#''we never promised to help! Also you're just bad with money'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coolwyous · 2 months ago

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┈─★ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ( 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 .) / pt ii.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a few years after the worst heartbreak you've ever known, you're back at the ranch for one week to pay your respects after your grandfather suddenly passes away. you're convinced you're over the stupid farmhand that made you swear off love— until of all people, megan skiendiel shows up at your door, same hat, same boots, same sad brown eyes.

ˎˊ˗ 🌾 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: cowboy! megan skiendiel x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 12k, modern cowboy!au, exes to lovers, jealous + protective bf megan wahhh, explores themes of grief, slice of life, small town vibes, MILD angst, we KILL the cowboy (jk happy ending i swear!!)

➴ you might want to tune in...: 𝗢𝗦𝗧: golden hour - kacey mustgraves. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: i don't trust myself (with loving you) - john mayer. ♩ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: still your girl - gamma skies. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜: wait by the river - lord huron. ♩ 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: superglue - role model. ♫

➴ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶 can be found here. ᵎᵎ

cw:// suggestive scene, mentions of death (parent/grandparent.)

your skin crawls being there. same place, 3 years later.

“sorry we couldn’t get you from the airport,” your uncle apologizes.

“it’s okay. the train wasn’t all that bad.”

“it’s so nice to see your face round here again. wish it was under better circumstances.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. when your grandfather passed away suddenly, your parents did nothing but argue about who would come to represent your family at the funeral. both insanely busy with their own jobs, the role fell to you, much to your protest. but considering his money was what was going to fuel you through your future goal of med school, you had little room left to argue.

(after all, you’d also promised yourself you’d never mention a word of what that summer did to you, and that was a promise easily kept.)

now here you are, back at the place you swore you’d never return to, trying to get through the week unscathed.

“who are they?” you ask, motioning to the two random boys working together to take your bag into he house. they stumble over themselves, struggling to get the handle to tuck away.

“just some sorry excuses for cowboys,” old pete spits. “ever since the kid left, we needed the hands. but they ain’t much help.”

the implication isn’t lost on you. they needed two guys to do what megan did by herself.

“y/n,” your aunt’s voice cuts in, sounding worried. “your uncle should tell you-”

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you cut her off, knowing already by the tone where this is headed.

“she doesn’t want to talk about it,” your uncle reiterates, shrugging.

you’re napping on the sofa by the open window to enjoy the mountain air breeze when a rustle outside stirs you. you hear the crunch of gravel, some footsteps making their way up to the porch, and a thud as someone sits in the old rocking chair.

“use the truck as long as you’re here, you get that old thing to run better than anyone. thank you again for coming,” your uncle’s voice is muffled against the hum of the cicadas.

“don’t mention it.”

you feel a jolt through your spine. you know that stupid voice.

(worse, you remember that stupid phrase. her first words to you.)

you leap off the couch and see her clearly through the window.

she’s leaning against one of the posts of the patio fence, arms crossed over her chest, a suede jacket and blue jeans with those stupid boots and that stupid fucking hat.

you feel immeasurable rage bubble up and out of your chest, and before the sense can kick in, you’re racing past the front door and pushing her backwards full force, sending her toppling backwards off the railing and onto the dirt.

those brown eyes look up at you, wide and full of confusion as she processes what’s going on, and you feel instantly sick to your stomach as you take her in. three years weren't enough to forget every feature of her face, and you ache realizing that her eyes are heavier, the creases between her brows deeper, and her smile lines faded.

(she’s older now, and granted you are too, but years ago, you were dreaming of being the one to grow old with her.)

“you’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here,” you spit.

if you were half a screw more unhinged, you’d slap her then and there, but a part of you knows a girl who takes beatings from thousand-pound cattle or pissed off horses would probably hardly even flinch at you.

she rises to her feet slowly, the patio fence the only thing between the two of you. she dusts off her jeans and eyes you with uncertainty. you want to be in her face again, but she mirrors your movement like a wrangler watching a bull, careful and calculated. for every bit you lean to move towards her, she leans away.

“y/n…” your uncle tries to quell you, standing up from the chair.

“you didn’t even go to your mom’s own funeral and you’re coming to my granddad’s, who you barely fucking knew?” you blurt, barely able to contain yourself as you stumble over your own feet. “what kind of stupid fucked logic is that?”

her jaw goes hard, and she pulls the brim of her hat down to cover her eyes from your view. she waves curtly to your uncle and makes her way over to the truck, and it fills you with rage to see her drive away down the road so easily.

“i tried telling you–” your uncle starts, but you don’t want to hear it. you sprint back upstairs into your room and lock the door, trying to calm your racing heart.

it’s just a week, but it might as well be another summer in hell.

they know not to ask you about her.

“i wouldn’t recommend the fields tonight, stay here,” your aunt tells you gently, seeing you pull a jacket over your shoulders as you make your way downstairs, having been holed up in your bedroom since last night’s interaction.

but if anything, that pisses you off more, this stupid girl won’t be the reason you’re stuck inside all day, and you take a horse out through the property to clear your mind.

(maybe you’ll be less stubborn next time.)

you recognize her instantly once you see her in the steer pen, beer can in one hand, crushed cans littering the fence post where her jacket is hanging and the horse is tied to. your first instinct is to turn around, but your hands stay firm on your horse’s reins instead of backing the two of you out of there.

you can see her outline faintly against the sunset. she’s waving her hat in the steer’s face, taunting the beast intentionally, dipping out of his way as soon as it starts to run towards her.

a one-man bullfight.

as soon as you get your horse finally turning, deciding you’ve had enough, you see her trip over the heel of her boot, slipping and landing back-first into the ground. the steer, seeing red, starts to run directly towards her.

you feel your stomach lurch. as angry as you are, a half ton creature crushing her is probably not the revenge you were seeking.

you dismount quickly and run straight up to the fencing, waving your hands wildly.

“hey! hey you!” you scream at the bull, the desperation in your voice apparent. it breaks the silence between the bull and megan, and breaks his concentration briefly. he turns to look at you, realizing you’re behind the fence, and then turns back towards his previous victim.

but megan, as much as you hate her, is quick on her feet to scramble out of the pen and roll underneath the fence post, her chest heaving as she escapes the near-death experience.

she’s wobbly as she gets to her feet, breathing heavily still. she grabs her hat off from the ground and dusts it off.

“thanks for rescuing me.”

“you’re selfish as shit, for so many reasons, but getting yourself killed by a cow on the week of my grandpa’s funeral would be another notch on your stupid belt.”

“not my best idea,” she wrinkles her nose, and you feel rage boiling from beneath your skin.

“drunk, stupid cowboy.” you shove into her, feeling the hot tears threaten the corners of your eyes.

“you loved this drunk, stupid cowboy, once,” she bites back immediately, faster than you had ever expected, and her voice is strained, as if she’s been screaming or yelling.

or crying.

you say nothing and turn around, mounting back on your horse to leave.

she says nothing, but you hear the crunch of the metal beer can beneath her boot.

“you said she stopped living here,” you tell your uncle over dinner that night. you try to be calm, but your tone changes the words into an accusation instead of a comment.

“she did,” he tries to reassure you. “she came into town for the service.”

“is that where bruce went?” you question, having noticed only tilla’s presence on the property. “you let him leave with megan?”

“who’s bruce?” one of the replacement farmhand boys asks dumbly, and old pete simply slaps the back of his head to chastise him for interrupting.

“she needed him more than we did,” he insists. “i felt bad splittin’ the two up. she sends me pictures of him every week.”

“you guys still talk?” you feel the back of your neck light on fire. isn’t your family supposed to have your back? “is that how she found out about grandpa?”

“your grandpa loved that kid, said she respected the land, understood it,” old pete interjects, seeing your uncle clearly drowning under your line of questioning. “they talked even after she quit workin’ here.”

“the service is on sunday, like he would have wanted, and then they read his will on wednesday when your cousins all get here,” your aunt reminds you, as if it’s supposed to offer you comfort.

“i don’t want to be stuck seeing her.”

“that might be hard,” your uncle rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “she agreed to come help out on the property for a few days, just while we arrange everything—”

“you’re joking,” you blurt. “but those new boys are living in her old room.”

“she’s staying in the old log cabin up the road by the stables. you aunt never let us go in there cause of how cold the nights get, but meg figured out the wood stove and where the smoke was leaking from, that damned kid. always so sharp.”

“y/n, you leave in a week, and it’s not like she’s living in the house and having family meals with us. i know it’s not ideal, but…” your aunt tries to console you, but you’ve already stood up by the time she trails off.

you take your plate up to your room and finish dinner with your book in silence. your aunt’s words ring in your head. just get through the week.

the next day, thursday, you’re going stir-crazy by mid-day. you’re tired of being holed up in your room since the sunrise.

if you run into megan, you’ll simply walk away. free will, or whatever. you deserve the right to go explore and find closure, and then never think of this place again.

and somehow, despite the hundreds of acres the property owns, you’re reading up against the fencepost, trying to enjoy the summer sun and the smell of the clean mountain air through the tall grass, and you hear a quiet hum. that gentle, soft hum that had once calmed every pressing worry in your body.

megan’s words ring through your ears.

you loved her, once.

“y/n,” she breathes, recognizing you as she walks along the trail, hands in her pocket.

“what do you want?” you ask, watching as she approaches cautiously.

“i owe you an apology,” she tells you, kneeling down to be at eye level, still keeping a fair amount of distance between the two of you. her statement catches your attention.

you don’t owe her forgiveness, but part of you needs the closure.

“i’m listening.”

she takes a deep breath, her eyes avoiding yours. her hands wring together, as if she’s rehearsed this and is nervous to forget her lines.

and then she opens her mouth, and your heart sinks.

“i took advantage of you that summer, when you were lonely. that was shitty and irresponsible of me. i should have known better. i’m sorry.”

you feel the bile rise up in your throat. you weren’t sure what to expect, but surely this was the worst possible thing to come out of what she could say. that was the last possible perspective you’d have taken about that summer, the way you two grew closer by equal parts proximity and shared time getting to know each other, like two opposites discovering just how much they balanced the other out.

“that’s how you’re looking at this?” you ask in disbelief.

“i was the only person around your age for miles,” she shakes her head, still avoiding your gaze.

“you are so full of shit,” you breathe, completely unable to say more than that. “my god.”

“sorry, y/n.”

“you know, i was hoping when my uncle said you’d left, that you’d gone and done some reflecting and growing and there would be even a chance at closure with you.” you stand up, worried if you stay seated any longer, you might pen up too much energy and try to push her again. “but you haven’t changed at all.”

you’re half expecting her to defend herself, but instead, she simply tilts her head looking up at you from where she’s still sitting.

“what, like you’ve changed?”

you scowl at her. “i’m a completely different person than i was back then.”

“tiger can’t change its stripes,” megan says simply. “people don’t change.”

“but they grow,” you cut back quickly, feeling the anger threatening to boil over. “and if you don’t grow, you die sad and alone, which is what’s going to happen to you while i go off and live my life.”

you see megan’s brow twitch.

“and i’ll go off and live it with someone who isn’t scared to be in love with me, ‘cause that’s what i deserve, and that wasn’t you,” you continue, before turning on your heel to start walking away. you’d give anything to make sure she doesn’t see you cry. “i don’t deserve someone who minimizes it or writes it off or runs away from it.”

you hear the crunch of her boots against the dirt as she gets up and catches up to you easily, her voice ringing out from behind you.

“sorry for minimizing it.”

“it’s fucking gross for me to talk about it, but i’m not afraid to admit it like you are. i loved you so much and i genuinely pictured the future with you, and to hear you talk it down to me just being lonely and young— i hate thinking that’s what you think of me.” you stop briefly, trying to shake your head to stop the tears from continuing. “you ruined everything.”

but then she reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact makes your whole body illuminate with electricity. her grip is gentle, but so unbelievably strong. her eyes are finally seeking yours, her gaze hard and serious, as if she’s flipped a switch.

“did you find someone else while you went home?” she asks, her voice low.

“who cares if i did?” you yank your arm out of her grasp. “i wanted it to be you.”

“i care,” she says weakly, and you decide you’ve had enough.

whatever version of megan you might’ve loved is long gone.

“no you don’t care. all you care about is protecting yourself.” you leave your book there, deciding you’ll come back for it another time, and turn on your heel to walk back towards the lodge. “i’m leaving. i’ll see you at the funeral, then i can’t wait to never fucking think about you ever again. bye megan.”

one of the trees by the creek catches your attention as you walk back to the lodge, trying to clear your head of thoughts of the ginger.

there’s a little notch carved into the side of it, like a tally mark.

you turn around the tree and notice that the whole thing is notched. carefully scratched tally marks as high as you can reach, down to the very bottom, made by a hunting knife or a swiss army knife or something.

you keep walking straight back to the lodge. you could swear you hear something like your name being called out behind you, but you chalk it up to the wind and leave it where it lays.

friday morning, two days before the funeral service. you’ve managed to find a rhythm where you move fast enough around the property to not get caught up enough to run into megan again. this time, you’re rustling around in the wooded area by the field, hoping to figure out where the hell your book ended up.

you hear the faint rustle of leaves, and then a quiet set of yips and yelps. your legs go numb as you recognize the pattern— megan had taught you how to recognize the noises of different animals, and coyotes sound an awful lot like what you’re hearing around you.

