh, but stay in your bed with all your plans set on sulking until the end of time. Until you were a pile of dust she was vacuuming up so she could get the room ready for someone else. Maybe you were being a tad dramatic, but you still felt that way.

“You want me to wake you up the way Howard did with our daughter? When she wouldn’t get up for high school?”

Now groaning at the thought of that cup of ice cold water trick she told you about, you huff and you finally force yourself up.

Despite your initial refusal to get out of bed, you were glad that Martha made you. It really was a wonderful morning and the smell of fresh air and the sound of the occasional leaf crunching under your feet refreshed you. Even with how deeply you despised being lonely, you had a habit of isolating yourself when you were upset and it could be quite destructive at times when you didn’t have someone to pull you back out of it. She didn’t even force you to discuss Thursday, just kept up casual chit chat like always.

And even if that walk hadn’t been enough to begin lifting your spirits, the food at the diner certainly would’ve done the trick all on its own. It wasn’t the prettiest joint around, but the breakfast was phenomenal. You wondered if she picked up on the fact that food and eating with others was a part of your love language. Being introduced to such an amazing local restaurant that clearly meant a lot to her soothed your aches of rejection and mortification.

Both aspects of the morning Martha forced you to take part in actually helped to improve your mood. What happened still stung but it was less “end of the world” and a little more “bump in the road.” With the fresh air, breakfast food and Martha’s pep talks—you were thinking of your next couple of steps forward rather than all the doom and gloom. You’d attempt to quit all the fast food that only left you more sluggish, and start finding other things to pay attention to. You weren’t giving up on Eddie, but you had to focus on your other needs again. This meant getting out of bed. Eating something other than cheeseburgers and fries, promising Martha you’d get other food Monday.

Well, maybe not Monday. You may have caved again, but you swore the next day. So on that following Tuesday night, you were at the market to pick up some things for you and Martha. There was a small fridge and a cabinet in your room that you could keep things in, and you offered to pick up anything she needed while you were out.

Peanut butter for you, cans of soup for her—oh, actually soup sounded good. With your sudden craving, you grabbed a few more cans. Milk for both of you, as well as cereal. Microwave meals for you, sardines for her—

Oh gross, sardines?

—Could you even stay friends at this revelation? You supposed you could since she let you bother her even with your fast food she couldn’t stand. But this fact wasn’t going anywhere. You were going to give her your best, most dramatic yuck when you gave her her groceries and you would have to insist that she never eats them where you can smell them.

You moved on through the list, and pushed your cart that fought you every step of the way to the bread and baked goods aisle. Why did you always get the cart with the squeaky wheel? The one that stuck every now and then and dragged against the linoleum before finally returning to a squealing roll? Bad luck, you supposed.

Once you were in the aisle, you double checked what brand she requested before letting out a sigh. Of course they were the loaves that were neatly stacked on the top shelf. Notepad paper crushed between your hand and the shelf you were using for support, you stretched up onto your tiptoes as best as you could to grab for one. You could easily grab the pinched end of one and just tug, but you didn’t want to accidentally squish any of them or make any of the others go tumbling. You’re about to step on the bottom shelf when suddenly a hand much larger than yours littered with heavy rings was grabbing it either from you like a dick or for you like a gentleman.

“Still short, huh?” You heard the rough, tired voice say from beside you.

You settled back on your feet and glanced at the man holding out the loaf of bread for you. He was in those dirty coveralls again with the sleeves rolled up, clearly from when he had taken the time to clean his hands and forearms before leaving his shift. His hair was out of its ponytail now so you could see it in all of its chaotic glory. As you accepted his kindness for Martha’s sake, you did your best to tamper your reaction to him being here. Whether it was any excitement over him possibly trying to fix things; or if it was intrigue over how his hair got so long and the fact that he had tattoos now; or if it was irritation leftover from how he treated you last Thursday. Had you still been familiar with one another, and this had been a small spat between friends, you probably would’ve just punched his arm.

“What? Come to yell at me some more?” You mutter. Okay so trying to keep a neutral stance wasn’t going very well.

You hear him exhale a quick sigh at your words and the way you refused to look at him. You had one elbow leaning against your cart now while you put all your focus on toying with the piece of paper in your hands. Folding and unfolding, smoothing out creases, lining up the edges of the paper and fixing the previous fold so everything fits better.

“No,” he replied in a defeated tone, but you still weren’t looking at him. “‘N I’m sorry about that, okay? Just wasn’t expecting it, and it’s not like you’re 9 anymore.”

“So I’m guessing you recognize me now?”

“A little, yeah,” He tried to be playful, a small smile tugging on his features until you looked up at him with that sad expression and he was deflated again. “Joke. Bad joke, I- of course I recognize you, Critter.”

You failed in your attempt to not smile at the nickname you hadn’t heard in far too long, making Eddie straighten out his posture again at the sight of your lips curving up.

“You still don’t have a poker face. That right there?” He points at your smile, while his own pulled at his lips “That’s how I won all of your best candy bars on Halloween.”

“You never really kept them from me,” You countered, head tilting back to fully look up at him now and your smile a little more sure.

“Of course not. Cause I’m a sucker and you can get whatever you want with a pout,” He laughed and you grew bashful as your cheeks flushed, ducking your head back down to try and hide it.

“Here,” Eddie sighed after a beat, digging into his pocket and pulling out a bracelet to drop in your palm.

Figuring he was returning yours to you, you were confused when you didn’t see your usual mix of beads. Your brows stayed knit together until you recognized those red, blue and black beads and the nickname in the center. Your features softened as you held out your hand for him to drop it into.

L-O-O-G-I-E

“You kept it…?” you murmured as you stared at the plastic bracelet like it’s treasure, before looking up at him again while your fingers brushed over the beads.

“Obviously,” he replied bluntly, pointing at it.

“Completely tore my place apart to find it so I could prove it, too. Not that my place is the neatest to start with, but…,” he let out a light laugh, head tilting and lazy smile tugging at one side of his mouth. He still smiled the same.

You eyed him for a moment, then returned your focus to the old jewelry. You felt oddly reserved with him after his initial reaction to your appearance at his work, and all the time you spent apart. You never had to work up the courage to speak to him before, or think about what to say or how to say it.

“10.”

“…Hm?”

“I was 10 years old. You said I wasn’t exactly 9 anymore, but it was actually a few weeks out from my birthday when you had to leave.”

“I guess that’s true, huh?” Eddie sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Why were his arms so fit? And veiny? And why do you have to tilt your head back to see his face now? Ugh, you’re starting to feel like that young girl who read her first romance novel and was developing her first crushes.

“Yeah…,” you say simply, fearing you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try to say more.

“I’m sorry that all happened around your birthday.”

He was so sincere when he said it, but it made your eyes grow wide as you looked up at his face again.

“Oh god– no. No, no, no. Don’t apologize. That’s not how I meant that at all. You-- that wasn’t your fault. And it was worse for you than it was for me, for obvious reasons.”

“Yeah, with the convict dad and all. But it’s a real shame…,” he sighs with feigned disappointment. “Y’know… that you couldn’t kiss me on your birthday.”

That evil grin sunk his dimples into his cheeks and he sucked on his teeth while he clasped his hands behind his back. Your eyes might as well have been popping out of your skull at this point, your whole face heating up.

“I— you— how— oh, you dick!” you gasp at the revelation through all of your sputtering and punch his shoulder without even thinking, and certainly not noticing the elderly woman who huffed at your unladylike behavior before scuttling away. “You read my diary!”

“Yeah, well, you really should’ve gotten the kind that came with a lock.”

“So you don’t recognize me, but you remember a journal entry you shouldn’t have read? Great, that’s great, Eddie.”

You were turning around now, starting to push your cart towards the other end of the aisle. Roll. Squeak. Maybe it was time to head back to Ohio? Maybe you didn’t need such an obnoxious little shit back in your life. Drag. Roll. Squeak.

“I said I was sorry for not recognizing you,” he groaned and followed after you. “How much groveling am I gonna have to do?”

Oh, plenty. Plenty of groveling.

*

taglist: @mystars123 @h-ness1944 @ohmeg @milkymil-k

@eddiesprincess86

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #bsf!eddie munson #mechanic!eddie #bartender!eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson stranger things #desiderium part 2 #desiderium eddiessluttywaist #eddiessluttywaist #eddie munson angst #slow burn #slow burn eddie munson #desiderium series

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 9)

Tw: monty being a fuckin creep, vomiting, the girls are fightingggg, so blood and violence, yves being a dick and elitist, using the word queer in a derogatory manner

DAMN i was expecting the votes to be like to go to the uni cause Yves is hottest choice rn

anyways if u guys read the original series where Monty was from, u would know he's like a sub but his behavior depends on the reader, he's actually a switch

tanks for reading, pls send in anon asks, reblog or comments i love 2 hear yalls thoughts and it keeps me going PLSPLSPLS I AM DESPERATEEE

Part 10

The mall it is. You've been visiting the university too much to escape your home and to take your dreaded exams, despite having air conditioning, you're going to feel miserable there. You barely have friends in the university aside from Yves. A change of scenery would be nice, to note down the things you wanted for yourself.