“hey pete?” you call out, trying to see if your sounds can potentially scare them off. “pete?”

“not funny,” you yell a little louder, your voice shaking slightly. you hear the yelps getting louder, a bit closer, and you try to ramp up your yells, clapping as well. “get outta here! go!”

the noises only come closer, and you wish you would have come prepared with some bear spray or something to get out of this, but before you can worry too much, there’s a rapid sound of crunching twigs through the woods.

someone is running to you.

you can only hope it’s pete, or your uncle, but the ginger hair is quickly colliding into you, landing the both of you into the dirt. you can’t hear the animals any more, and figure it was megan’s chaotic racket that scared them off.

“you okay?” she asks quickly, her arms holding her up to hover over you.

“get off of me,” you huff, trying to push off her shoulders.

she steps away, and you see the fresh rips in her jeans, the scuffs on her boots, and the briars all stuck to her.

you look back from where she had run– a thicket of bristles, and you see the barbed wire just a few yards behind.

“what did you do?” you question, trying to piece it together.

“i might’ve gotten caught up in one of the wire fences when i heard you. came running, probably should have been more careful,” she admits, staring down at her ruined pair of levi’s.

“don’t do that again,” you threaten, but your heart abandons you. the near-miss with the bull was enough. you can’t risk unpacking the pain of something happening to her.

“okay,” she breathes simply. she searches for something in her back pocket, and retrieves your book. “this is yours.”

she leaves the book next to you, and turns to disappear back into the treeline.

friday evening. you’re face to face with the pond. the air is sticky, oppressively hot even as the sun comes down, and you decide you’re not afraid of anything if you’re able to face all these memories of megan and make it out in one piece.

you don’t exactly want either of the new boys watching you strip down to your underwear, so you tell yourself you can teach yourself how to swim without supervision as long as you stay with your head above water.

admittedly, you’re getting more and more confident with each stride. it’s easy enough to think you’re getting the hang of it when you’re only torso deep, and the water is still. you wade in a tiny bit further, enjoying the cool water against your skin.

your foot slips on a rock much too smooth for you to grip, and you feel yourself slip under the water by accident. you miscalculated just how deep this thing is.

you don’t have enough time to gasp a final gulp of air before you feel the water in your mouth, in your lungs, your limbs flailing to try and get a grasp of something nearby to pull yourself out.

you feel the strong hands, much too familiar, wrap around your waist and heave upwards to get your head above the water. you gasp a breath and feel yourself flailing, but her grip is so strong on you, so firm, you go limp as she kicks backwards to get you back to shallower water.

the two of you collapse on top of each other at the shore of the pond, and she lets go of you immediately.

“you okay?” she asks, those too-familiar brown eyes scanning over you, brows knit together. her clothes are completely drenched through, the fabric clinging to her.

you shove her away, trying to build distance between the two of you, as you reach for your flannel to cover yourself up. “fucking hate you.”

“quit saying that,” she grimaces, her nose wrinkling as she turns to look away from you, as if she’s pained by your statement.

“leave me the fuck alone, megan,” you nearly scream, exasperated.

“you were drowning,” she says back, as if in disbelief.

“i don’t want you near me, what part of that do you not understand?”

“i’m not looking for you,” she snaps. “but i keep finding you.”

“somehow,” you snap back frustratedly.

“somehow,” she echoes, but her voice is softer, and you see her face change.

you feel your heart thud. you can’t handle whatever is about to come out of her.

“don’t–” you try, but the stupid cowboy is always too fast.

“i tried calling you,” she blurts, “every day, all of fall season after you left.”

“that’s all i meant to you, the fall time? three months?” you shove her further away. “sounds about right.”

she grabs your wrist, again. you freeze, her gaze locking into yours as her voice drops.

“y/n, for a split second, you meant the rest of my fuckin’ life,” she tells you firmly, her voice unwavering. “after the fall time, i called you every friday morning for a year.”

your heart nearly stops in your chest. your fridays in town together.

it clicks, faintly. the mystery phone number that always called during your friday 8am class, you always let go to voicemail, and it never left a message. you thought it was a spam number and blocked it after three weeks.

“please don’t get back in there,” she starts, motioning to the pond. “if you got hurt…”

she trails off, biting down. you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

you feel yourself eager to bite back, eager to wound her and make her feel half of what you feel.

if i got hurt? do you know what you’ve done to me?

you’re not cruel enough to drive the point home. you know she knows the damage she’s done. she gets up off the ground and wrings her shirt out before she walks in the opposite direction, leaving you alone without another word.

you burst through the door of the ranch house and lock eyes with your aunt, who is at the table peeling onions for tonight’s dinner.

“did megan actually try to call me the whole fall season?” you rush, the words bursting out of you faster than you could think them through.

“why are you wet?” your aunt asks in shock. “y/n, look at the state of you!”

“please,” you press, and you see her face twist. she lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“after you left, i could tell something was off. she’d take bruce and make the drive out to town every damn morning before anyone woke up just to try and use the pay phone.” she stands up and wipes her hands on her apron. “blew half her pay a week just on gas alone. she said she didn’t trust the cell service up here on the ranch.”

“every morning?” you question, but your aunt has never been one to exaggerate.

“then it was just the fridays, like when you two’d go to town and run your errands. when that stopped working for whatever reason, she got it in her head to start writing on the porch and she’d stay for hours writing these letters. she’d go up to the mailbox every morning, then just turn around without putting it in. i think she thought i didn’t see her, but god gave women a sixth sense for these kinds of things.” she shoots you a pointed look. “sneaking about things.”

“oh,” you say simply, the back of your neck burning.

“she lost something when you left,” her tone softens, reaching out a hand gently onto your arm. “kid wasn’t the same after that. never seen her angry before, but i assume that’s what it was– anger. tried to hide it but you don’t just smoke a pack a day and work yourself to the bone without it going noticed, y’know?”

“sorry,” you say simply, blinking as you try to make sense of it all.

“sweetie, your uncle is simple, and old pete doesn’t know anything.” she shakes her head again, as if she’s letting you in on a secret. “and i’m not the type to tell anyone how to live, much less an independent, smart girl like you. i’ll let you make your own decisions.”

she walks away, and you assume that’s the end of it, but she emerges from the pantry with a small box, heaving it with both hands. she drops it on the table in front of you, and you see it’s taped shut.

“but do i believe these are for you.”

you hesitate, but take the box upstairs into your room. you change into some dry clothes and peel back the tape to open the box.

in it, filled to the brim, are little envelopes, no dates, no addresses, no anything. you fish down to grab one from the bottom and slip a finger under the seal to take the letter out. you sit on your bed, taking in the handwriting.

i think of you every time i go to the rodeo. did you know that’s when i asked for a sign from god? that night was the first time i didn’t beat my own record. every other time, i lasted longer and longer, and the one and only time you came with me, i fell short. i think it was my mom telling me that there’s something else out there that feels better than just winning stupid shit.

you blink, setting the paper down. you read a second, then another, and another. you don’t realize you read through the night until your eyes droop and you fall asleep, pile of papers surrounding you.

(somehow, her voice rings even louder in your mind.)

saturday evening. you slept in til the mid-day to catch up on how late you were up. you’ve spent too long that day reading all her letters, leaving a few of them to save for later that night, your eyes strained from focusing all day. she talks about her mom, about loss, about mourning, about her regrets and her fears.

and she talks about you. every letter, a new memory you didn’t know she had treasured, catalogued away in that supposedly empty brain of hers— a new way to look at each memory the two of you had made that summer.

your fingers slip one in your back pocket, one of your favorites, one that had validated the experience the two of you had shared.

we had dinner on the porch today, because the cicadas were singing so beautifully. it made me think about you and the time you sat and kept me company in the rocking chair while we peeled potatoes for dinner. that was the first day i pictured us getting old and grey. i realized i didn’t need the ranch, i just needed you.

you shake your head and try to empty it of thoughts of her. whoever this version of megan was, it was gone, and the one you have now is what you have to accept.

your stomach twists at the thought. you need to focus on anything but the ache in your chest of reliving all these moments, knowing how she felt on the other end of it.

“can i take auntie’s car into the town?” you call out to the house.

“be safe on the road. you don’t usually drive it alone, it can get tiring,” your uncle calls back to you. “her keys are on the mantle.”

you find the keys, and take your aunt’s vw bug out of the garage and onto the dirt road, starting the hour-long drive out to the town. familiar, but never one you’ve done alone, you figure it’s the easiest thing you can do to get out of your own head.

you end up at the bar, the only other thing open past 9pm in this god forsaken small town. you’re used to a bustling night life in your city, but forget that things are much much slower up in the mountain. the parking lot is full of familiar-looking trucks and old cars, clearly a town celebrating the freedom of the weekend.

you enter and take in the old country bar: neon signs, mounted animal heads, and hundreds of framed photos of people and places around the town. couples dance to the music, others play pool at the tables nearby, and some are getting rowdy near the mechanical bull ride.

you let out a quiet breath and sit yourself at the bar. you feel the crinkle in your back pocket. a letter you forgot to take out before you had left the house.

before the bartender can even get to you, a mustached man posts up in the seat next to you, resting his elbow much too far into your bubble.

“the niece from the city,” he says simply, and you realize you might not be a stranger to these people after all. “let me buy you something.”

“no thank you,” you nod politely. whatever his intentions are, your focus was to spend the night alone in a new place, and considering you weren’t even old enough to enter the bar last you were here, this is your best bet at making a memory in this town for yourself, without megan’s hands on it.

(and how predictably rude of this man to ruin it…)

“i insist,” he pushes, flagging for the bartender to come over.

“i promise i’m okay,” you press back, rolling your eyes. nothing good can ever exist outside of a man ruining it.

but then he’s taking a strand of your hair in his dirty hand, and you feel yourself tense.

“pretty hair, on a pretty girl,” he tells you, playing with the lock within his fingers, leaning in much too close for your comfort. “how’re you likin’ the countryside so far?”

you feel yourself try to move away but you freeze at how imposing he is in your space. you’re sure any other interested girl would swoon being in your position, a confident man making it clear he’s interested, but this is quite possibly the opposite of what you’d want in this moment right now.

your mouth opens to protest, but there’s no sound. his hand is suddenly yanking backwards, and you see his body swing back out of the chair. you realize he’s been shoved away from you.

you smell it before you see her. pine and campfire.

and in an instant, she lands a punch to his face, square in the jaw.

“sorry sorry, my hand slipped,” she apologizes to him lazily, shaking out her wrist from what you can assume will be an impact bound to bruise. she takes a quick look at him, and you’re shocked when she spits on the ground next to his head, her eyes narrowing. “i’d stay down there if i were you, my hand might slip again.”

“out,” the bartender growls, whistling towards the two of you and pointing to the door. “now. come back when you’re sobered up, kid.”

“what the fuck?” you scowl at her, before a random pair of hands are shoving the two of you out the door and into the parking lot, the chill of the night air nipping at your nose.

megan doesn’t seem the least bit unphased, her eyes wide but focused on you.

“did you get a lot of people flirting with you back home?” she blurts, almost breathlessly. you can see her hand already start to swell, but she’s paying it no attention.

“why do you care?” you jab back.

“i can’t–” her face twists, her eyes scrunching shut. “i can’t stand the idea.”

you can’t give any thought to her rambles right now. “how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

“i am kinda–” she pauses, wrinkling her nose, “a little drunk. no liquor store so the bar is the only option when the gas station closes. came here and wanted to forget about you.”

you stare her down, contemplating what comes next. the choice is easy.

you sprint right over to your car and lock yourself in, megan irritatedly following behind you and knocking on the glass that now separates you.

“open,” she grunts, testing the door handle.

“go away.” you scowl at her through the glass. “i’ll scream, and someone will come and beat your ass.”

“don’t drive an hour home when you just drank like that,” she pleads, her voice softening slightly. she slumps against the car, leaning her face near the window to be able to look you in the eyes. “i’m gonna stay as long as i need to fix this. i’ll stay all night if i have to.”

her eyes are so warm and inviting, even through the barrier of the glass. you have half a mind to kick the car in reverse and let her go tumbling over the hood.

“i don’t want to be around you, what part of that is not getting through your skull?”

“i hurt you and i ran away instead of running towards you,” she says suddenly, pressing her forehead against the window. you’re shocked by how tender her voice sounds, a world of difference from her apology on the ranch. “i was scared to love something that deep and have it ripped away from me, and i ran away from it instead so it’d hurt less.”