You tried to decide how you feel about Yves. The urge to run away from him and hide is there, but it's not as strong anymore. Because he already saw it all. The mold, your room, your tears, your puke... you can't possibly embarrass yourself again to that degree, right? The worst should be over.

And, he did say it himself; he is interested in you too. So... it should be safe to proceed with this weird relationship. You think. He's already doing way more than what a lover typically does, let alone someone who you barely went on a first date with.

You shouldn't be afraid of bumping into him. He's not going to bite your head off, you hope.

And speak of the devil, you received a text from him.

"(Name), this is Yves. I hope you slept well. Please reply to me as soon as you wake up."

You bit the inside of your cheek, you held onto your bag tightly as the bus drove over a hump.

It's not like he could see that you read it. You don't know what he is going to say next, once you respond.

But it's rude to just leave him hanging like that. He's probably going to find out you're ignoring him anyways.

Might as well text him back. You told him that you're now awake. He must be a fast typer because you received a message a few seconds later.

"Good afternoon, how are you feeling?"

You replied that you're feeling fine.

"I assume you are currently resting at home?"

You don't know if you should lie. But then he could easily find out the truth by asking your housemates. So you let out a defeated sigh and told him the half-truth. You said no. That was it, you didn't elaborate further.

"Where are you? Did you at least apply sunscreen?"

You replied that you're now getting off the bus. You're going to text him back later. After that, you put your phone into your pocket.

You walked away from the bus stand and looked at the billboards littered all over the area. It takes a six-minute walk to get to the Mall, maybe a bit longer because your usual path is blocked by a construction job. The workers gave the pedestrians an alternative pathway to travel.

As you start walking, you wonder why was the bus stop never built directly in front of its entrance. It's such a nuisance to get there if you don't own a car.

You frown because the sun is beating against your head, you're among a group of people being funneled into this other path and you're starting to overheat. You remembered Yves packed a UV ray-blocking umbrella, so you went ahead and took it out. You opened it and shielded yourself from the rays, sighing in relief as you felt coolness instantly wash over you.

You were minding your own business and fighting your own inner demons until suddenly a large hand clamped itself onto your shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp and a jolt at the unexpected contact, this cannot be Yves's because it's too calloused and careless, mildly hurting you in the process.

"Joe?"

Who?

You turned whipped your head to the back and saw the person who paid for your poisoned meal. He took your umbrella off your hands, making you hiss at the sun.

"It really is you!" His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wide, happy grin. "How ya' been? I didn't see you yesterday. Where were ya?"

You eyed him up and down, he's in uniform.

"I'm on my break right now." His hand guided your back. "C'mon, let me treat you lunch."

You said that you had food poisoning from the place you ate with him. And you asked what he meant by "Didn't see you yesterday".

His jaw dropped in shock at your words.

"It really sucks to hear that, so that's why you look a lil' too thin today. I guess you're just not used to their cookin'. I was fine and dandy." You and him seem to move along with the crowd aimlessly.

You repeated your question about what he meant by not seeing you yesterday.

"I came by your school 'cause I got you some Chinese. I couldn't find ya' and no one seems to know who the hell was I talkin' about. Why didn't ya' call me? I was waitin' all night for your voice."

Luckily you gave him the fake name of "Joe M." on your first meeting with him. But it's not like he would have gotten any information on you anyway, you're invisible in your university. Unless he happened to come across Yves, which you doubt he will divulge him about you.

You just said 'oh'.

"Hope you're feelin' better though. Hey, I know a great place to get some hearty chicken soup. It's gotta be good for your belly, it sure helped me when I'm sick as a dog." You took notice of his deepening southern accent.

You're starting to feel uncomfortable around this man, he's wrapping his arm around your shoulder like he's your boyfriend.

You said that you were full, you had something to eat earlier.

"Aw shucks. That's fine, I'll just hang out with you till my break's over." He ruffled your hair affectionately, laughing as you tried to smoothen it out.

You don't like him. Who does he think he is? You're barely even acquaintances with him. But you think it's safer to play along until you find an opportunity to escape, there is no way you could fight off a 6'5 man who lifts steel pillars for a living.

"You got any plans this weekend? I wanna take you out to have fun, you must've spent all your time studyin', and that's good! Education is important. But you gotta loosen up a little 'cause life is short!" Montgomery is either oblivious to or disregards your uncomfortable body language.

You said you made plans already. He momentarily looked dejected, but he reverted back to his cheerful self when he thought of something.

"What about next week? I heard there is a festival goin' on by the pier. There's going to be a Ferris wheel, cotton candy, funnel cakes--"

You decided to rip the bandaid off and straight up tell him that you're not interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Since there were witnesses, you wriggled out of his hold and waited to see what he would do to you. Hoping that he would just respectfully leave you alone but expecting to be angrily punched right in front of everyone.

He was stunned, speechless for a moment until there was a strange glimmer in his eyes that was concealed by his shaggy, brown hair.

"...You're playing hard to get."

A horrified, incredulous look crossed your face. Absolutely not! What makes him think of you that way? You took a couple steps backward as he tried to get closer.

"I see how it is, sweetheart. You want me to chase you, don't ya'?" He playfully pinched both of your cheeks. You wince, struggling to pull his hands off.

You genuinely do not understand why he has this impression of you. As anyone would do, you vehemently denied it.

"Aww, look at you. Red-faced and all." He giggled, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you away from the main foot traffic so he could toy with you in private. "If you weren't into me, you would have left me to die that night. I may not be the richest or the most handsome..." his smile faltered when it came to the topic of his looks. "...but I know you saw something in me! I'm gonna make sure you don't regret saving me!" You're already regretting being born.

You called him crazy, anyone would have helped him! You're no one special, he teasingly rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Anything to help you sleep at night."

You were adamant that you're not interested and you already have a boyfriend! But this doesn't seem to faze him, he just bent down to your level and placed his hands behind his back.

"Oh yeah? Where is he then? Get outta here, you don't have one. At least, not yet." He winked at you.

Yeah. He is impossible to reason with.

You argued that you do. In fact, he is right behind Montgomery!

He's definitely not believing you, but he turns around anyway to see... no one, as expected.

"I don't see him, do you-- huh?" He was momentarily dumbfounded when all there was in front of him was air.

You managed to blend in with the crowd and successfully entered the mall. You ran into the nearest retail store and hid behind one of the shelves. Everyone was too busy shopping to care what someone shaking like a leaf was doing crouching in the baby and maternal department.

Your hand trembled as you pulled your phone out to see Yves sent you another text.

"Take care. Send me a text message as soon as possible. I will give you a call fifteen minutes later if I do not hear from you by then."

It's been 12 minutes since he sent that text. The next reasonable course of action is to seek comfort and safety from Yves. You thought Montgomery was unhinged and delusional, he thinks you're his just because you saved him that night. You cared as much as everyone else, no one wanted to see another person die if they could help it! But he took it as some ultimate love confession for him.

Then you realize that you should have run as soon as you first rejected him. You hit yourself on the head, he must have thought all the attention you gave him trying to explain yourself was a green light for him to go forward!

You called yourself stupid for not catching this earlier. There's not much you could do now except tell Yves you don't feel safe.

You texted Yves your exact location, even down to the aisle and section. Your texts are a series of panic-induced typos begging him to pick you up because you're scared.

"I will be there in 15 minutes. Is it safe for me to call you?"

You disregarded that text and just dialed his number.

"(name)?" It was so good to hear his smooth, calm voice. Your blood pressure momentarily dropped but rose back again after remembering why you called him in the first place.

You frantically explained what had happened, even your first meeting with Montgomery and the takeaway that gave you food poisoning. Spilling everything even though you didn't mean to, but you're just scared and trapped in a store. You felt upset that he had the umbrella, you apologized and-

"Raise your hand above your head for me, please." He cut you off. You did exactly what he asked, now distracted from your ranting.

"Inhale, following my count." He counted up to four.

"Hold." He counted to seven.

"Exhale." You breathed out for eight seconds. He repeated the cycle a few more times until he could tell you calmed down. Montgomery wouldn't find you from where you're hiding.

"Very good." He praised. "You may put your hand down."

You forgot about that, so you quickly retract your arm to your side.

"I will stay on the line with you until I arrive. Do you understand, (name)?" You gulped and said a shaky yes.

"Stay where you are. You're safe there." He continued. Yves sounded so confident in his answers that you can't help but trust him fully.

You wished you had friends. You wouldn't need to solely rely on him if you did.

"What did you think of the breakfast I made for you?" He asked, in a tone and cadence as if he was casually chatting up with his partner about their day. But you can tell he's speeding through the highways by the intense humming of his car engine.

You said that it's nice. You thanked him for taking care of you.

"I'm happy you enjoyed it. I will be making chicken soup for you tonight, did you apply sunscreen before leaving the house?"

You paused for a while, trying to remember what you did. You eventually tell him no.

"It is important for you to protect your skin. Remember to do so next ti--"

The call suddenly dropped. Your heart started beating wildly again, what happened? You pulled your phone away from your ear and looked at the screen.

You let out a visceral scream that caught everyone's attention, your phone battery is dead.

Seeing that you caused a scene, you flee the store out of embarrassment, forgetting about Yves telling you your original spot is the safest place for you to be in. Now with no means of contacting your savior and being out in the open like this, your brain starts to short-circuit. You begin running aimlessly in no particular direction.

All this stress and explosive physical exertion on you right after a bout of illness is making you queasy again.

But you kept going, just... roaming around while periodically looking over your shoulders. Customers and staff alike were staring at you, thinking that you were suffering from some sort of inner turmoil or drug abuse issues. However, they knew better than to intercept.

However, you focused too much on your back, and not too much on the front.

You slammed into a sturdy pillar, lost your balance, and fell back onto your rear.

"Whoa! You alright?" Except that pillar can speak. And it was the last person you want to see right now. Concern riddled his face as he crouched down to help you up. "This is fun and all, but you gotta watch where you're goin-"

At that moment, your stomach decided to empty itself onto Montgomery's chest. He grimaced as you continued to spew and release more vomit from your mouth.

--

Yves knows where you are. He knew your phone battery died, Yves is just mildly annoyed he didn't catch the fact that one of your room outlets was faulty. It so happened to be the one you used to charge your phone.

Yves pushed the door of the mall's clinic open, glaring daggers at Montgomery as he spotted him waiting on the bench, covered in your puke; noting his filthy fingers wrapping the handle of your bag. He was taken aback by this sudden hostility from an apparent stranger, he looked at Yves confused, what did he ever do to him? Was he offended that he happened to be covered in someone else's throw-up? What a stuck-up bitch!

Yves took his wallet out of his handbag and walked up to the receptionist. He shared a few hushed words with her and spared a couple of unkind glances for Montgomery. The woman behind the counter had both eyebrows raised momentarily before she nodded and picked up a phone. While speaking to someone unknown on the other side of the line, she accepted Yves's credit card.

Soon after, she handed him a clipboard and a pen. He had to sign something before receiving a receipt.

Montgomery looked him up and down with equal animosity, his eyes trailing behind Yves as he took the seat opposite of him.

The dark-haired male elegantly crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. Now a blank expression took over his beautiful face. Montgomery took note of his feminine demeanor including his usage of makeup. He somehow deluded himself that he was better than Yves even though he was hunched over, resting his forearms on his thighs while spreading his legs.

Montgomery tried to look away and ignore this stranger. But he couldn't, because Yves was burning holes through his head with his constant stare.

This really ruffled Montgomery's feathers. He's clearly trying to start something.

"What the hell is your problem?"

All eyes landed on Montgomery. Young or old, they're now invested in this sudden outburst.

"What do you mean?" Replied Yves calmly as he tilted his head to the side to feign ignorance.

"You're lookin' at me like you wanted to fight!" Montgomery finally sat up straight while accusing Yves. Meanwhile, the graceful man placed a hand on his chest to express disbelief.

"I do not understand this explosive reaction from you, I have done nothing wrong." Yves's long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, already winning the hearts of the public. It ticked Montgomery off so bad. For some reason, this androgynous person is making him angrier than usual. Maybe it's because Yves's old money aura reminded him of every city girl and boy who fucked him over emotionally, socially, financially, or physically.

It was quite unusual, Montgomery would usually just not engage with these citizens. But today, Yves is exceptionally infuriating while doing the least. He even smelled the same as those rich bastards, they all must be using the same cologne.

A mere five minutes had elapsed since they first met, yet Montgomery despised him with every fiber of his being.

Yves knows his own effect on the construction worker.

"Don't play with me! You had that stupid look on your face, what have I done to you, huh!?" He rose from his seat.

A ghost of a smile graced Yves's otherwise serious face. That simpleton took the bait.

"Please calm down. You're causing a scene out of nothing." Yves continued provoking him. Mothers began to leave the room with their children, and other patients quietly changed their seats to be further away from the two men.

"Why you-" Something distracted him from his rage.

Yves turned his head and saw you slowly dragging yourself out of the hallway, carrying a prescription slip in one hand and cradling your stomach in the other. You look pale and exhausted as you limp towards the waiting room.

"Joe!" Montgomery called out for you. "Are you alright? What did ya' doctor say?"

You were spooked, you froze in your tracks. Not noticing that Yves is a few steps away from you.

"Dear." You snapped your neck to the source of the quiet but assuring voice. Yves is now standing tall, his arms open for you to run into.

And so, you did. You buried your face in his chest, refusing to see the other man. Yves had a pleased smile as he picked your prescription script from your hands, he slid it into his handbag. Right after, he wrapped his arms around you.

The room was eerily quiet. Everyone was holding their breaths, wondering what was going to happen.

You felt Yves stroke your hair. But you couldn't see or hear anything. So you lift your head a little to see what was going on, he rested his palm on your shoulder.

Montgomery has his eyes open so wide staring at your boyfriend. His mouth is open but soundless. The veins on his forehead and arm were throbbing while he trembled uncontrollably.

"Do you know him, my love? He seems dangerous. You know you shouldn't mingle around men like him, they're usually raised by dysfunctional families- sometimes, they don't even have one." Yves asked you, soft enough for no one else to hear, but loud enough that his pathetic excuse of a rival absorbed every word. This was the last straw for Montgomery.

Finally, he dropped your bag to the ground before launching himself against Yves. Your boyfriend pushed you out of harm's way as he allowed himself to get tackled by the unstable male.

Yves closed his eyes as he took a devastating punch to the face, he was flung to the side from the force and it left a reddish mark on his once pristine face.

"Fuck you! The fuck you mean that's 'your love', you don't mean shit to them!" Montgomery yelled in Yves's ear, and a struggle ensued between them.

Screams and shouts filled the clinic, and the patients present all ran out of the room. Those who stayed tried to film the tussle. Some doctors and customers poked their heads out of the consultation rooms to see what the commotion was all about.

Whereas you grabbed your bag and went outside, securing your safety behind the tempered glass walls.

"You think you better than me?! I'll teach you a fucking lesson to be humble!" Montgomery swung at him again, but Yves dodged in time and utilized his long, slender legs to trip him. Now that he has gotten what he wanted out of this scenario, Yves allows himself to defend his own body.

He got up fairly quickly and tried to land another punch, but Yves grabbed his wrist on time and used minimal force to twist his arm against his back. Montgomery cried out in pain as his limb was contorted to an unnatural position. Being an opportunist, Yves took his chance to strike his broken rib using the side of his hand.

This made Montgomery's legs buckle on itself. You silently cheered for Yves as he subdued the creep on the cold hard tiles.

He pressed a heel against his chest, right behind on fractured bone. So Montgomery was powerless against him.

Yves reached for his handbag and pulled his phone out. He dialed emergency services and reported Montgomery as being aggressive, being a danger to the general public.

"Bullcrap! Fuck you asshole! I will kill you!" Screeched the man currently being stepped on and humiliated in front of his object of obsession. Unfortunately for him, the operator heard his threat towards Yves, increasing your boyfriend's credibility.

He tried to grab his leg, but Yves only drove his sharp heel deeper into his ribs, knocking the air out of him and making stars appear in his vision.

At the same time, the mall security arrives with their batons.

They took over from there, it took more than ten of them to try and get Montgomery under control. He was like a bull seeing red, only goal was to try and disfigure the pretty boy's face as much as possible.

He was forcefully expelled from the premises while kicking, howling, and straining. You saw the tears of anguish in his eyes as he cussed everyone out for treating him as subhuman, he wished horrible fates on all who witnessed but stood by. He was shouting incoherently about having everything stolen from him by the rich, he had one thing good going on but a billionaire had to come along and take you away from him.

He vowed to take what was rightfully his and punish the bad, especially Yves who he referred to as "That fucking queer freak".

Eventually, though, his yelling became inaudible as he got further and further away. The others returned to their day, dispersing as nothing else interesting was going on.

You walked up to Yves, who is now gently dabbing his bleeding nostrils with a folded piece of tissue. He smiled at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"Well done." He praised. Disposing of the soiled napkin into a trashcan nearby.

You said you didn't contribute to anything good. In fact, you're the one who caused all this.

"Don't think too lowly of yourself." He picked up a hairbrush from his bag and started fixing your hair. You looked at his face.