“but it didn’t hurt less,” she continues, her eyes avoiding yours. you see her lip tremble, but she hardens her jaw to steady it. “it left something.”

“i was angry with you. i was angry for the first time in my adult life,” she admits. “i had gone numb after my mom, and then you show up, and it’s like everything was back to full volume after being silent for so long. being up here, it gave me a routine to fall into. it made me stop thinking, and then you showed up, and all i wanted to do was think about you, and the future, and the beauty in everything. you put something back in my head, and when you left, it made me angry.”

“i didn’t leave you on purpose,” you finally manage, silent throughout all of this.

“you could have stayed. we could have kept everything the same, and you had to go off and leave me,” she pushes back, but her voice is small, barely audible now across the glass.

“the same?” you question.

“we could have lived on the ranch and lived so easy, y/n.”

“i tried to bring you with me–”

“and i wasn’t ready. and that will haunt me forever.” her lips press into a fine line, and your heart thuds as she lets out a quiet breath. “i’m sorry i wasn’t ready to love you how you deserved.”

the apology. a real apology.

with that, you feel it rise from the gravel, the summer you had burned and buried, the feelings you had worked so diligently to try and rid yourself of before they destroyed you. you can close the chapter where you hate her, and move away from it all.

“i guess we were just kids,” you breathe after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” she reiterates. you roll the window down, and she leans on the frame, her head poking into the car. “i am really truly sorry.”

“no.” you don’t want her to grovel and ruin the moment, waving her off. “you gave me closure. done being angry.”

“you are?” her eyes light up.

“i leave wednesday night, and it’ll be easier not having to seethe with rage every time i see you,” you offer as a truce.

“i’m more than good with that,” she nods, and you feel the next chapter writing itself.

“i’m hungry,” you say simply, and she arches a curious brow at you.

“the diner is 24/7,” she offers.

“dinner, at the diner?” you ask, pointing up the street.

“i need to sober up before i try driving back to the ranch, and so do you,” megan says. “it’s a five minute walk. we can get the cars after?”

you nod and the two of you walk together to the diner, keeping a cautious distance in between yourselves. you ignore the crumple of paper in your back pocket, the letter begging to be read.

she orders a black coffee and watches you the whole time you eat your pancake platter.

you watch her back. your heart echoes something each time your eyes meet silently, but you do your best to quiet it as you make small talk about the town.

home.

sunday finally comes. the service is beautiful, and they bury your grandpa next to your grandma.

“they get to be together even after all they’ve been through,” your aunt says, something like admiration in her voice.

you look at megan, and she’s fixed her eyes on the hole in the ground, biting down on her bottom lip to stay anchored. you can already tell what she’s thinking of and what this brings up for her.

before you can stop yourself, you reach for her hand. she takes it and squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.

that night, after the service, your uncle insists on taking the whole family out to the bar, saying it’s what his father would have wanted. your grandpa was a big character, and it’s not out of the picture to think he had asked for something like this to lighten everyone's spirits.

(you don’t mention having been kicked out last night. luckily, nobody asks.)

“you know, when god shuts a window, he opens a door,” your great aunt says, motioning to the couples all paired up for the dances.

“slim pickings,” your cousin wrinkles his nose, motioning to the local singles at the bar.

“oh your generation— i was married at your age. stop being such a pill. just find someone good looking and go from there,” she huffs.

“bet you $20 that you won’t go walk up to the best lookin’ person in this room right now and give ‘em a dance,” he teases you. his side of the family have always been bolder and brasher than you have, but with a newfound sense of confidence, you don’t feel quite ready to step down.

you bite back. “bigger stakes. i want grandpa’s truck.”

“no chance!” he gawks, but the mischievous grin tells you he likes your mettle. “i know for a fact he signed it to me in the will. you’ll see wednesday.”

“no money. i get a dance, and i get them to last longer than 30 seconds on the bull,” you push, upping the stakes.

“ha! i’d like to see what idiot can last past 10.” he laughs and shakes you on it. “truck’s yours if you can do it.”

“the both of you are so crass,” your great-aunt scolds. “we laid him to rest not hours ago and you’re already pawning off his belongings!”

“i want that truck,” you emphasize, before throwing back one more shot to try and muster the courage to do this.

you scan the room of the people who aren’t family, and your cousin is right. not many options left to try, much less people who seem strong enough to be able to win you that mechanical bull bet.

your eyes land on the tall figure, leaning up against the wall, in that same stupid hat and those stupid boots. you hear the echo in your ear again, but push it away as you approach her.

“hi,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around her neck much too easily. her eyebrows arch nearly off her forehead in surprise, but her hands take to your back with far too much ease.

“hi.” megan says back simply, her nervous eyes looking over your shoulder and then back down at your now-swaying bodies. “is there a reason why your great-aunt looks like she wants to kill me?”

“no,” you grin, and megan can instantly tell you’re up to no good.

“sure it has nothing to do with two girls slow dancing?” she questions, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. she’s so steady on her feet, swaying the two of you along to the song playing over the speakers.

“might,” you continue with the short answers, trying not to give yourself away.

“i figured.” she shakes her head and lets out a snort, but before either of you can question it, her hands are dipping down from your back to the dip of your waist. you want to correct her grip, but you can’t find the words to tell her to move her hand. it feels much, much too comfortable there, like the grooves were made for her strong hands to hold onto.

“if she’s mad about this, she’s gonna hate watching you beat all my boy cousins at riding that mechanical bull,” you laugh.

“what? i’m not getting on that thing.” she wrinkles her nose, motioning over to the bucking machine. “no self respecting bull rider would.”

“i can’t convince you?” you bat your lashes up at her, though the thoughts of the bet are starting to fade from your memory as you look into those perfect brown eyes.

“convince me?” she echoes, laughing. “you want to convince me?”

“maybe i just wanted to see if i’ve still got it.” you’re not sure where this sudden rush of boldness comes from, but you chalk it up to the drinks and the lively vibe of the bar party.

“oh, like you don’t have suckers for you back home?” megan teases, though her voice waves and drops the slightest bit. “i’m sure you’ve got a line waiting out the door for you.”

“i might,” you goad on, curious about her shift in tone.

“please tell me you’re not interested,” she insists, eyebrows knitting together, and part of you buzzes at the way her voice shifts in the slightest.

“not many cowboys in the city to pick from.”

“is that your type?” she inquires, and you feel her grip on you tighten slightly.

“maybe it was, at one point,” you hum, trying to stop yourself from playing with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “but only the cowboys who’d do anything for me.”

“hm,” is all she says, her eyes searching for something in you. you’re about to say something more, but the song ends and megan lets go of you, excusing herself with a nod of her head. you wonder if you’ve pushed her too far.

you head back to the bar to grab another drink. you’re barely getting the cup from the bartender when you hear an obnoxious rise of cheers from the other end of the room. you look up at what’s causing the ruckus, and feel yourself smile against your will.

stupid megan, riding that damn mechanical bull, her knuckles white as they grip onto the handle and her face tensed with focus. the timer on the wall with big red numbers keeps ticking up, up, up, until she’s set the new bar record without so much as a slip.

“fuck!” you hear your cousin scream from across the bar, throwing his drink angrily into the wall.

you offer a slow clap of congratulations as megan fans herself off with her hat and comes marching up to you.

“hope that’s proof you’ve still got it.” she points a playfully menacing finger in your face. “please don’t go testing any other cowboys. this one will do just fine.”

you feel something pluck at you from deep in your chest. those eyes that know you. those hands that make you feel safe. that voice that unnerves you and comforts you all at once.

the feeling from the diner comes back. home.

“drive me back to the ranch, cowboy?” you ask suddenly, reaching out to her. “i want to get out of here.”

her eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. you can see the debate in her eyes, the pause between the two of you, the quiet, hesitant swallow she takes before opening her mouth again.

“of course,” she nods, grabbing her jacket off the barstool and handing it to you, out of habit. you see her freeze and start to pull her hand back, her uncertain eyes meeting yours.

you grab the jacket from her and step ahead of her into the parking lot, slipping the worn denim over your shoulders. you take a deep inhale. pine and campfires. home.

the drive back up is mostly spent with you listening to her hum along to the radio, your first time listening to country music in god knows how long. her voice is soft as it’s always been, melodic and peaceful, and you’re focusing on the moonlit grass as the truck finally makes it to the trail leading up to the property.

“i— um, thank you, for today,” she breaks the silence, avoiding your gaze to focus on the road. “i’m sorry it wasn’t the other way around.”

“don’t be. i knew my grandpa was at the end of it,” you reassure her. “i’m sure it wasn’t easy for you thinking about your mom.”

“it was easier with you,” she says softly. “thank you again.”

there’s a heavy pause between the two of you. you don’t know what possesses you to speak up, but you do.

“i read your letters,” you blurt. “i think all of them.”

“oh,” she blinks, eyes widening.

“thank you for writing them like you said you would.”

“of course.” she lets out a quiet breath as the truck takes a familiar turn up the road. “thanks for reading them, i guess. never thought they’d see you.”

“is this the cabin where you’re staying?” you wave for her to stop the truck, wanting to get a better look at the tiny log cabin off by the pasture. “my uncle said you fixed the stove in there, got it to heat up.”

“you know me,” megan shrugs dismissively. “still no good at much else but fixing and wrangling.”

you swing the truck door open and step out, wanting to get a closer look at it. it’s tiny, likely only one room, but it suits her somehow. you can picture her so, so cozy here.

“you could come in, and see how the stove works,” megan offers slowly, her eyes hesitantly following yours.

you know it could be a clean end, to ask her to drop you off at the lodge and go from there, but something is calling you to her, and you can’t seem to quiet that voice this time. you nod, and she fidgets with her keys for a moment to get the door open, grabbing a log from the pile in front of the door.

you enter behind her, and she’s tending to the woodfire stove that warms the whole cabin. it’s tiny, exactly how you’d imagined, but the roar of the fire and the coziness of the space makes you admire how megan had managed to make this old abandoned cabin seem like a home.

(or maybe, that’s just megan’s touch.)

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, noting how she keeps her gaze fixed on the stove, her hands in her pocket as you two stand on opposite sides of the fire to warm yourselves.

“just felt nice to dance with you again,” she breathes quietly, as if it’s a confession.

“reminded me of that night in the field,” you admit, without thinking. you notice her brow twitch, and you take a careful step closer to her, tilting your head to try and meet her gaze. your voice quiets. “did it remind you?”

“it did,” she confesses.

the way her voice shifts is stirring something in you. you reach out, gently wrapping your index finger around her pinky, as if to test her.

“i think you should leave,” she breathes quietly, looking down at your now-laced fingers.

“why?” you ask gently, carefully.

“i can’t tell you why,” she answers quickly, something worried in those big brown eyes.

“i want you to tell me why,” you press, and you can feel it in your chest, bursting against your ribs, begging to be spoken out loud.

megan gives you a look, a look of hesitation, and you try to meet her eyes with your own pleading gaze.

“i want to ask you to stay,” she says slowly, “and then it’s going to crush me when you go.”

“so then i just don’t leave,” you whisper back, taking another step closer towards her.

“i can’t keep you here forever.” her brows are furrowed, and you can tell she’s debating something within herself.

“be brave enough to ask,” you press again.

“please stay the night,” she pleads, reaching for your entire hand, eyes sincere and voice shaky. “and then stay forever.”

you feel the thud in your chest multiply into a thunderstorm.

“do you remember my birthday?” you ask, holding tighter onto her hand.

“of course.”

“i wished for you,” you admit. “that i’d get to stay with you.”

“oh,” she says simply, her eyes softening.

“and then you promised me you’d take care of me for the rest of my life, and i felt like i was dreaming.”

megan bites her lip. “i broke any chance of that, didn’t i?”

“i want you to ask me again,” you press one last time, and megan doesn’t leave you waiting.

“i’d like a chance to fix it.” her eyes, wide, pleading, warm, dig into yours. she takes your hand and presses it against her cheek, scanning over every inch of your face. “all of it.”

“i need to hear you—” you start, but she cuts you off quickly. this stupid cowboy, who knows you like the back of her hand.

“i love you, y/n,” she beats you to it, your hand still caressing her face, but she pulls at your belt loop to bring you close, her strong arms pulling you in to press you into her. she presses her forehead into yours, her eyes scrunching shut as if the confession pains her. “i love you like you wouldn’t believe. loved you then, love you now, think i’m gonna be stuck loving you until i’m old and grey.”

you don’t need anything else, and a part of you thinks megan knows that. you pull at her jaw to kiss her, a kiss to make up for each one she’s owed, and the echo silences itself as she kisses you back forcefully, eagerly, her strong arms wrapping around you to lock you in place against her.

back in megan’s arms, you are home.