The patch around his nose and under his left eye is already starting to bruise, swelling to a degree that he can only see out of his right. Red dripped down his chin and onto the floor, splattering into many dots.

You look around and see the broken pot, flipped chair, and scattered magazines.

You shudder, asking Yves if you could go home.

"Not yet, (name). The police should be here soon, they have to take my statement." He invited you into his arms, and you snuggled into him as his blood dripped onto you too.

"I packed you something to eat." He softly pried you off him. Reaching for his handbag once again, he retrieved a square container before handing it to you.

You opened it to see a sandwich. It's intentionally bland to accommodate your current weak stomach. As if on cue, your belly growled. However, Yves stopped you from devouring it.

"Always sanitize your hands before eating." He squeezed a good amount of hand sanitizer on your palms. Yves only handed the meal back to you after he was satisfied with your application.

You sit on a chair as you take bites off it. Yves sat next to you too, this time he was tidying his luscious black hair with the same brush and compact mirror.

You continued munching on as you heard distant sirens growing louder.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere concept #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #oc yves #male yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #oc montgomery #tw violence #tw blood #tw queerphobia #tw strong language

[loviingpedri]

eras tour - christian pulisic

warnings: grammar issues, cursing, some suggestive things(?)

credits to owners for the images.

this will be written from philadelphia night 2. i recommend listening to the setlist while reading, enjoy!!!

christian pulisic knew you were a major swiftie. it was only right that you were dating a taylor-coded man.

“christian, are you ready to see your pennsylvania twin?” you jumped in excitement. you anticipated this day. you wore your lover corset with the classic flowy white pants. whilst, christian matched with you. his lover themed pastel jacket over a white shirt which were complimented with white pants.

“yes ma’am. i’ve been preparing this entire day.” it was true. christian was dedicated to learn the entire setlist just to sing along with you. he even prepared for the surprised songs. of course, his favorite album was fearless because of the country songs. his second one would be her debut, Taylor Swift, but he was disappointed since it wasn’t in the setlist.

arriving to the stadium, mostly swifties’ boyfriends asked him for an autograph and pictures. trading bracelets was probably the most memorable thing to him. he was shocked on how positive swifties are.

lover

your favorite album was lover. which made sense to take your boyfriend since the introduction was lover. each song from the album seemed to symbolize your relationship. the lyrics to miss americana & the heartbreak prince was sang with full passion.

“you know, some people call her miss americana and you’re captain america.” christian was always shocked every time you tell him what his fans say online. he put emphasize on the lyric “it’s you and me” into your ear.

christian had learned the lyrics to cruel summer even before listening to the setlist. he listened to it so much. you played it in the car, while you were cooking, sometimes he would hear it in his sleep. he especially knew the bridge since you constantly yelled it.

he was amazed at your confidence during “the man”. he was dancing while you sang the song. the hand gestures while the eye contact spread love throughout your body. the vibes during “you need to calm down” were unmatched. it was mostly you “calming down”for the next 2 hours of screaming.

during lover, christian looked at you with nothing but love. if they had enough space, he would’ve pulled you into slow dancing. each time you made eye contact, it was almost like hearts in each of your eyes sparkled. christian put his arm around your shoulder while rocking side to side as you sang the lyrics. “you’re my lover.” he said to you before kissing your forehead.

the archer was one of your all-time favorite songs in the album. you screamed the lyrics while christian praised you. he held your hand as you were pointing to taylor and singing with her.

videos went out of you and christian dancing. both of you didn’t have a care in the world. it felt that your relationship was in the lover era.

fearless

christian was hyped up after mostly relaxing during the last 3 songs. the inner cowboy in him suddenly came out. christian seemed to be singing louder than you during fearless. the iconic heart hands were held up. you wanted to the do the fearless spin with her, but there was no space. christian seemed so excited, you thought he was gonna fall through the floor based on how much he was jumping. “you belong with me” was the “couple” moment between you two. holding hands while screaming the chorus was a sign to the universe that you were soulmates. actually, his smile did light up the whole stadium. it didn’t matter if the singing was horrible, it only mattered that your boyfriend was happy to be with you at the concert. during karaoke, he would sing along with you even if it wasn’t a duet.

love story was bound to make you cry. luckily, you couldn’t relate to the song since your parents adored him. singing the lyrics made you realize that there’s nothing to stop your relationship. your love story was perfect. you pointed to him while singing “you were romeo”. christian had realized the amount of proposals around you. did he have an engagement ring ready? yes. did he plan on proposing today? no, but he wished he did. it would’ve been a perfect moment. he regretted not proposing during love story, but there were other chances.

evermore

you manifested ‘tis the damn season energy away from your relationship. evermore was definitely the most peaceful album. it was the most prettiest stage with the trees. willow made you dance the most softest way ever. screaming the lyrics.

“that’s my man.” pointing right at christian then hugging him. he listened to you sing knowing you dedicated the lyrics towards him. he was rocking you while listening to your voice. majorie and champagne problems were mostly heartbreaking songs. all christian could think about was if you were concentrating on the lyrics. the bridge of champagne problems really messed with your head.

“she would’ve made such a lovely bride. what a shame she was fucked in the head.” emotions was filled. if anything, you considered asking christian to break up with you 24 hours before to make the concert even more emotional. but the song was the biggest “what if?”.

tolerate it was a song that made you think of what christian was thinking. evermore was the emotional wreck album. what if you were too attached to him? he gave you a smile in reassurance as you gave him a sad look. he knew what was going through your mind.

reputation

BEST HYPE ALBUM EVER. if you weren’t in your lover era, then this would be top 10 in no question. ready for it was the go to bad bitch song. constant head bopping and jumping. you were practically screaming the lyrics to christian’s face. all he could do was praise you for the excitement releasing out of your body. fortunately, ready for it was the beginning. the rest of the energy was saved for the rest of reputation.

delicate was the song to describe christian’s current situation. after the rumors of transfers, the amount of deals, just the complicated mess of things. you stood by his side no matter what. no matter how frustrated he was, no matter the complicated situation, no matter the indecisive thoughts, you were always there to help ease his mind.

“my reputation’s never been worse, so you must like me for me.” the constant hate for betraying chelsea was unmatched. it was a bold move to attend the concert after the shitty season and for even trying to transfer. you knew christian loved the song, but damn, you’ve never seen your boyfriend sing a song with so much passion.

fuck his passion, don’t blame me was playing. the hip swinging and the hair flipping was constantly happening. you sang so loud that you could only hear yourself at one point.

“don’t blame me, love made me crazy.” you put your hands on christian’s shoulders and shook him. you just proved that your drug was in fact him. he loved the song as much as you did, but apparently he did not get the memo for the bridge. he tried to sing it with her, but you quickly shut him up.

“SHUT UP SHE’S ABOUT TO TAKE US TO CHURCH.” a moment of silence for the queen singing her iconic high note. the whole stadium roared right after. your whole night was made after the high note. let’s talk about the transition from don’t blame me to look what you made me do was crazy. it was smart, iconic, and every positive word in the dictionary. you danced along with taylor as she sang. meanwhile, christian just stood beside you singing with his arms crossed. he obviously wasn’t feeling the vibe you were going for. if anything, you danced just as dramatically as her. the night was beautiful. if it wasn’t for your boyfriend, you would’ve been in your reputation era even if there was no enemies to sing to.

speak now

enchanted was your shit. speak now in general was one of the best. was it sad that it was only one song? of course. was it worth it? fuck yes.

“i was enchanted to you. this night is sparkling, don’t you let it go.” now you and christian were facing each other while holding hands. you sang the lyrics so loud, he faked getting teary eyed. taylor’s bridges were like a match made in heaven. you knew every one by heart. this one was by far the most passion you expressed in the whole concert. enchanted was basically the story of how you met him. except, the story is still continuing today.

(guys i swear this would be longer if it wasn’t one song.)

red

22 was amazing. it was definitely the happiest song, which reminded you of the happiest time. you first met christian on your 22 birthday. 22 was the favorite number, favorite song, and favorite age. it reminded you of peaceful times. it brings back your clubbing days sometimes.

“keep dancing like we’re 22” the eras concert did in fact keep you dancing like you were 22. christian was only 24, but he could not keep dancing like that prime time or he would have aching bones in the morning.

now, IF the breakup would end up messy, we are never getting back together would be blasting into christian’s ears nonstop. christian constantly looked at you in shock as you sang with so much passion. at one point, he was so confused that he questioned if the relationship was over.

listen, it wasn’t the best story to tell your parents that you met your future husband at a club. but, it matched “i knew you were trouble” . it wasn’t the most romantic “first met” story, he definitely caused trouble to get your attention. the lyrics didn’t match his personality, thank god. yet, he would’ve been humbled by the way you screamed like you were in agony for the song.

all too well was the best 10 minutes of your life. previously, you made a whole document interpreting the whole song because christian asked. he knew the whole song since he was team fuck jake gyllenhaal. he promised not to mess you over if you didn’t write a whole 10 minute song about him.