“i missed you,” she breathes into your neck, sliding your shirt over your head much too easily, the kisses she plants along your collarbone sending shivers through your entire body. “a lot.”

“mmhmm, less talking,” you hum playfully, one hand grasping the back of her neck to keep her close as the other trails off under her shirt and up the hard planes of her stomach.

“i’m serious,” she pushes, nearly a growl. you haven’t heard her voice like this, low and gravelly in your ear, and it sends a twinge through every nerve in your system.

“i know you missed me. you punched some stranger in a bar just ‘cause he tried buying me a drink,” you tease. you pull her hand away from your belt and point to her swollen, bruised knuckles as if to prove your point.

“i punched him ‘cause he touched you,” she blurts, stopping her movements to hover over you in the bed and meet your eyes. her dark eyes are taken over by something that makes your heart race. “i saw red. i couldn’t even look at another person after you left.”

“the whole time?” you ask breathlessly, wanting to squirm beneath her but she has you trapped beneath her strong arms as she simply stares, looking you over. “were you waiting for me to come back or something?”

“i felt sick thinking about anyone else,” she grimaces. “and i felt sick thinking about you with anyone else.”

“i didn’t think i was ever going to see you again,” you confess, and you feel her pause, connecting the dots.

“did you think of me?” she finally asks, eyes searching for something in you.

“all i could do was wish they were you,” you admit.

there’s a heavy pause, megan still hovering above you, but you see something flip in her, those dark eyes unrecognizable. she sits up, pulling her own shirt over her head in a swift motion before she runs a finger along your bottom lip, her calloused thumb tracing your teeth. you’re eager to beg for her to do something, anything at this point, but the moment you try to sit up to kiss her back, she pushes you back down by the sternum, her hand staying pressed against the base of your neck. her forcefulness makes your brain go numb.

“each of them, all i could do was wish they were you each time, megan,” you repeat desperately, seeing the effect it had on her the first time. your wish is granted, and she leans back down to nip a quick, forceful kiss into your neck.

“that’s my girl,” she murmurs into your ear, before stepping back next to the bed to stand and let you watch her undo her belt buckle. you feel your mouth go dry at the sight, your pulse racing at the clank of the metal and the impending zip of her jeans.

“yes i am,” you grin, before she reaches back for you, strong hands pulling at what’s left of your clothes to reclaim what belongs to her.

the next morning, you’re back in time 3 years and reliving the summer romance with the wrangler. you know your timeline is shorter now, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling to be back in megan’s arms.

she’s carrying you on her back as you two wade through the pond, your arms wrapped around her neck as you bury your face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. your whole near-drowning thing had traumatized her, and she refused to let you near the water without her present. you don’t mind– you’re enjoying the feeling of her strong back, admiring her pretty face and slicking her hair back from the water our of her eyes.

“why did you quit the ranch, when you said you’d stay?” you ask curiously. there’s two days left with her, and you want to use it making up for lost time, unpacking everything left unanswered.

“found something that i loved more than i loved the ranch.” she says, as if it’s that simple. she splashes at a dragonfly along the surface of the water. “it hurt too much to keep thinking of you everywhere i looked.”

“you missed me,” you repeat from the night before.

“if only you knew half of it,” she hums.

“what did you do to that tree out there?” you point to it, the cut up one by the water. “it looks like a wolverine mauled it.”

she hesitates for a split second, before a sheepish smile takes to her features.

“i told myself i couldn’t keep driving myself crazy, so i’d make a notch in the tree for every day i still felt like i missed you. i promised myself that once i stopped putting tallies in there, i’d be officially over you.”

you wait for the resolution, but it never comes.

“i killed the tree. too many notches,” she says flatly. “the days i’d missed you didn’t end.”

“that’s a lie,” you laugh, splashing water onto her face.

she shakes her head and turns to look at you from over her shoulder, her gaze serious.

“y/n, i never got over you. you took a part of me with you,” she breathes.

“i’d like to take all of you with me, this time around,” you tell her quietly.

“as you wish,” she smiles, and you reach for her jaw to melt into a kiss over the song of the cicadas and the frogs.

tuesday comes, and you’ve spent every moment with megan, to the point that it’s your first time coming back to the lodge in almost 24 hours to pick up fresh clothes.

“you plannin’ on staying the rest of your trip up there at the cabin with the kid?” your aunt asks, arching an eyebrow at you as you run into each other by the stairs.

“maybe,” you eye her hesitantly, but she waves you off quickly.

“don’t play coy, i’m not bein’ nosy,” she rolls her eyes, pushing you by the shoulder as a reprimand. “i need to know if i can give your room to your other cousin when she finally gets up here tonight.”

you smile faintly. “that should be fine.”

moments later, megan shows up on one horse for your two person trail ride, and you realize all notions of keeping this to yourselves are good as gone. your aunt gives you a look after she spots the ginger out the window.

“i’ll have the boys take your stuff over to the cabin while you’re gone.”

“thank you,” you nod.

megan spots you through the window, and breaks out into a giant smile as she tips her hat down at you. you look up to see your aunt witnessing the entire thing.

“i’m glad you came back, y/n.” she says simply. “i think we all are.”

“i am too,” you finally admit. she waves you off, and you slip out the door to go run into your cowboy’s arms.

the night before the will-reading, you get an email that your flight is delayed til thursday, and it gives you an extra few hours with megan. you change your train ride to thursday morning, and the two of you spend the extra time locked away in the cabin.

“i owe you a real apology,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into your shoulder blade from behind as she spoons you. her voice is soft against the combination of evening crickets and curious owls. “i’m sorry about everything.”

“you already apologized,” you shake your head, watching the flames from the oven cast shadows against the wall, outlining her face into the wood. “i forgive you. i owe you an apology too.”

“you have nothing to be sorry about,” she says back quickly, her fingertips dragging along the skin of your thigh and up to your hip.

“i tried to push you to heal sooner than you were ready for. i thought i could fix you.” you had done your own reflection, and granted, it doesn’t excuse how things ended, but you know there’s no moving beyond this without accountability. “i wouldn’t know what it’s like to miss someone like that. i judged you for something unimaginable. i’m sorry.”

she kisses the dip between your jaw and your ear, her nose pressing into your neck.

“it used to be easy to just run away, but i think i’m healing confronting it head on,” she says quietly.

“proud of you,” you murmur back, reaching to pull her hand to your lips and kiss along her almost-healed knuckles.

“i wish you could have met her,” she says suddenly, her lips still against your neck, and your heart aches for her.

“i’m sure she was perfect,” you say simply, and megan nods in approval.

“she would say the same about you.”

wednesday. the will reading, which they decide to do on the porch of the ranch, as your grandpa would have wanted.

your cousin is less than thrilled when the attorney reads off the list of allocations and indicates that grandpa’s truck is indeed in his name. he gives you the keys as soon as they’re handed to him, and megan’s eyes widen in surprise.

“the old ford?” she questions, her voice quiet to not disrupt the rest of the proceeding. “it’s your uncle’s favorite.”

“uh, it was your favorite if i remember correctly,” you laugh. “you spent so much time fixing that stupid thing up.”

“i fucking loved that thing,” she beams, and you realize maybe that was your motivation this whole time. “you’re so cool.”

your cousin’s whining voice bursts you and megan out of your bubble.

“y/n’s not even listening, and she’s got the ranch in her fucking name!” your cousin bemoans.

you feel your heart fall into your stomach. “excuse me?”

“i told him i’ll take care of it until i’m tired, but i won’t turn into old pete and waste my life wrangling cattle til i’m grey.” your uncle dusts his hands on his jeans, getting up from the rocking chair where he was seated. “we don’t have kids. i saw this coming. he said you were the only person who saw it for what he saw it for.”

“but med school is–” you start, but he waves you off.

“i’ve got a few more good years left in me. do what you gotta do, then sell it when the time is right.”

“that’s all in your name,” the lawyer nods at you as a dismissal, and you immediately turn to meet megan’s wide eyes.

“holy shit,” she says simply in disbelief, and you hear your great-aunt grunt in disapproval.

“you could give it to the kid,” your aunt suggests, motioning to megan. “we all know she’d take care of it like nobody’s business.”

you look at megan, who stares back at you, dumbfounded.

“what would you want to do with it?” you ask.

“baby, it’s the fucking ranch,” she gapes. you take her hand and pull her a few steps away to hide out inside, away from the ears of your family.

“do you want to stay and watch it with my uncle, while i’m gone?” you ask her gently, holding both hands in yours, offering her the solution you feel she’s been waiting for. “you could go back to your old life.”

for some reason, the offer feels like you’re letting her go. but you know how much this property meant to megan, and something about her coming back to claim it as its steward feels so, so right.

but instead, she looks at you with determined eyes. she shakes her head.

“i’m not making the same mistake twice,” she nods, assuring you. she gives your hands a squeeze. “i choose you, and everything else will turn out alright.”

“i don’t know if you’d be happy in the city,” you sigh, brushing your fingertips across her sun-kissed cheeks.

“not running from anything any more.” she grabs your hand off her face and presses a kiss into your open palm. “i’m happiest where i’m with you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “so we let my uncle keep going til he retires. does that mean you’ll come with me now?”

“i’d need to get brucey,” she says hesitantly. “and he doesn’t fly very well.”

“i’ll go with you to get him.”

“you will?”

“let me fly home, then i’ll come to wherever you are. we’ll road trip, move you out, grab bruce. when is your lease up?”

“i’m monthly, work for lodging and pay.”

“okay. so we get bruce, you move in with me in the city. i start med school, you…”

you pause, seeing the look in her eyes. the planning, the talking about the future so concretely, it scares her, you know it does. the last time her face changed like this was your last day, that summer. you feel yourself want to vomit.

but megan knows you, and she can sense your apprehension. she reaches for your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“i can work on cars,” she offers gently, a smile on her lips. “until you’re done with school.”

“that’s an option.” you nod, beaming at her optimism. they feel like shaky steps towards you, not away. your eyes water at the thought of a happy future with her, one you had imagined was ripped away from you.

“or work with animals.” she grins back.

“or go to trade school,” you build on her idea.

“the future, it’s scary,” she breathes. “but it’s gonna come whether i’m ready or not. might as well get ahead of it.”

“and then i finish school, do a fellowship, and once i’m finished, we come back.”

“really?” her eyes light up brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. “you don’t want to sell it?”

“i don’t need a busy life. just a rewarding one,” you tell her, smiling. “small towns need doctors too.”

“i don’t want you to give up your dreams,” she says worriedly, tilting her head in concern.

“you taught me how to slow down. please don’t expect me to be helping wrangling baby cows every morning, but i wouldn’t mind you still being a cowboy. it’s what you live for.” you reach up to tilt her chin back up, reassuring her as you fix her hat. “it’s not giving up. it's a beautiful compromise.”

she grins back at you, and takes the hat off her head to fix it on your own head.

“i like compromise with you.”

your final night before your 6am train ride to the airport, she takes you camping in the fields.

she explains the concept of a harvest moon— a full moon so big and so bright, early farmers could work all night collecting their harvest by moonlight alone.

the fire she’d built starts to dim down, and you feel the exact same way. you could watch her in the moonlight for the whole night.

“that’s sagittarius.” she points up an arrangement of stars, her feet crossed and her head propped up on a backpack she’s using as a pillow. you’re laying so comfortably cuddled into her, your head resting on her chest, lulled into a cozy haze by the song of the mountain and her perfect voice in your ear.

“no way,” you drawl, forever impressed by her knowledge.

“and that’s asparagus.”

you blink quickly in confusion. “what?”

“and that’s me getting a headshot in fortnite.”

“you’re stupid.” you push into her shoulder, laughing. “i knew you were full of shit.”

she smiles back and presses a sweet kiss into the top of your head, letting her lips linger against your hair.

“i’ll see you in a week?” you ask, and the question doesn’t feel as heavy as you had thought it would.

“yes you will.” she kisses your head again, humming into your hair. “that’s a promise.”

“thank you.”

“i had you once, and that meant everything to me,” she tells you, breathing you in once more. “i think i spent my whole life waiting for you.”

“i’m here now,” you remind her, cuddling in closer.

“never letting you go again,” she reassures you.

(you believe her.)

“hey baby, the neighbor is asking again when you’re going to sell him the truck,” you call out, pushing past the door into the apartment.

you’re kicking your shoes off in the hallway, giving a quick rub to bruce’s head as he greets you. you hear the rumbling from the kitchen, and you pop in to see the jeans and a vintage tshirt, with her head and torso under the sink, doing something to the garbage disposal.

“he can kiss my ass. that thing is staying in the parking spot that i pay for until the end of our lease,” she threatens back, sliding out from under the sink and washing her hands before hitting a switch. in an instant, the same garbage disposal that was broken this morning is magically back and working. “i’m not driving anything smaller.”

you laugh, reaching out for her. “you and your stupid ego.”