“dancing around in the kitchen” favorite lyric because it was your favorite bonding time with christian. although the song was very heartbreaking, you smiled to yourself thinking about all of the memories with your lovely boyfriend. you remembered it all too well. before christian, you freshly got out of a toxic relationship. this song touched your heart because it was the biggest "fuck you" to the past. christian mumbled the lyrics knowing how you felt about the song. he knew the sad memories that ran through your head. his arm over you, you hugging his torso. now you could only remember his comfort all too well.

folklore

you were giddy at “the 1”. you matched your little jumps to the beat. christian was the one even if the song talked about heartbreak. you didn’t have a dream, he was doing his cool shit with you. you were the one for him, and he was the one for you. you didn’t have to wish for anything, he was the something and you wouldn’t change anything about him.

betty was also meaningful to you. betty reminded you of your ex trying to win you back with his shitty paragraph after he had been caught making out with a girl at a party. luckily, christian was always there to help you. you happily moved on in your life, also answering to his paragraph with a picture of you and christian making out. “plus i saw you dance with him.” yep, the next day you saw your ex at the club. you mostly dedicated your time to dancing with your soulmate. he was so desperate that he came to your house trying to win you over with flowers. he was yelling outside your door about how you were the only one for him. he constantly said that he missed you, but too bad you didn’t feel the same about him. he finally shut up and left when christian opened the door with only a towel covering his waist down, clearly annoyed.

you couldn’t lie, taylor was the best story-teller. “the last great american dynasty” was a song which you couldn’t think much, but only sing. you and christian waved your arms side to side as you swayed your hips to the rhythm.

august was the shit. YOUR shit. it brings back the memory of you and christian in your living room spinning round and round to the song. especially after getting involved into watching the summer i turned pretty. who knew a celebrity could be so interested in a show about a teenage love triangle. after binge watching the show, the song definitely hit harder. the bridge was the most intense singing. if the space wasn’t tiny, then you would fall on your knees pretending to have a mic. fortunately, thats a performance only christian would get at home. hand in hand, you and christian were yelling the lyrics to each other’s faces.

illicit affairs leaves a memory of denial. you honestly thought christian was a one night stand. no, you didn't cheat. did you hide from your family and friends? yes you did. you didn't think christian would take you serious since he was famous. it was shocking when he asked you for a second date. hiding your phone when he texted you. how you denied smiling at your phone after his mildly funny joke. how at parties you hid in the bathroom just to talk to him. you knew you loved him when he asked to meet at a cafe in the middle of day, leaving your parents at home with a dumb excuse of "i need to go for a run". you knew, you would ruin yourself for him.

folklore was an emotional album. it literally summarized your last boyfriend. cheating, manipulative, and upsetting. you felt freedom without your ex in the life. christian's grip on your hand tighten. my tears ricochet was a song you were thankful for. you felt the need to move on. fuck those memories, and you were doing better than ever.

cardigan was a song you always played on road trips. christian knew what was coming. even if the song was about a love triangle, it would always bring you back into dancing with him on a snowy night in an empty road. sometimes, christian would listen to it on his own time after a lost. "cause when you are young, they assume you know nothing". it was a perfect summary for the last season at chelsea. after months of denial in his career, it was known ac milan was gonna be the best decision.

1989

style was a song to describe the up-beat relationship. after successfully sneaking out from friends and family, didn't even know where you were going, you knew he was gonna be your forever person. in that car ride, he would look at you with a little sparkle in his eyes, specifically looking at your red glossed lips. it felt like y'all would be driving for hours since he would be looking at you whenever he could. both of you never wanting the moment to end. as you played with his freshly new beach blonde hair, often complimenting it when he kept asking you if you liked it. then to innocently playing with the strings of his ripped jeans that were accompanied to his white shirt that was definitely randomly picked to go pick you up. making his bold move to touching your thigh on the car ride, which was not far from the hem of your skirt. even after multiple calls from your parents as you walked through the park. literally dancing to some random music on the empty streets. it felt like the roads were only made for you and him to walk back and forth together. you really did want him to take you home, and to stay with you forever.

blank space is basically your drunk thoughts. the first verse is your drunk thoughts in the club as you approached christian. it was a recap of your jealous nights as girls swarmed over your boyfriend. blank space was like a symbol to a fresh new relationship. it also described a messy phase between the two. almost ruining the whole relationship considering your delusional thoughts of christian only seeing you when it was good for him. what can i say, you and taylor were like twins. shake it off was in christian's top 3 favorite songs (first was our song of course) because after receiving nothing but backlash, he still managed to put up a smile through everything. then, it also resembled the hate comments you were told on social media since revealing your relationship. the pictures on instagram were the simplest "fuck off" as an answer. even the best people get criticism, so just shake off what other people think.

tmi, but wildest dreams was definitely the song for private moments with christian. how he would stare at you in an off-white dress at team parties. how he would wipe off your red lipstick after kissing you. or when he slowly touches your hand while he's in an important conversation. your relationship was definitely not a secret, but it was private. no one knew what you did. the only aspect that was different from wildest dreams was that everything in the relationship lasts forever. you were in his wildest dreams.

ugh the fire that was going to appear during bad blood excited you. bad blood is the ultimate bad bitch song. if better then revenge didn’t tell you that you were the villian, bad blood would definitely humble you. the song was previously saved to christian’s work out and pre-game playlist to get him worked out. nothing gets a man worked up like a good rivalry. both of you screaming the lyrics just seemed like a response to the people who decided to hate for no reason. the fire just made everything better. as you constantly jumped up and down while singing with the random person next to you.

surprise songs

ITS LIKE SHE KNEW CHRISTIAN WAS THERE. the first surprise song was forever & always from the fearless album. i swear, you thought you saw tears forming in his eyes when she didn’t even finish saying once upon a time. forever & always was one of his favorite songs. actually, he previously kept mentioning how happy the beat was for lyrics that was so sad. he even faked playing the guitar along with her as he continued to show his happiness. the way he jumped with his fake guitar reminded you of him doing the same thing in your living room as the tv blasted the song. later on, causing a noise complaint. after the song was finished, he grabbed your shoulders and shook you gently screaming “we are forever & always, but I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE JUST PERFORMED THAT SONG.”

the scream you let out as you recognized the chords to this love. as heartbreaking as the song was, the vocals were unmatched. this love was one of the most underrated songs of 1989 (me manifesting 1989 taylor’s version). you often sang the chorus while cooking, so christian knew all the important parts. you understood how he felt during forever & always. i think you shed a few tears right after. this love never left.

midnights

it was a bit upsetting to know the concert was about to end. lavender haze made you feel some type of way that you never felt before. watching the visuals and props on stage. focusing on her talented dancers. lavender haze was always a song playing from your phone while you’re walking because you didn’t care what people were thinking. especially what they said about your relationship. the song often describes the honeymoon phase, perfect song for the moment in time. the emotions were beginning to come out.

anti-hero was christian’s anthem for the season. he blamed himself for the losses on the games, but he owned up and is doing better now. even though anti-hero lyrics are a bit sad, it was a song for people to own up to their mistakes. christian didn’t need to have the song on repeat, he knew the lyrics from how much it played on the radio or how it was played everywhere when it was released. singing the chorus as loud as you could, he grabbed your hand and just threw them in the air. clapping at the beat with other swifties. more videos taken from fans of just christian’s horrible dancing to it.

midnight rain was your favorite song of the album. christian knew the song very well since you played it while cleaning.

“he was sunshine, i was midnight rain.” although the lyric isn’t as sad, it described the relationship. imagine the golden retriever and black cat duo, that was you two. his smile lit up places, how his humor managed to bring people to laugh. no, you weren’t depressing midnight rain, but rather supportive and private midnight rain. you were always gonna be his number one supporter even when your face isn’t showing it.

instantly, you screamed mother at vigilante shit. christian instantly closed his eyes as respect, but you reassured him that it was okay. actually, it was kinda funny. you thought you felt the floor shake since everyone was so excited for her performance. the confidence came back to you. the song gave you a feeling of putting men into their place. your boyfriend was just looking at you, only looking at the stage when the scenes calmed down. seems like christian was distracted in his thoughts since he was trying to explain to you how funny it was that vigilantes are known as heroes, but one of her other songs were anti-hero.

bejeweled was christian’s favorite. mostly because it reminded him of you. it reminded him of your teeth who were similar to pearls. or how your eyes sparkled like diamonds. or that your outfits were mostly glitter. it almost reminded him on how he would be having a bad day, but when he walks into the house and sees you, his mood instantly changes. you were even glowing when you cried, your tears shaped as sapphires. some people think that jewelry makes you happy, but christian thinks you’re his prettiest jewel.

mastermind is the living proof that you were soulmates with him. i mean, you did everything just to see him. you dropped everything for him. and so did he. he sacrificed anything for you. he cared for you. it wasn’t a coincidence that the universe put you two together. everything happened for a reason. the universe knew you would bring the best out of him, like he brought out the best out of you. even if you planned different ways just for you to see him. you were a mastermind of it all.

karma made you sad and happy at the same time. the end of a happy bonding moment with your boyfriend, but the song was too happy to be sad about. whipping your head side to side as the catchy chorus was sung. your hands also describing what you were singing. christian matched your energy perfectly as the concert was ending. you never felt more happy. i don’t think your wedding could even make you this happy.