“hey, everywhere i’ve ever lived, lifted trucks are like, the shit,” megan grins, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you in for a greeting kiss. “it’s the biggest thing we work on at the shop.”

“oh, i bet you’re the number one lifted truck modder in the city,” you nod playfully.

“i’m alright.” she shrugs, wrinkling her nose, but she’s fixed on the topic of her damn truck. “thinking about how sad you’d look getting dropped off by some rizzless loser in a cowboy hat and boots, in a fucking minivan or something. just wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“yeah, all my classmates think the coolest think about me is you,” you gripe. megan’s insistence on taking you to class every day, in the truck, wearing what she always does, has made you quite the talking point among your first year med school classmates.

“so crazy, ‘cause i think you’re the coolest thing about me,” she grins, looking down at you with a glint in her eyes. “y’know what else i’m thinking about? summer time.”

“that’s still 2 months away,” you laugh at her eagerness. your last summer break before medical school fully takes over your life, planned to be spent on the ranch with megan, rotting away without a care in the world.

“we could get married up there,” she suggests out of nowhere, but her voice is so so sweet, it makes your heart melt.

“what is this, farmer needs a wife?” you tease, arching a brow at her. “i thought it was supposed to be a vacation.”

“okay, okay,” she holds her hands, clearly playfully displeased with your response.

“hold your horses, there,” you goad on, and she narrows her gaze at you.

“oh, now you’re just being a pain.”

you grin. “if the boot fits.”

“enough with the puns,” she groans, rolling her eyes, grabbing you by the waist to swing you easily over her shoulder and whisk you into the bedroom, your scream laughs filling every corner of your apartment.

your summer vacation comes, and the chilly montana nights welcome you both back with open arms.

she slips her jacket over your shoulders, and the motion feels as natural as breathing. you see the front pocket is still full of the flowers she picked for you along the trail, meant to press into your book along with a few of the letters she had written you. you keep your favorite letter one in your back pocket, eager to read it to her in between chapters of your book.

you’re walking behind her, following her steps as she confidently leads you two through the field. she’s singing something mindlessly to herself, her voice filling the air comfortingly.

you tuck your hand into the pocket, trying to warm your fingers, and feel yourself freeze. your fingertips trace along the edge of the object, the edges too wide to be her swiss army knife, the top being the wrong texture to be a pack of cigarettes she might be hiding–

your pulse quickens as you realize inside the pocket, you feel a little box. small, velvet, that kind of box.

“where are you taking me?” you ask quickly, the realization striking you.

“don’t worry about it,” she waves you off. you can’t see her face, but you can hear the grin in her voice, and you can’t tell if you finding the box is part of her plan or an innocent mix up. with megan, it could quite frankly go either way, and you can’t tell which one makes your heart swell more. “ain’t anyone told you that it’s bad luck to question a cattle wrangler on a full moon?”

“you’re making that up.” you try to keep your voice even, not wanting to ruin her plan as the two of you keep walking, but you feel the back of your throat go dry.

“maybe,” she shrugs playfully.

“stupid cowboy,” you try to bite back, but you feel your voice shaky, and she simply reaches back behind you for your hand. she grabs you, and the two of you keep walking, her paces strong, steady, keeping you alongside her easily. she smiles knowingly, and tips her hat down, her eyes fixed on the skyline.

“i love you too, city girl.”

(the letter rings through your ears, your favorite one out of all of them, etched into your memory at this point so deeply, you know it by heart.

i don’t know if you’ll ever read these, but i fell in love with you that day that you read to me. which one? your smart ass is going to ask. not the one by the creek, or the one by the cows. it was the one on the roof, where you told me to quit smoking. i realized that day i have something really, really beautiful i’m excited to live for. i really, really love you, y/n.

-your cowboy, forever.)

#megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader #katseye x reader #katseye megan #megan katseye #megan skiendel imagine #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous golden hour.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

Text

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

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genderqueerdykes · 5 months ago

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I promise this is just coming from someone who wants to learn, and I apologize if it sounds hateful or rude for what I'm about to ask that is not what I want at all,

but when it comes to systems, DID, plurality, from what I have heard, it is something extremely extremely rare, and something that most people under the age of 25 the body isn't even supposed to like "reveal" until older. I'm just confused and I would really like to hear from someone who actually is plural and not just from like Google

is being a system, DID, and plurality even the same? And the only plural people I have met irl have like 25,000+ alters of dsmp characters (I ofc know not everyone who is plural isnt just fictive and it's all different)

just a very confused person who isn't plural and I would really like to learn and be educated !! I would really like to understand more and hate unreasonably for something I don't understand

hello there!

you can be plural without having DID. there's not really much else to it. DID is one form of plurality. it's not the end all be all of plurality. there are even other dissociative disorders like OSDD that get cast by the wayside when people adopt this kind of mentality. there's so much more to plurality than DID. also, there is no set age at which the symptoms at DID become apparent on the outside. i've been having dissociative symptoms since i was a kid. my alters were active and present even as a teenager!

relying on medical statistics alone for DID is a bad idea because most professionals who are capable of diagnosing someone with a mental health condition don't even know what dissociative disorders are or what they entail. my own therapist has known that I have DID the entire time i've known her, but she has told me that currently, she can't help me with it, because she has not received training for it. dissociative disorders are nowhere near as rare as we think they are, one has to consider that a number even as low as 1% - 2% of the global population is an absolutely massive number of people!

saying that DID is "extremely rare" in this case in order to discredit non dissociative plurals is an appeal to authority. it's appealing to the medical industry who refuses to take it seriously in the first place. the amount of professionals i've had who pointed out that i have dissociative disorders vs. the ones who never commented on it at all is pretty staggering. this is due to a lack of proper research due to lack of funding, not because DID is genuinely that rare. the reason there isn't more research into plurality in general is because of a lack of funding. medical studies and organizations require funding. if they don't see money in it, they won't do it.

DID is still a heavily stigmatized condition. things haven't gotten much better since it was renamed from Multiple Personality Disorder. people with dissociative disorders are still treated like shit in medical settings, so to me, it makes no sense at all whatsoever to pit dissociatives against other plurals because no one takes ANY of us seriously, it's not non-dissociative plurals' faults that we're not taken seriously. it's the medical industry. there are no medications to push for DID. DID does not respond to medication. this already makes a lot of doctors not want to interact with it at all, because there's no commissions for medications prescribed.

"And the only plural people I have met irl have like 25,000+ alters of dsmp characters."

i'm pointing this out gently, i don't think you're a bad person, but this is sooooo mean, please don't be that mean and judgmental about other people, plural or not. please consider how those people would feel if they heard you talking about them like that. even if you don't view them as plural, you shouldn't think it's okay to discredit their lived experience. what are you getting out of phrasing it like that? even if that person turns out to not be plural, please do not judge other people based off of things like this. you don't live inside of their head. you don't know what's going on in there.

i'm not entirely sure why people think this way about introjects and fictives, but they're an extremely normal part of the plural experience! one of the most well known DID systems of all time, Truddi Chase and The Troops, had not only fictional alters (Elvira) but also factual ones as well (Mean Joe Green). this is not new, nor is it isolated to non dissociative plurals. introjects and fictives are extremely normal. it doesn't mean someone is faking just because they've introjected someone, or someones.

hope that helps, in general, please understand that the only lived experience that you are the arbiter of is your own and you cannot tell someone else what they're experiencing, no matter what. plurality will look different for every person, system and so on that experiences it! the sooner you accept that the easier your own life will become. it's not hurting you for someone to have headmates that you don't like. that's their business, not yours, and that's actually a very freeing thing!

great addition from the tags:

#asks #answers #plurality #plural #did #dissociative disorders #actually plural #pluralgang #plural system

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mweothe11e · 11 months ago

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PAC: What do you need to learn to love about yourself?

Never forget to only take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This is a general PAC reading, so if the first pile you chose doesn't resonate with you, then maybe you're meant to read another pile.

(this is for entertainment purposes only)

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 1: Ace of Swords, 4 of Coins, 9 of Cups

You may feel like an outcast, Pile 1. You don’t think like other people. You might have also been scrutinized for being able to “work smart”, being told, “Why do we have to do it a new way when the old way still works?”. My dear Pile 1, you must learn to love your inner visionary. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve the current system of things. You sought to evolve and you hope by sharing your ideas, others can grow and move forward with you. You’re also able to see through the mess and create clarity for yourself. Embrace the parts of you that can naturally find ways of life more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Another great thing about you that deserves a whole lot of love is your practical approach towards financial literacy. Others might have called you stingy but they didn’t know you might have grown up in a place of lack. So you had promised yourself to work smart so that you won’t have to worry about how you’re going to afford to put food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back.

There’s nothing to be ashamed about knowing how to make money work for you. You have this natural ability to be wise and practical about your resources. Be proud that you know how to also be secure internally as well. Establishing healthy boundaries is a skill we all need yet not everyone learns. People call you guarded, I say you know that not everyone deserves to have access to you.

Finally, never shame yourself for being able to achieve your goals and dreams in life, pile 1. You should allow yourself to enjoy the fruits of your labor unapologetically. This is a rather hard pill to swallow for those with survivor’s guilt. Being able to become the person you’ve always wanted to be means those people you loved who didn’t evolve with you might get left behind. This makes it difficult for you to allow yourself to savor your success when you have loved ones who haven’t achieved their dreams yet.

As much as you want to be happy for them, you can’t make them achieve their success for them. They chose their way of life as you did yours. If your success bothers them, it’s not your responsibility to coddle and make yourself small for their comfort. So, if you feel you deserve to go on a solo vacation for your hard work, then go for it. If you want to move into your own apartment, go right ahead.

You have every right to use your money to whoever you see fit. You’ve worked hard to earn that, so treat yourself right with the fruits of your labor. Don’t apologize for that promotion. Never apologize for your happiness. You just need to remember one thing: you can’t control how others react to your success.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 2: Moon, 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords

First of all pile 2, one thing you should learn to love about yourself is your intuition and your ability to easily see through the BS. Yup, I said it loud and clear. You see through the BS in people. They can’t lie to you, even to save their lives. Your intuition is a gift that helps you in any way that can help lead you into your highest good. Though it seems that pile 2 feels bad that you see through the superficial two-faced niceties among your peers. You might have experienced moments where you muttered under your breath, “I hope I’m wrong” only to be proven right yet again. Don’t you think it’s high time you should stop lying to yourself and embrace this amazing gift?

Another thing you should learn to love about yourself is knowing your limits and being able to give yourself the space to honor and validate your fears and anxiety. Don’t beat yourself up for being aware of what you can or cannot do because knowing your limitations means you can utilize whatever skills you have at hand that are to your advantage.

Also, not everyone is resilient enough to be able to hold space for their fears, anxiety, and insecurities without letting the aforementioned swallow them whole. You know yourself well enough that you need to be able to safely allow your feelings to be seen and validated for your and everyone’s good. You know what it’s like to be at the bottom, so you know that with your acquired knowledge backed by personal experience, you can help someone else ease through their own fears and anxiety.

Finally Pile 2, you need to stop feeling guilty about prioritizing your self-care and rest. You know what your body requires to be able to do your tasks every day. There’s nothing wrong with being able to listen to what your body needs intuitively. When you know you’re about to rest, you know yourself well enough that you need to pause, reassess, and re-strategize your approach moving forward.

You should also be proud of knowing how to protect your peace. Some people who call you selfish for putting yourself, down don’t like the fact that they can’t manipulate and abuse you to their advantage. The issue is with them, never with you. Knowing how to protect and defend yourself is something you should be proud of. You know your worth and you also know what you won’t tolerate. So, you shouldn’t fault and cave into to toxic societal norm of conforming to unrealistic and unethical double standards. Embrace your self-worth. Never feel bad about putting yourself first.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 3: 5 of Swords, 10 of Coins, Justice

Hi Pile 3, what you need to learn to love about yourself is your conflict resolution skills. This pile feels like my eloquent speakers pile. Could also be my bookworm pile. With an extensive vocabulary and unfortunately growing up in a hostile environment, for the sake of your survival, you grew up having no choice but to be good at conflict resolution. I know it’s an odd thing to love about yourself but another great thing that you should learn to love about yourself is you know when to stand firm and fight, if necessary.

Like, if diplomacy is useless, you’re ready to take the offensive approach. But this has always been your last resort. Knowing what it’s like to grow up in a chaotic environment if you had a choice, you would avoid recreating that childhood chaos in your current adult life. You’d exhaust all diplomatic approaches before you’re forced to take the offensive stance. That’s one of the many things about you that deserves to be loved and appreciated.

What you need to learn to love about yourself is your legacy/roots/ancestry, pile 3. This could also be my POC / mixed race / immigrant pile. It sort of makes sense why you’re a bit iffy about your lineage, especially if you’re mixed race because you might have been bullied when you were younger. So, it’s a bit tricky to love a part of you that your immediate environment teased/bullied/ostracized you for.

You must have dealt with a whole plethora of traumatic stories because you don’t look like most people around you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. There’s nothing wrong with being an immigrant. There’s nothing wrong about being of mixed race. You are beautiful/handsome/lovable just the way you are. The issues is never with you so never shame yourself for your lineage. You deserve love, respect, and happiness for simply existing.

Finally, don’t feel bad about being honest and holding others accountable. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you are upholding your integrity. You should learn to love the parts of yourself that cannot stand injustice. You have this natural instinct to defend the powerless and speak for the silenced. Not everyone is brave enough to fight for their beliefs and the rights of others. Your need for truth is quite remarkable. So never feel bad about not being a good liar. It just means you don’t see the point of lying to someone.

In this age where manipulation and mental games are being praised as “owning your power”, people, like you pile 3, are rarer than black opals in a Pacific ocean full of diamonds. So never let anyone bully you into conforming to this mental gymnastics just to be accepted/in a relationship. People who are meant to be in your life don’t have to be lied to in order for them to want to be with you. You can only keep someone that wants to be kept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 4: 10 of Cups, Page of Wands, King of Cups

From what I can pick up for you pile 4 is that you should be proud that you came from a loving home. I know, it kind of sounds like too much of a flex. To have been able to grow up in a loving environment while your peers grew up in chaotic and traumatic environments tends to leave a heavy guilt in your heart. A part of you feels bad that you can’t relate to having a crappy childhood because your parents actually did the work and healed together so that you can have a happy childhood.

So… whenever your friends or peers open up about how they feel unloved and unappreciated at home then they ask you about your childhood, you must have lied to avoid putting salt in their wounds. I understand the need for camaraderie but you shouldn’t feel bad about having come from a loving family. If your friends are okay with this suggestion, why not invite them over? Ask your family if they can be more understanding and considerate towards your friends. To be an example that not all adults are bad.

Another interpretation of this card is to be proud of your happiness. Don’t feel bad that you actually have a loving partner while your friends are still single. Don’t be ashamed of being seen with your significant other. It’s not like you’re intentionally making your single friends jealous whenever you answer their questions about your love life.

You should be unapologetically proud of your happiness, especially when you know you did nothing wrong. Why apologize for your happiness when everyone wants to be happy, in some shape or form? Also, consider this as a word of caution, if someone around you isn’t happy for your happiness, best to cut ties with them. It’s not wise to be around someone who doesn’t know how to be happy for the happiness of others. This doesn’t just involve relationships, this can also be applied to promotions, achievements, and awards.

Something about yourself that deserves more love pile 3 is your cheerful disposition and adventurous spirit. It’s not shameful to be able to see the silver lining. It’s not bad to be able to see the good in people. With how our world is in constant chaos and peril, we need people like you who haven’t lost hope for a better and brighter future.

So never feel bad about being perceived as naïve when you’re simply not projecting your bad experiences to the new people you meet in your life. What’s so bad about still being able to be excited about the glimmers in life? There’s nothing to feel bad about being able to cater and nurture your inner child. So never let the world shame you for never giving up hope.

Finally Pile 4, you should learn to love your natural inclination for diplomacy. Knowing when to listen to your heart or when to lead with your head is such a life-changing and valuable ability that majority of us are constantly learning to master day by day. You might have been told that you’re so mature and wiser than your age, which might have been internalized as this insatiable need to always be reliable and dependable. At times, it might feel like such a burden at times; to always be the person everyone relies on.

So… since you are aware of the weight of the responsibility of being the reliable person for everyone, you should use your ability of discernment to decide a schedule on when will you entertain request for counsel for those who need you. You know what your needs are, and you also know that you need to be able to live a balanced life to be of service to others. So, learn to be okay with putting yourself first so that you can help others better in a later date.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Please do let me know how you resonate with your pile in the comment section below.

Thank you so much for looking through my PAC.

Tagging my personal account: @e11e27 as a reminder.

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a photo #pac tarot #pac reading

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howlett-dekarios · 3 months ago

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𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢

▏Hugh Jackman x Reader

▏Summary: You didn't handle breakup with your boyfriend well, and Hugh ended up picking you up from the club in the middle of the night.

▏Word count: 3,8k

▏A/n: Scenario of him despite it being fucking 3 am, picking you up while you're shit-faced drunk and him taking care of you? It's just too much to handle. I used the "abcdefu" fragment and also obv inspired the title on one of Fergie's songs.

You’re the fans favorite. Even though you are one of the most recognizable actress in the whole industry and still young, you’re also down-to-earth woman. Not hiding from the world or doing anything special to look better, coexisting with fans, which was the reason of many arguments with your manager. But that was the promise you made to yourself when starting it all; being true to yourself, modest and just polite to the world which gave you a chance. Enjoying every day without acting like you’re anyone special. Because in your opinion, you really weren’t. Of course there was no doubting your pure talent and hard work you put into your development but still, a horrendous part of your successful career was just a pure luck. Right place, people and time.

One of these people was sitting beside you, laughing his ass off because of the joke you’ve just made. You knew Hugh for a few years now, almost instantly clicking the first day on set of one of the x-men movies. You just understood each other, having similar characters and valuing the same things in life despite the age difference. That’s way your energy on screen was probably such an impregnable thing, natural chemistry of two friends off the set pass on the final products.

“Y/n our source gave as an info about you breaking up with your long term partner, is it true?”

How the fuck did they know it? You couldn’t tell. It was still fresh and honestly you wouldn’t have been surprised if that ‘source’ would be your ex himself, wanting to put you in a bad light. Make you embarrass yourself in public eyes. The look Hugh was giving you wasn’t making it any easier, since you haven’t told him yet. His eyes full of worry and damn knowing him, he really would like to talk with you outside of the cameras before you’d answer this question.

“Well, yes, unfortunately we separate our ways.” You forced yourself to smile “But it was a mutual agreement. We decided that it wasn’t working for us anymore. Wish him all the best, though.”

Best your ass. He was a controlling freak who was so scared of you cheating on him with one of your co-stars that he ended up having some lady sucking his dick himself. It all started months ago, arguments about what you can and cannot do, his family pressuring you to help them out, saying how you will never be enough for their saint and lovely boy. His tantrums about you spending too much time on sets, or how you’ve been wearing too revealing clothes on premiers or other events. For the last months you’ve been feeling like a prisoner, used only for money. Which was only worse considering your public image of strong and independent woman, a feminist who would never allow that to happen. You felt ashamed of yourself for it, for how you’d been okay with him treating you like a complete trash.

Hugh knew about it all. He has been giving you advices, being your arm to cry on after another fight in the middle of the night, suggesting a break up long before that asshole cheated. But of course, you’ve been to blind to do anything. Blindfolded by love and old memories when he had been a good guy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Interviewer smiled apologetically, but you knew better than that to know hoe pleased he was with all of it. Having a hot take to treat media with. “Well, I’m sure a lot of guys gonna stand in line offering his hearts to you.” You really did not need that now. You have enough of ‘fans’ both men and women posting nasty comments online. “Thank you guys for your time and wish you further successes.”

“Thank you very much.” A forced smile once again appeared on your face and Hugh did the same.

After all the cameras went off and you were on your way out, Hugh stopped you, feeling of his big palm on your arm too familiar to mistake it for anyone else.

“You okay? Why haven’t you told me?” His eyes full of concern. He isn’t mad about you not telling him, rather about that he found out this way.

“It’s just.. it’s still getting to me, okay? I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. He was a dick who didn’t deserve to breath the same air as you.” But Hugh also was quite aware of how deeply you loved that asshole. If that was up to him, he would’ve knocked the shit out of him long time ago but just for your sake he stayed silent. “You’re sure you’re fine? Want to talk about it?” It was the least he could think of right now. Knowing your character and how young and unpredictable you were.. well it was the best for everyone if you won’t be left alone for a while.

“No, no, it’s okay. As you said he was jerk anyway. I’m completely fine, no need to worry, Hugh.” You smiled, no really sure who are you trying to convince now.

“Okay, just.. call me if you need anything. And I mean anything, Y/n, you get it?” If you gonna do something stupid, he’ll rather like to know what.

“Thanks, but everything’s fine. I got it.”

He has been reading at his place when Ryan texted him. Nothing unusual especially considering how the last adjustment to the schedule of shots to new Deadpool were made. But the time got him curious.

‘You should check it out.’ And two twitter links below.

One took him on your ex’s profile where this scumbag posted some teary statement. Rearranging whole narration of your relationship, how he was the hurt one, how you aren’t the person you’re showing to public and many, many more words that were just bunch of lies. At this point he was fucking sure that this scumback was the one who spread the information about your breakup to the media.

Not good.

But the latter one.. it was even worse.

Video of you in the club, dancing and drinking with random people. Your pupils were enlarged, forehead sweaty and your voice a bit more rough than usual, which gave him enough insight to know that you are very drunk.

It was like jumping in a rabbit hole. After one post, there was another, and another. All from the same club and all very recent. Fans being overjoyed how you were taking photos and socializing with them. Drinking shots and paying round after round on you. You dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a top that showed almost everything that was to show and pants that were put low enough, displaying straps of your thongs. Of course in the comments people were sharing the exact address of club where the party was hosted, saying how you confidently agreed to stay until closing time.

“Shit.” He sighed. Not a chance. He checked the hour and there is no way of you staying there any minute longer. “Fuck, no.” His fingers deepen in his hair, gripping them tightly.

Thank god that he hasn’t had any drink tonight.

‘I’m on it.’ A quick text to Ryan, as a way of thanking his friend for his effort.

When he got there, the music was rumbling even outside of the club.

“I’m too old for this shit..”

At first crowd of people standing in line tried to protest, but as soon as they’ve realized who is it, the flashes of their phones were on his face. Fortunately enough for you the bouncers didn’t let paparazzi in, probably due to the club policy. Some guard at the entrance stopped him, but having a recognizable face had its advantages and now Hugh wasn’t in any position to not use them now.

As soon as he entered the lights and heat hit him. The place crumped to the brim, drunk people trying to ask for autographs or photos.

“Not now, guys, please back off.” He really tried to be polite but after a minute he realized there is no point. When another guy pushed a camera into his face, he got enough. “Not now!”

Pushing through the crowd wasn’t an easy task, but he had to do so, knowing you are having your time on the stage. The Dj at that point was your personal service, playing whatever you asked for. All fans with their hands up and phones out recording the footage that’ll be definitely a one big headache foe your agent.

“Come on, guys! A-B-C-D-E, F-U! And your mom! And your sister! And your job! And your broke-ass car! And that shit you call art! Fuck you and your friends that I'll never see again! Everybody but your dog, you can all fuck off!” You yelled out, cheered by crowd, zeroing your drink that you honestly couldn’t remember the amount of you already had tonight. “Love you all! Fuck him!” Your drunk laugh was probably one of the most disappointing things Hugh has heard in his life.

He finally got in front of the crowd, when you’ve been dancing like your life depended on it to one of Ariana Grande’s song. And then when he was just a step ahead of you, you finally realized who it was.

“Hugh?!” You sounded surprised but not disappointed at all.

The next thing you did though.. it caught him off guard. How you tried to close your face together and only because of his reflex he had stopped you in the process, holding your wrist tightly. If this happened.. it would’ve ended up as a disaster. A true nail in your coffin considering how many people were recording the whole situation.

“Party’s over, Y/n. I’m getting you out of here.” His tone stern.

“What?! No! I’m just starting!”

“You are not. It’s the opposite, you’re finished, princess.” His arm tried to pull you off the stage but instead he was the one brought up it which was met with cheers and screams. Just freaking perfect. For a girl who probably couldn’t walk straight you were damn strong. Or maybe it was just him not wanting to hurt you by using full strength.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Hugh Jackman is joining the party!” A forced smile appeared on his lips, not wanting to give away how this all was out of control.

“Thank you for tonight, but unfortunately the party is over! We need to go but it was lovely to meet you all!” A quick damage control when he dragged you down and to the exit in accompaniment of flashes and yells.

“I didn’t finish my drink!” you tried to tell him but he had none of it, his grip on your wrist still tight.

“You had more than enough, Y/n.” In attempt to shield you from all the paparazzi outside, he covered you with his body, walking you like this until you both reached his car. “Get in.”

The drive was rather silent, him focusing on getting you to his place safely while you’ve been trying to stop your head from spinning so much.

“I can go back by myself..” When you got no reaction out of him, you continued. “My place is the other way..”

He sighed, knowing that arguing with you when you're like this is pointless.

“I'm not taking you to yours. You're coming to mine where I can keep an eye on you and ensure you're safe."

Once you two arrived, him helping you out of car, ensuring you won’t stumble over. Steadying you, hand on your waist while gently making you sit on the couch. The way your head fall backwards and your eyes are squeezed tightly, he could tell you probably gonna puke. It was a miracle you haven’t done it in car.