#football x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #christian pulisic #ac milan #pulisic #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x y/n #taylor swift #taylor swift eras

[dapandapod]

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing. 

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

~

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

~

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

~

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

~

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

~

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

~

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

~

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

~

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

~

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

~

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

~

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

~

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

~

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

~

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

~

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

~

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook. 

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

~

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

~

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

~

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

#the witcher #geraskier #emotional hurt comfort #dapanda writes #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #slow build #geralt is learning how to be a friend #jaskier is very much unseen by all his important people #winter at kaer morhen #the witcher season 2 fix it #ish #i have a lot of feelings about being unseen in a group #being told you talk too much #jaskier deserves so much more than shitty friends #yennefer #lambert is a prick #eskel #yarpen #ciri

[tanalorrs-heartthrob]

I have thoughts about Cal's trust issues and I'm going to make it everyone's problem

(with special thanks to @cal-with-a-kesett-tape and @weadapt's problem cause they started this blubbering mess)

It hit me like a brick earlier.

Cal knew the Mantis crew loved him.

Love wasn't enough to make them stay.

Cal has never had the chance to really sit down and think about what attachments really were and how they feel. Hear me out.

This started about Cal's trust issues. I started thinking yeah, the way his Mantis crew family left all of a sudden really shook them and he kind of replaced them subconsciously with a new crew, a new family. A couple of quick notes:

- Lost his master

- Loses all his friends on Bracca (it's implied in Jedi Survivor post-game dialogue that he had other friends besides Prauf that he left behind)

- Prauf

- Crew he grew to love left him jarring his whole world

- Lost his "new" crew suddenly and all he has left of that memory is Bode so he kind of clings to Bode unknowingly

- Bode betrayal shatters him

- Clings to the idea that he and Dagan could work together - for a split second you can see in his eyes he sees it all. He and Dagan, hair flowing in the wind, swinging lightsabers, fighting the empire together, rebuilding the order together, it's romantic really. That lasts all of 2 seconds and he's so confused.

- He loses Cordova, a man he had a pseudo-connection through BD-1 with for so long

- Loses Cere, his second master

- Has to literally kill Bode and live with that

That said, I started thinking yeah he probably doesn't really realize that how deep that all goes within him or how much it actually comes down to his lack of really knowing what attachments are. This is going to cause so many trust issues and him closing himself off because he can't handle the reality of losing more people, especially after Bode shattered his inner-most circle. How's he going to let people in again?

Then it hit me like a brick.

There's a big reason why he sees so much of himself in Dagan. Dagan's attachments turned sour - it went the Vader route of being possessive. His obsession with Sentari's project and Tanalorr was a product of not being able to let his attachments go. That's pretty clear in the game, and mirrored in how Cal has allowed "The Fight" to become his attachment.

Jaro's last words are, "Hold the line" right? We know how he now has this deep engrained need to be needed. He has to fight for something. Yes, it's all he knows, but it's deeper than that, it's the last thread he has to his master. What would happen if he let that go? Cal hasn't really sat and thought about that yet.

Not only that, Cal has internalized his loyalty to this cause as like. A familial thread. The fight was his thing and the Mantis crew became his family, filling a void. The fight is their thing. And for the first time in his life Cal feels safe again. He's finally got some solidly dedicated efforts and people he can depend on. So in them leaving the Fight behind (for good reasons!!) Cal can't reconcile that leaving that isn't leaving him too, (or as @cal-with-a-kesett-tape puts it, abandoning him) it's like denouncing loyalty to him too. He just can't separate that connection and his own attachment. Maybe that's reaching and obviously there's more to it, but I dunno guys, I dunno!!

YOU CAN LOVE EVERYONE SO MUCH AND YOU HAVE TO COME TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT PEOPLE CAN AND WILL LEAVE OF THEIR OWN VOLITION!!

AND HE CAN'T DEAL WITH THAT BECAUSE HE DOESN'T REALLY UNDERSTAND HOW THAT LOVE GETS POURED OUT IN HIS LIFE. CAL'S LOVE LANGUAGE IS LITERALLY LOYALTY AND QUALITY TIME AND THE FIGHT.

Again, there's a part of Cal that just never got to stand beside his master like the Padawans of the Republic Era got to and ask all their questions or be scolded like the way Ahsoka did about being too attached to her Master. She had to dig deep and understand what that meant, how to acknowledge it, and how to let it go. Cal has Cere but maybe she just assumed? Who knows. Cal obviously struggled with it more than anyone realized. No discredit to Cere, I just don't think it ever really crossed her mind. Or, you know, Cal's stupid stubborn especially with Cere. Maybe he just ignored her in classic Cal fashion.

All that stemmed from this:

The romance aspect.

He knows taking a romantic step forward is a risk in general. And yes there's all that subconscious hesitation because he's a Jedi. But there's a bigger problem at play with Merrin.

I have to wonder if he did in fact know how she felt about him before she left. And if he did, it's just so much worse.

To him, all this buildup of love and trust. Down the refresher the day she left. So I wonder, maybe a lot of his hesitation isn't about him accepting his feelings. Maybe he gets it. He just struggles with letting someone in again who, in his mind, so easily let him go. He now has to come to terms that he wants to ask her to stay. He has to acknowledge in his mind that he wants her enough to be ok with letting her back in, knowing she's her own person and there's a chance she has to go do her thing someday and he might just have to let her, and that would be ok.

Romance aside, he has to go through that the whole game. Letting the Mantis crew in again. Working things out with everyone, hearing them out, seeing them in their element and finally being at peace with the split - knowing they all made the right decision even if it hurt.

So all the parallels worry me, because yes, he may be more self aware. He might've learned a few lessons, might be more at peace with a few decisions, but the way he just stands in shock at the funeral pyres is just worrisome because you know he's internalizing things. Right when he feels like he's making a step forward, he's taking steps back. The darkness is there now too, and he's going to struggle, because he has more to protect.

This whole experience in survivor was such a crucial point in it but at the same time we know, it's also simultaneously reinforcing his fear of further abandonment and more trust issues, and also his fears of the dark side so I'm kind of nervous to see. Where is all of this culminates to in the next game because he's learned for sure but I also feel like some other things maybe got reinforce that shouldn't have.

Right when he was learning to move on from his attachment to the Fight, he has a new thing, rebuilding Cere's legacy and keeping Tanalorr safe. It's almost like he's doubled up on all of it. Maybe he'll learn to be at peace and let things go but for now, sweet baby boy's trust issues are off the charts!!!!

Anyway maybe none of that made sense and you don't have to agree these are just thoughts after all! Take care!

#cal kestis #sw meta #star wars meta #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #cere junda #greez dritus #merrin #merrical #madi talks

[digitaldiarystuff]

Bad Liar Pt.2

note: hello, it’s me (read it in adele voice) thank you so much for the likes it makes me want to write more enjoyy

————

summary: you are in a long time situationship with pedri and you’re falling more and more everyday hoping he feels the same

pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Y/N

genre: pure angst

————

You spent the night bawling your eyes out and hugging your best friend for some support. After a couple of hours your tears started drying and you ran a bath to collect your thoughts. Okay, let’s look at the facts, you’ve been around Pedri for months and never noticed a hint of a girlfriend. Sure you weren’t spending every hour of every day but he stayed at your place once or twice a week and you never even saw him pick a phone call with a girl, sometimes you noticed him focused on his phone brows furrowed answering some texts and yeah you thought maybe he was messing around with someone else but never had the courage to ask about it and honestly after a while, you started trusting him. Trusting him seemed like the biggest mistake you’ve ever done. You believed what you had was special and he was in this with you. What a fool you were.

After the shower you just put on some pajamas and went to lie on your bed but before you could even sit down your mind went back to the morning, how he was sleeping like an angel next to you in this bed. Tears were rolling from your eyes uncontrollably. Realizing you couldn’t bear to sleep there you decided to let your friend crash in your room and took the couch instead. She tried arguing but didn’t press too much. She knew you needed space. After some more crying you let sleep take over.

The morning after wasn’t any better, you woke up crying and picked up your phone to see if there was any notifications from him, you hated how weak you were over someone not worthy but you couldn’t be strong right now. The only thing that could heal you was him and he broke your heart to a million pieces. Just thinking about last night made your stomach turn and you ran to the bathroom to vomit, it was your body’s reaction to everything that happened over the last 12 hours, how turned upside down your life was.

He hadn’t texted you, not even a sorry or can we talk. It was like he forgot about you all together. You had a million questions. How long was this going on, did you mean anything to him, who was she, why did she post him last night, did she know about you?

Your friend’s first suggestion was to make him pay, share all his business with the whole world and destroy his quiet shy and kind guy image but she knew you’d never do that, even he’d know you wouldn’t. Then she said the next best action would be to ask him straight up, you could also ask the girl but you don’t think you can handle that confrontation. You’re too angry to do that.

“What should I even say?” you ask her desperately.

“Just say meet me at mine. Don’t make it obvious that you know.”

“What if she’s with her.”

“Oh I hope she’s with her.”

“No, what if he doesn’t respond or says no?”

“Then we go over there.” she answered nonchalantly and shrugged “What? Don’t you think he deserves it?”

“I do, I really do but I’m not confident enough for any big fight.”

“You have to do this or your inner thoughts will eat you up.” you knew she was right.

to PG: can you come to my house?

from PG: i can’t busy day

to PG: okay then just come tonight

from PG: busy again, i’ll tell you when i’m free

You were getting more upset by the second, he didn’t even respect to enough to have a decent conversation with you. He must know how you felt because you never hid it and still, he just didn’t care.

to PG: it’s either you come to me right now or i’ll come to yours to meet your girlfriend

from PG: be there in 30

So that’s how he wanted to play.

Soon after the text you hugged your friend goodbye and started waiting for him and even though you weren’t proud about this, you changed and applied some light makeup. You didn’t want him to see how he broke you. As soon as you heard the knock, you looked at yourself once more and opened it allowing him to come in. You were staring into his soul with a newly found bravery while he averted his eyes. He couldn’t even look at you.

“I’m gonna get some water, do you want anything?” he asked and you were shocked at how he tried to make this normal.

“Sit down Pedro.” he was shocked as you used his name, you’ve never called him Pedro but calling him Pedri wasn’t an option to you anymore.

He said nothing and plopped down on the couch.

“Talk.” you ordered.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You could start by explaining.”

“Look I’m sorry if you feel some type of way about it but honestly I don’t get why you’re this upset.” you just stared at him in shock. How could he try to minimize the situation?

“What do you mean you don’t understand. You have a girlfriend and I don’t even know for how long, you played me and you’re here trying to say it’s nothing. How can you be so calm right now?” you ask agitated.

“Y/N we both said we didn’t want commitment.”

“Yeah because you already had one, to your girlfriend!” you yelled.

“Pedro how could you keep this from me? If I had known I would’ve never been with you, you don’t love me that’s fine I can live with that but how can you sit there and disrespect your relationship disrespect me? Do you really don’t care at all? After we spent months together, after you confessed to me that I’m the only one you could confide in and trust fully and I shouldn’t have trusted you for a second. Don’t you see how wrecked I am, do you not care about me one bit?” you ask fully crying now. His nonchalance is far worse than anything you could imagine.

“Look, we’ve been on again off again for a year now and I never mentioned it to you because when I was with you, it was off and I didn’t want to talk about it.” he finally showed some emotion and it was annoyance but it’s better than nothing.

“You’re still lying to me. If you were on and off why were you in bed with me twice a week? Does your relationship end that quickly? You cheated on her with me and used me. I never asked to be a part of this, I even wanted to end things early on when I realized I had feelings for you but you didn’t accept it. You came to my door, asking for my forgiveness Pedro. You begged me to take you back and I have, if you really only used me why try to win me back, was it all a game? Did you have fun did you laugh at me?”

“No it wasn’t a game I just, I couldn’t lose you, I knew then and there I just couldn’t but I didn’t know how to explain it and the longer I waited the harder it got. I even tried to get you to leave me but I couldn’t leave you. She was away all the time and you became my rock and I got used to waking up next to you and being with you. Last night she came all of a sudden saying she’s moving here permanently and I just” he sighed and you could see tears forming in his eyes “I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry for everything.”

You looked at him and even though you were so heartbroken, you realized maybe this was the last time you got to speak to him.

“Last night I asked to meet up because I was ready to tell you how I felt, I was going to confess my feelings and ask you a question I was dying to ask.”

He looked up at you fidgeting with your fingers, having difficulty breathing.

“What was it?”

“I was going to ask you if you love me.” you whispered.

His gaze turned to his hands on his knees.

“I would’ve said yes.” his voice was so low you almost didn’t hear him.

“But you can’t today, can you?” you found the courage to look up at him again, already knowing the answer. His mind was made up, if he was going to break up with her, he could’ve done it yesterday but he didn’t. They were a happy, throughly messed up couple and you were nothing more than a side chick.

“I’m sorry.” he said while getting up. “I just, I never wanted to hurt you.” he came in front of you and kneeled down to hold eye contact.

“I’m sorry I’m so sorry” he repeated again and again crying and tried holding your hands. You couldn’t even look at him because you would’ve held his hands and calmed him down. This is the first time he’s full on crying next to you and all you wanted to do is console him, be his anchor but you can’t.

“Please look at me.”

“I can’t, after knowing everything I can’t look at you.” you said. You gazed at your hands covered by his and tried your best to not break.

“What I said to you was never a lie, I never lied about my feelings to you.” he confessed.

“So I should believe you love me when you couldn’t even tell me you had a relationship. It can’t be true if you’re here telling me you’re going back to her. If you loved me just one bit, you’ll let me go Pedro. I can’t be in a situation where I’ve been lied to for months and can’t even trust you.” you said still not looking up.

“I understand.” he said not moving. He didn’t stand up just stood by your knees and held your hand as both of you cried some more.

“I think you should go”

He started getting up but sat next to you on the couch

“Can I hug you goodbye?” he asked in a childlike manner. You said nothing so he decided it was okay. You actually didn’t say anything because you needed his affection one last time. This was wrong but you needed him as much as he needed you. Pedri embraced you in his arms and you put your arms around his neck. You sat there entangled in each other for a few minutes until your mind screamed let go so you did but as he was backing up he held your tear stained cheeks and pressed his lips against yours for the last time and you let him. You couldn’t fight it, you just enjoyed his lips on yours and after that he was gone.

Pedri will always be your the one that got away.

————

note: omg i’m gonna cry at how sad it happened but this relationship is nowhere near ending so if you’re interested please share with me your thoughts and opinions about the story luvs

ALSO, should this story have a good or a bad ending i’m so conflicted please helpp

#football #football imagine #football oneshot #football x you #football x y/n #football x reader #football blurb #football angst #pedri gonzalez #pedri angst #pedri blurb #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri one shot #football one shot #fc barcelona

[lego-man-speer]

Nuremberg Defendants: Part 2, Joachim von Ribbentrop - Nazi Foreign Minister

Continuing my Nuremberg Defendants series. Check links to see posts I've made on previous defendants (Hess wasn't part of the series, but I've already made a post about him):

Rudolf Hess

Alfred Rosenberg

-Joachim von Ribbentrop was born as Ulrich Friedrich Willy Joachim Ribbentrop on the 30th of April, 1893. He was not born into aristocracy (his father did not have the “von” in his name), Joachim grew up in an average middle class family with an older brother and a younger sister.

-Ribbentrop's mother died from tuberculosis when he was still very young. This event undoubtedly had an effect on him for the rest of his life (and I will explain in detail as we go further).

-He had no formal education after the age of fifteen. In school Ribbentrop was an underachiever and showed no signs of being an academic. His father had paid for French and English language tutors to teach him both languages.

-At seventeen, Joachim and his brother were sent to London for a year to polish up their English. After that year they both moved to Canada.

-Ribbentrop's life in Canada seemed to have been a happy one. He was popular, invited to many parties and was argued to have been sort of a ladies man. He worked as a banker and also as a construction worker, going on to help the reconstruction of the Quebec Bridge. Ribbentrop also had a passion for dancing and ice skating. he was even a member of a Canadian ice skating team.

-It was during this time that both Ribbentrop and his brother came down with tuberculosis. Ribbentrop's brother died, however Ribbentrop fortunately survived but had to have one of his kidneys removed. The effects of having his kidney removed were very clear. His left eye would sometimes droop, giving the effect of him looking tired. As a result he had a crippling inferiority complex.

-When the Great War broke out, Ribbentrop carefully returned to Germany to fight for his nation. It was during the war when Ribbentrop first met Franz von Papen (who will be the topic of a future post), a man that went on to become Chancellor under the Weimar Republic.

-After the war, Ribbentrop made a living out of his champagne business, which involved smuggling champagne from other countries. At this time, Ribbentrop was friends with Jewish people, even doing business with them. Ribbentrop was the only member of the inner circle that had previously moved around Jewish circles prior to joining the Nazi Party. He had no strong opinions at the time, people knew him as a moderately conservative monarchist. At elections he would vote for the DVP.