"Are you feeling nauseous at all?" He asked, concern evident in his voice.

But the sound you were making were enough answer. How you tried hard not to do it there.

“I-“

Seeing the signs, Hugh quickly hand you a nearby trashcan, gently guiding it towards your face.

"Go ahead, let it out. You’ll feel better afterward."

He rub your back soothingly, trying to comfort you as you deal with the unpleasant sensation.

“I don’t want to..” But the alco in your stomach is trying to get out more frequently. You won’t be able to hold it longer, no matter how hard you’d have tried to.

“Princess, you have to let it out. Holding it in will only make the nausea worse. It's okay, just let your body do what it needs to do."

And with that you started to puke your guts out, one oh his hands holding your hair, the other gently soothing over you back, trying to give you any comfort and reassurance that it’s alright. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your mascara all over your eyes now.

Once you finish puking, he offered you some water and a tissue to wipe your face.

"Feeling any better? Take your time."

Instead of answering you lay your head on the back of the couch, crying in embarrassment, trying to catch your breath, all events of the night slowly forcing themselves through your cloudy mind.

Your tears streaming down your face made his heart clench, all anger gone by this point. He gently place a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay, princess. Let it out. Cry if you need to. You're safe here and I'm not going anywhere."

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you, trying to provide a sense of warmth and security.

“It’s so embarrassing. I’m so pathetic. I’m sorry.” You stammered out.

He shook his head, voice gentle but firm. "No. It’s not embarrassing, and you’re not pathetic. You made a mistake tonight, yes, but that doesn’t define you. We all make mistakes, it’s part of being human. What matters is that you learn from it and take care of yourself. You should’ve called me but you’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m here for you, and I’ll support you through this.”

“My head is spinning..” You close your eyes again, trying to focus but without much success. “I’m sorry, Hugh.. I shouldn’t have made you do this for me, shouldn’t have to be your problem.” You recall all the night, or bunch of information that stayed in your mind and you started sobbing even more. “Fuck, so many people had seen me..” it’s clear for him how you’ve started to overthink everything. A light panic attack is on the way from your organism being overwhelmed.

“It’s nothing we can’t deal with later, princess. Now I need you to calm down and breath, in and out, alright?”

He didn’t leave your side even for a second, you swinging back and forth in attempt to get in control again. After you sobered a bit and calmed, your breath steady you tried to talk with him again.

“Sorry for the bother, Hugh.. I’ll pay you back for gas..”

“I don’t fucking care about the gas.” He couldn’t believe that it was your biggest concern now. He gave your shoulder another gentle squeeze, hoping to reassure you. "Just focus on resting and recovering. We’ll talk more in the morning when you’re feeling better, alright?" He stood up, offering his hand to help you up. "Come on, let’s get you into bed so you can sleep this off."

“W-what? No. I-I should get home, I can call a cab..”

“There is no way I’m letting you walk out of here tonight, let’s make it clear.” The paparazzi had enough of content for one night. “You’re not in any condition to go anywhere right now. You’re tipsy and you need rest. Let me take care of you for tonight, alright? I have a guest room where you can sleep and recover. In the morning, we’ll see how you’re feeling and figure out the next steps."

“Hugh..” The shame which build up inside of you showing up. Especially remembering what you’ve almost done. Kissing him would’ve not only effecting you, but probably ended u being a big mark on his career too.. fuck you were so freaking dumb.. “Why are you even helping me?” Yes, sure he was your long time friend, but picking you completely shit faced from club in the middle of night, getting caught on many records… you definitely weren’t worth the price he’ll pay for it later. “What have I done to deserve it?” His kindness and care..

Considering all what happened it made him chuckle softly, touched by your question.

“You don’t need to do anything to deserve a friend like me, N/n. That’s not how true friendship works. I’m here for you because I care about you and want to help you, plain and simple. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, right now you need someone to care for you, and I’m honored to be that person." He gave you a gentle smile, hoping to lift your spirits. “Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

“I’m serious Hugh.” Your voice most sober now than the full night. “Why me?”

"You have so many qualities that make you a wonderful person. You’re talented, passionate, and kind. You have a great sense of humor and you always know how to make things fun. But most importantly, you’re loyal and genuine, and those are qualities that I greatly cherish in a friend." He paused, studying your expression. "And that’s why I’m here for you now, Y/n. Because I know that you’d be here for me too, if the situation was reversed."

But deep down he knew it wasn’t the full truth. The feelings he had towards you.. obviously he was worried when he found out about your breakup, but some part of him was happy about it. As selfish as he could sound, it gave him a chance. Chance that he has been waiting for so long now. Maybe if you weren’t drunk and fans weren’t recording everything that happened.. he would be more than okay with what you’ve tried to do in the club.

“I won’t change your mind on me staying the night?”

Hugh only chuckled on that, shaking his head. He lead you to the guest room and after giving you one of his shirts and making sure you had everything you needed, he left to finally have some sleep himself.

The next morning you woke up before him. As a form of apology you’ve prepared him a breakfast and fresh coffee, just so he could go through the day after lack of sleep you were responsible for.

"Morning." His voice still groggy but a smile formed on his face, showing the wrinkles that so many fans were crazy for. "You didn’t have to do this, you know."

“Yeah, I wanted to make it up for you.”

He took a seat at the kitchen table, watching you finish up the eggs. "Well, it’s certainly appreciated. Thank you,". A quick study you for a moment, noticing the dark circles under your eyes and the lingering signs of the previous night. "How’re you feeling this morning?"

“Like shit.” You didn’t see a point of lying to him since he had seen you in worse condition. “Been throwing up all night, honestly I’m surprised my guts are still in tact.” A deep sigh left you, while serving the food. “But other than that I’m fine. Bit hangover.” A glass of water and a package of paracetamol being a clear evidence of it. “Gonna be out of you head soon. Used enough of your hospitality.”

“Don’t say that-“

“Seen the posts of my party and you dragging me outside went viral all over the internet.” You bit your lip, knowing how you’ll have to fall on your knees in attempt to apologize to your manger. Since he hasn’t called you yet, you assumed that before going to bed, Hugh made a few calls here and there.. another thing to be thankful for.

“You’re young, Y/n. You’re allowed to make mistakes-“

“Yes, but not everyone’s fuckups are getting caught by paparazzi.”

“Called Derek.” Here it comes. “He will try to get rid off most of the footage.”

“You know better than me that things like this just don’t magically vanish.”

“People gonna get bored. Follow the next big affair and forget about it in a week.”

You only nodded, not being in any position nor feeling like arguing with the man who literally saved you ass last night.

“As soon as I will do the laundry I’m gonna give it back to you.” Your gaze dropped to the too big tshirt you’re wearing.

“Don’t worry, you can keep it.”

The silence echoed the room, him eating the only sound around. You knew hot you have to apologize for one more thing.

“Listen, Hugh, there is no explanation for what I’ve tried to do, it was inappropriate and-“

“I don’t mind it either.”

What.

“What?”

“I said, I don’t mind.” He looked up from his plate, looking in your eyes.

“But I-“

“Yes, I know what almost happened. Believe me, if we were alone and you weren’t intoxicated.. let’s say, it could’ve ended up other way.” It made you stunned, eyes wide open, your brain not sure if it’s still some drunk daydreaming or the reality. “When you’ve said you two broke up.. I admit I wasn’t as concerned as a good friend should’ve been.”

“I-I don’t think I’m following..”

A low laugh got to your ears and the next thing you knew he was standing next to you, his big posture towering compared to your small body.

“Okay, what if I told you I don’t want to be just friends? That I never wanted? That every time I’ve seen you miserable around him I had to stop myself form kicking his balls and stealing you so his nasty hand couldn’t reach you ever again?”

“Hugh I-“

“And what if I want to finish what you started last night?” His finger cupped your jaw, leaving your lips a bit open. Shit, you looked so fucking good like this. In his clothes, in his home, in his hands. “Would you like that?”

“Fuck, please, yes.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Your lips met in a desperate kiss that was postponed too long for his liking. When you two finally get apart he smirked teasingly. “Knew it would be perfect. No screen kiss ever compares to a real one. So.. Date? Tonight?”

“I-I should talk with Derek..”

“I’ll handle him. Besides we got rid off one issue.. In the end I’m allowed to pick up my girl from the club, ain’t I?”

#hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine

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resident-idiot-simp · 5 months ago

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Bucky and Steve running across Logan and meeting Wade and Laura in the process

(x)

Logan was out shopping when he heard a whisper "Lucky James." And smelled familiar scents. It's Barnes and Rogers, he knows immediately his plans for the day are going to be postponed.

He just sighs and walks towards an alley so they can talk without too many onlookers. They stand at the opening of the alley with crossed arms and wide eyes. Logan just puts his arms out to the side as if he's showing off.

"It's been a while." Logan acknowledges.

"A WHILE?!" Rogers half shouts, "How are you not old It's been close to a century?" Barnes asks.

Logan just raised an eyebrow at them, "I could ask you the same thing but I know the answer to that." Logan points out.

"Of course you know the answer everyone knows did they enhance you too?" Rogers asks and Logan shakes his head. "Nah I don't need enhancements I was born this way." Logan says with a shrug.

"Explain." Barnes orders and Logan does. "I'm a mutant."

Barnes and Rogers share a look. "So what are you just slow to age?" Barnes asks. Logan smirks, "Kinda It's more like I have a healing factor the likes of which you've never seen. With a few other things." Logan tacks the last part on like an afterthought.

"What do you mean?" Rogers asks. Logan chuckles to himself, "For all intents and purposes I'm immortal. I was there when the bombs dropped in Japan and I'm still here."

Barnes and Rogers looked shell-shocked.

"I'm twice as old as both of you." Logan adds just because he can.

This seems to break them slightly. "Do you want to get lunch with us so we can catch up?" Barnes asks and Logan shrugs. "If you pay with that Stark money." Logan offers, and they agree.

They go to one of Logan's favorite places Wade had shown him and he takes their normal booth in the corner. The waitresses greet him happily and he smiles and waves back. It's very different from the world he was in and he'd like to keep it that way.

Barnes and Rogers couldn't keep their eyes off him like if they looked way he might just up and disappear. He understood but couldn't really relate.

"H-how have you been what have you been doing?" Rogers asked and what a question to start with. He might as well rip the bandage off now.

"I'm not your Lucky James." He says completely ignoring that question for now. "Also it's Logan now has been for a while."

They stare blankly and he continues.

"The man you served with isn't me he died a while ago. I'm from another universe a far shittier one of my own making. I was brought here as a replacement for the man you knew."

"...what?" Barnes breathed sounding a bit heartbroken.

"It's complicated and I don't know the full story, but you need to understand I'm not the same person you knew. It is most likely that we had the exact same experiences, but you are not my Barnes and Rogers and I am not your Logan."

"What happened to him?" Rogers asked.

"He sacrificed himself to save some kids. He was a hero and a legend to those who knew him." Logan answered.

"And you're not?" Rogers asked, sharp as a tack that one.

"Not in my world. I did a lot of bad things got real mad...lost control...... I'm not like the other Logan my story differs after the X-Men."

"You are an X-man?" Barnes asked and Logan looked away.

"Your Logan was. I am just a disgrace who couldn't accept I needed to get over myself."

Barnes's eyes lit up as he connected dots, "You're Wolverine." Steve's head wipped towards Logan as he also realized.

Logan nodded.

"Well, the question still stands How are you and what have you been doing?" Steve asks and Logan smiles slightly.

"Better, I have a new purpose and shot at life thanks to Wade. I'm doing jobs with the maniac and living a pretty normal life."

"Who's Wade?" Barnes asked with a raised brow. Logan smiles he can't help it. "My fiance. He's the one who brought me here, but that's a long complicated story that I promise isn't that interesting." Logan answered with a shrug.

"You said you did jobs. You want to specify?" Rogers asked and Logan rolled his eyes.

"We work for the TVA which is something I'm not going to get into and normal merc shit." Logan says offhandedly.

Rogers splutters his drink and Barnes looks interested. "Would I know Wade?" Barnes asks and Logan smirks, "Definitely." They give their orders as the waitress comes and Logan gets a call.

He answers with a surprisingly soft, "Hey kit." That has Barnes and Rogers looking at one another eyes wide.

"Yeah yeah, we're at our favorite place." A pause. "Yeah ok, do you want your usual?" Another pause, "Ok see you in a bit bye."

The waitress raises an eyebrow at Logan, "Does she want her usual?" Logan nods and she scratches something else down before leaving.

"What was that?" They ask at the same time and Logan just smiles. "The main reason your Logan sacrificed himself is coming." He says and he sounds so incredibly fond.

They talk for a while longer until Logan perks up and the super soldiers turn to see what Logan's looking at.

It's a young lady who looks so much like Logan all of the questions they have are answered after just a glance.