-Gradually Ribbentrop's personality began to change. Gone was the polite and somewhat shy young man, now he was becoming more insufferable as he went on long rants on the dangers of communism. What's more is that Ribbentrop had asked his aunt to adopt him aged in his early thirties so he could add the 'von' (a sign of German nobility - his aunt was a 'von Ribbentrop') to his name. His aunt agreed but was required to pay her a regular sum of money. When he stopped paying, his aunt took him to court and forced him to continue paying.

-In 1920, Ribbentrop married Anna Elisabeth Henkell (Annaliese to her friends). Anna's parents were not fond of Ribbentrop and considered him to be an idiot. The marriage produced five children, and Ribbentrop's eldest (Rudolf von Ribbentrop - born 1921) went on to serve in the Second World War as well as writing a book about his father post-war. Anna was a very ambitious woman and often pushed Ribbentrop around in all matters, including political. Hitler noted that it was clearly her who wore the trousers in the relationship.

-Fascinatingly, Ribbentrop didn't join the Nazi Party until 1932, which was around the time that Hitler was starting to get desperate for power. In late 1932, Hitler was using Ribbentrop's house to hold talks with Franz von Papen (as Papen was an old war friend of Ribbentrop's - and at this time Papen had lost his job as Chancellor of Germany, he was looking for a way to return to power. This moment in history is often referred to as the “Backstairs Intrigue”.)

-For the first few years of the Nazi regime, Ribbentrop had no government role. He mostly spent time in Britain and France, trying to establish connections for Hitler. In 1936, he was made Ambassador to Britain after the incumbent had died suddenly of a heart attack. Ribbentrop's appointment was unexpected, nor did he want the role. Prior to becoming ambassador, Ribbentrop was fond of holidaying in Britain and had hoped to one day retire in St Ives in Cornwall.

-He had a very bad reputation as ambassador and was dubbed 'von Brickendrop' due to his multiple gaffes while in this role. His most famous was when he almost knocked over King George VI by doing the Nazi greeting when the King had reached to shake Ribbentrop's hand. He was not well liked by the British Press nor the British public. Throughout his position (which lasted just over a year) he spent no longer than just a few weeks in London, mostly to stay close to his beloved Führer back home. Overall, his experience as Ambassador turned Ribbentrop from being an Anglophile to an Anglophobe.

-In 1938 Ribbentrop was made Foreign Minister, succeeding Konstantin von Neurath (who will be the topic of a future post). This was the position that Ribbentrop had dreamed of (and a position that his long-term enemy, Alfred Rosenberg, had also hoped for). In this role, Ribbentrop had significant influence over Hitler in the early years of World War 2, even encouraging Hitler to invade Poland despite threats from the British as he claimed “they would not fight seriously.” In this post, Ribbentrop's proudest achievement was his Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (also referred to as the German-Soviet Nonaggression Pact). After the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941, Ribbentrop gradually lost influence in his role as Foreign Minister.

-Ribbentrop's role in the Final Solution was fairly ambiguous, but he was most certainly aware that atrocities were taking place. Ribbentrop preferred to look the other way and have someone else do the work. From August 1941, Ribbentrop ordered all future communications sent to the Foreign office to be directed to the office of his subordinates. There is no evidence that Ribbentrop intervened in the exterminations, except on one occasion which was purely on the issue of jurisdiction, rather than humanity. Ribbentrop had involved himself in other war crimes, such as legalising and encouraging the lynching of captured Allied bomber crews in Germany. Although the likes of Göring opposed such measures, and the army favoured it in only a few circumstances, Ribbentrop wished to Lynch the perpetrators of 'every type of terror attack on the German population”, despite this being a violation of international law. This was the main charge against him on count 3 of the Nuremberg indictment (war crimes).

-From 1945, Ribbentrop was essentially powerless. After the suicide of Hitler on the 30th of April (ironic because that's also Ribbentrop's birthday), Ribbentrop fled to Flensburg in an attempt to secure a role in the Dönitz government. Ribbentrop was quickly turned down and so fled to Hamburg, where he went by the alias Johann Riese. He was captured by the British after his whereabouts had been exposed. Ribbentrop was discovered asleep, wearing pink and white pyjamas and a small tin of poison attached to his genitals. Upon being woken up, he began to mumble nervously in German, but as soon as he became conscious of the situation, he spoke in perfect English a prepared speech: “The game is up. I congratulate you. You know who I am. If you had come two days later, I would have already given myself up voluntarily.” The British had also discovered a letter written by Ribbentrop to “Vincent Churchill” (not a spelling mistake on my part, that's Ribbentrop's mistake).

-At Nuremberg, Ribbentrop was a depressed and broken man. So much so that his lawyer (Dr Martin Horn) feared he was close to a psychological breakdown. In fact, Ribbentrop was considered one of the worst suicide risks at Nuremberg, and prison Psychiatrist Dr Kelley was instructed to keep a close eye on him. Ribbentrop's first lawyer was Dr Fritz Sauter (who was also acting for Baldur von Schirach - a subject of a future post), however at the start of 1946 he ceased to be his lawyer either because Ribbentrop dismissed him or he resigned out of exasperation (sources differ on this). Ribbentrop was therefore represented by Dr Martin Horn. On the witness stand, Ribbentrop was a mess and had a tendency to ramble and contradict himself.

-Ribbentrop was found guilty on all four counts of the Nuremberg indictment and was sentenced to death by hanging. He spent his last few days closely studying his Bible. After the unexpected suicide of Göring on the night of the executions, Ribbentrop was the first to be hung. On the scaffold his last words were: “God protect Germany, God have mercy on my soul. My final wish is that Germany should recover her unity, and that, for the sake of peace, there should be understanding between East and West.” He then turned to the Protestant Pastor Gerecke and said “I'll see you again.” Ribbentrop's hanging was badly botched, his neck didn't snap when falling through the trapdoor, therefore strangling him to death. Ribbentrop took around 10-20 minutes to die.

#reichblr #joachim von ribbentrop #ww2 #wwii

[lotusmi]

Let go of control, and control Self

📚PART 2: Let go of control, and control Self

read more of my summaries | full post on reddit ⬸ [go to PART 1, "No one or nothing to change but Self" ]

There is no objective reality.

Everyone perceives things different. you may be grand in ones eyes but evil in another. The trick is to not care about either and go to what you want.

Neville wanted to be with his second wife, he was struggling with wondering HOW it will come about. He admits he was forgot to exercise this Law. But he did not blame himself, instead he went straight to the Law. He let go of all the HOW's and slept in the assumption that he was Married with that woman. He fell asleep as the one he WANTED to be. It was what his hearts desired.

"Never blame, only resolve." - Neville

He must have learned to let go to the HOW. He learned that he must fulfill his hearts desire. Who else can fulfill the desires in your heart, other than YOU?

He imagined what he wanted as though he had it already.

After rejection [to leave army], what did he do? Did he say, "This shit does not work. I imagined and nothing happened. I was rejected. The world is just simply greater than my mind. I never get what I want." Did he react negatively to his rejection? Maybe a touch, who wouldn't? But did he complain? Did he feel that he cannot get what he wants? No.

Neville was able to not react even after rejection because Neville was not imagining to "get out," in a sense. He was imagining who and where he WANTED to be. This is a huge difference. If he was imagining just to "get out" [of the army] and control the outer-world, guess what? He just got rejected. From this intention he is going to feel completely defeated. If that was his sole purpose was to just "make something happen," then he lost.

He imagined to change his MIND. To change his FEELING of "I." He imagined to change the ONLY thing that is being expressed. HIMSELF. Neville at this time, knew he can change reality, if he changes himself. Since he was solely imagining on changing the FEELING of himself, he was able to persist regardless of circumstances. He did not care what others said, where he was at in the world, or his rejection. He ONLY cared about imagining what he wanted.

He was feeling what he wanted, not what he "must feel" or "have to feel" to "get out." No, solely to have he wanted in his mind.

He let go of controlling his outer-world and controlled himself. The world is reflecting self. And "Self" is everything you think you HAVE and ARE.

"When I close my eyes this world is shut out and I, am blind to the outer world. Then I feel myself into the state of my desire. With my inner eye I see it all around me. And I have the feeling of relief, knowing it is accomplished." - Neville

do anything you wish in your mind. You are so powerful in your mind that NOBODY can imprison you, you can only imprison yourself. Nobody can free you, you can only free yourself. You are the ruler in your mind. It is entirely up to you, to be what you desire to be in your mind.

"Don't think in terms of things coming to you. Think in terms of things coming FROM you. This means it was within you all along." - Edward Art

[go to PART 3, "He who will not live by love must be subdued by fear" ] ⤑

#neville goddard #loa advice #loatumblr #loa blog #law of assumption #manifesting #living in the end #edward art