"Come here kit." Logan calls his voice seeming to vibrate like a purr. The lady makes her way to the seat next to Logan smiling.

"Hi, papá." She greets her voice vibrating the same way. Logan throws an arm over her shoulder and squeezes before letting her go.

Rogers is trying and failing to speak as Barnes just stares. "This is Laura." Logan introduces and Barnes manages to get himself under control first.

"Nice to meet you Laura you can call me Bucky that's Steve." He sounds only slightly breathy which is impressive. Logan knows full well this is one of the last things they expected.

"I know." She says flatly and Rogers can't help the bark of laughter that escapes him. That's definitely Logan's daughter no doubt about it. Barnes seemed to have a similar reaction but managed to only snicker.

Logan doesn't even hide the shit-eating smile that crosses his face.

"Did Wade follow you?" Logan asked and Laura rolled her eyes. "He said he wouldn't so I give it 30 minutes until he shows up." Logan nods along like he expected this answer.

Barnes seemed to remember what Logan had said about this being the reason they're Logan had sacrificed himself as he looked at her closer.

"You're our Logan's kid." He stated more than asked. Rogers jerked in his seat as he too recalled that. Laura just sighed. Barnes suddenly felt like shit. Logan however didn't seem upset or annoyed at him.

"Yes, but I'm technically a clone. They took his DNA during the Weapons X program. I'm an attempt at recreating the perfect weapon." She said as she gestured at Logan who looked pissed off at the reminder.

There was a lot there that Rogers and Barnes hadn't heard yet none of which sounded good.

"I miss Dad but his sacrifice wasn't in vain. I have another life now a better one just like he wanted." She answered easily. Rogers and Barnes nodded sagely It definitely made them feel better knowing that their friend had sacrificed himself to save his daughter.

"I don't know how much you want to answer but what exactly was Weapons X?" Barnes asked the both of them.

Logan answered, "It was an organization that prays on mutants. It really started with me they tricked me into getting adamantium adhered to my bones before...well...they made me into the perfect weapon and took away my free will."

Laura leaned into him and Logan welcomed it smiling softly at her before continuing, "I was the tenth attempt and the first success. I eventually escaped, But they couldn't let it go so they tried cloning me." He breathed out.

Laura picked up from there, "I'm the 23rd attempt." She answered with a shrug. "Weapons X has been taken down but there's still offshoots that's what got pop."

Logan growled softly. "Fucking Francis." He snarled. Barnes seemed to look like he might be connecting some dots but couldn't quite put the whole picture together.

They were interrupted by the food being delivered. They talk for a while longer about less touchy issues after that, Laura even explaind what it's like in the mansion. That is until a while later when the diner goes silent and Logan and Laura perk up.

Rogers and Barnes reluctantly turn to see Deadpool sans his normal outfit. As he makes his way to the back booth where they are sitting. People he passes scramble out the door behind him.

Most of the waiters and waitresses look nervous, but he pays them no mind as he makes his way over. Rogers and Barnes prepare for a fight. "Peanut Mini, how are we doing?" He chirped.

Laura starts purring, "Pop." She greeted. "Thought you said you weren't going to follow the kit darling?" Logan asked his voice warbling the same way Laura's was.

"And let you two have all the fun? Please!" He rolled his eyes. He then turned and finally looked at the other two men and his eyes went wide.

Logan lunged at him covering his mouth, "Don't you dare scream Wade." He threatened as he pulled him down into the other open chair next to him.

Laura just laughed and Logan glared at her. Eventually, Wade managed to wiggle out of Logan's grasp, "OMG CAPTAIN AMERICA MY HERO!" He cried.

Rogers looked distinctly uncomfortable, "YOU KNEW I WANTED TO BE EXACTLY LIKE YOU WHEN I GREW UP DESPITE THE FACT I AM CANADIAN!" Wade exclaimed excitedly.

Rogers wanted to point out the fact that he ended up the exact opposite of him but didn't. His face however must have conveyed this because Deadpool answered." I KNOW I DIDN'T QUITE MANAGE IT BUT I GOT PRETTY CLOSE!"

Steve went to speak but Bucky was quick to speak over him because he had questions. He had never dared get close to Deadpool he was terrifying but now seemed like a perfect time.

"What do you mean by pretty close? I mean you're known for taking any job with a high enough pay?" He didn't ask rudely just really pointing out a fact in the underground.

Wade turned his attention to him, "Well sure But it's mainly bad people, Hell I'm quite warm-blooded for a merc. Besides when you're the best at what you do you end up taking the dirty jobs." And then as an afterthought tacked on, "And I do like money how else am I supposed to buy cocaine?"

"Al does love her cocaine." Laura agreed and Logan nodded along with that train of thought.

Rogers looked like he might explode and Logan looked lovestruck. The soldiers wondered distinctly what Logan saw in this maniac.

"What do you mean warm-blooded?" Barnes asked.

"Well, sometimes when kids get desperate they come to get help through unorthodox means. Most people don't touch it because the pay isn't good." Deadpool explained easily.

That seemed...actually pretty sweet which was surprising for someone like Deadpool.

"Besides I mainly take hits on drug lords, child traffickers, rapists, murderers, and the other unsavory," Deadpool answers easily and Logan nods at that confirming it.

The conversations continue and surprisingly Deadpool or Wade actually seems... Okay. Logan is enamored with him and it's understandable he has a charm to him if you can get over his...eccentricities.

Laura also clearly loves him and that's enough for them. They plan to have lunch at some later point. They pay and Wade leaves a generous tip...like a couple hundred dollars generous. The waitress seems to know him and thanks him with a smile. And just like that the trio is gone.

Steve and Bucky make their way back to the tower as they try to figure out how to explain the encounter they just had with the other Avengers.

"So where have you been?" Tony asks the moment they appear in the main area. The two share a look, "We met an old friend and caught up."

"Old friend, how old was he 90?" Clint asks from the couch. Bucky chuckles, "Actually he's much older than that. We had no idea though turns out he's a mutant."

Everyone pauses at that and looks over to them all asking them to continue with just a glance.

"Super enhanced healing factor It's as immortal as it sounds." Steve answered.

"Yeah?" Tony asked eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Yeah, but it's complicated and it turns out he has a kid and fiance." Steve answered easily.

"With immortality? that sounds painful." Tony asked seeming haunted at the idea of outliving Pepper and Morgan.

Bucky chuckled, "Funny thing that they're also immortal."

Everyone paused, "How did that happen?" Bruce asked.

"Both are experiments from his DNA." Barnes revealed.

Tony and Bruce shared a look, "Is there any way we can meet them?" Tony asked excitedly.

Bucky and Steve shared a glance, "Well...sure but.." Steve trailed off.

"One of them is Deadpool." Barnes finished.

Natasha and Clint seemed to jump a foot in the air out of shock alone.

"WHAT?!" They both shouted in shock.

(I plan on posting this tomorrow to Ao3)

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enmstorytime · 5 months ago

Text

The Contract

I put it in the introduction of my book, a promise that was tongue in cheek, that was meant in good fun, that would never, never, never actually have to be upheld: If I make $50,000,000 on this book, that's the last day I wear clothing. And to prove it to my fans, anyone who sends me the receipt for their purchase of this book has the right to host one party that I will attend in my new clothing-free life. I'll serve the drinks for the whole night.

When my editor looked over my introduction, he cocked his eyebrow, and simply said, "Bold."

"It's not like it's going to happen," I said. "Besides, with fifty mil in the bank, I could buy a house far enough from the public eye that I'd live my life in privacy. It wouldn't be too bad. Groceries would be delivered, and I guess it would be a good reason for me to never talk to my parents again."

"What about the book signings?" My editor asked, like this was a real conversation. "What about the promised parties."

"I don't know," I said shrugging. "It sounds kind of fun to me."

"A naked book signing sounds fun to you?" My editor said, sounding surprised."

"Once i earn that kind of money, I think my fans deserve whatever they want from me," I said, laughing. "But you've seen the sales on my last book. I barely made $10,000."

"You're writing is good though," my editor said. "It's a problem of marketing. And a naked book signing might just get the marketing up."

"No naked book signing until the fifty million," I said, surprised that my editor was even considering this.

"Okay, okay, no naked book signing... yet," My editor said. "But I think this promise of living forever naked and of becoming a free, naked bartender might be what we need to help your writing career really take off."

"I'm not a free, naked bartender," I said. "To get my services they have to buy the book."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," my editor said. "But really, I think this is a stroke of marketing genius. We could make a website where people can buy your book, which would automatically submit the receipt, and then they'd be taken to your calendar where they could schedule your bartending services."

"It's never going to happen," I said.

"We could also get you on talk shows," my editor said. "No one is that excited to hear from any old writer. But the old cliche, sex sells, is really true."

"It won't sell $50,000,000 worth of books," I said.

"Of course, no one will believe you'd really go through with it," my editor said. "Unless... Would you be willing to sign a notarized contract agreeing to this deal? You'd sign for yourself, obviously, and we, the publishing company, would sign on behalf of your readers."

"I don't think that will be necessary," I said, laughing, even though my editor still looked more serious than I expected him to. "It's fifty million dollars."

"If it's never going to happen," my editor said, steepling his fingers and looking me up and down, "then why not sign a contract."

So, I did.

I went on talk shows before my book's publication, where late-night hosts made jokes about shrinkage, and workouts, and courage. One host even promised to have my contractual naked bartending party on his show. I laughed, and grinned, and leaned into the humor, enjoying what I assumed was my fifteen minutes of fame.

My friends all winked at me when they promised to buy my book, or they made me promise to not forget the little guys when I made my millions.

My parents were less understanding. My dad told me I was a shame to the family. Everyone at church kept telling he and my mom how they'd seen me on the TV, and how sorry they were that my parents had raised such a desperate, sinful, greedy child. My mom told me she'd never look at me again if I actually went through with becoming a nudist.

When the original sales numbers came in after my publication, I started to sweat. I made ten million. Every copy that had sold within a week, and my publishing company was preparing for a reprint.

"You better start looking at private jet," my editor said over the phone as he was sharing the numbers with me.

"You don't really think it'll happen do you?" I asked, my stomach performing somersaults. "It's just a temporary media hype, right?"

But it wasn't. As the initial reviews came in, my book was receiving praise, and there was buzz that I would be nominated for a few awards ("No matter what happens with this next print, you're contractually obligated to attend those award dinners, if you're nominated," my editor reminded me again over the phone).

The publishing company put me back on the media tour to talk about the writing. At each stop I was given time to plug what inspired the book, to talk about the process, and then the teasing started. Hosts asked if I was nervous. Hosts called me brave. The host who had promised to have me bartend on the air rolled out a drink cart that could be wheeled through his live studio audience.

My friends started asking for previews. "I'll see it all soon enough anyway," was said to me almost daily.

My dad called to tell me he'd written me out of the will, since I was already rich enough anyway. My mom stopped speaking to me.

At the second printing, my book sales landed at a crisp $42,000,000 in my bank account. Every copy sold. I had assumed that this printing would give me the answer on whether or not my life was going to change more drastically than it already had. I don't know if you've ever realized that everyone who meets you is actively picturing you naked, but I was now very aware that that was what was happening to me. All anyone wanted to talk to me about was my body. And my company was almost literally edging me, printing just enough books that I'd have to wait one more round before finding out whether I'd be allowed clothing again.

"You've got your private jet, right?" My editor asked. "If not, check your email, I've sent you a few listings for some small, cheaper jets. But you'll definitely need one."

Out of caution I bought myself a secluded cabin in the woods, far enough from civilization that I could still go outside and enjoy the sun, even if I had to go out sans all my clothing. I told no one where my cabin was.

I was back on the talk show circuit. This time we weren't talking about the writing, we talked about the printing details, we talked about the number of books that would need to sell before I had to honor my contract. My publishing company sent copies of the contract to each host, and I heard the stipulations read over and over again while audiences wolf-whistled and jeered. The website to buy my book and schedule my bartending services was posted at the bottom of the screen. Each talk show ended with the host promising that I would be back once my next printing had sold out.

Some fans started a website that had one of those thermometer charts that people often use for fundraising events. The visual of 42/50 hit home harder than anything else had. Under the chart were pages and pages of AI renditions of what I looked like under my clothes.

"Listen, it's over," my editor said over the phone one night. "The pre-sale numbers for your next printing put you at $75,000,000."

My heart plummeted.

"I gotta say, I don't envy you," my editor continued. "The publishing company wants to have a recorded event where we break the news to you, and where you turn your clothing over to us."

"It's not in my contract that that would be recorded," I said. "I'd prefer to just ship everything, and then probably never come back into your office, thanks."

"Believe me, I get it," my editor said, and I could hear the grin on his face. "And you're right, it's not in your contract. But I think you should do it. We're drafting a new contract that I think you'll like."

"Will I get my clothes back if I do the recording?" I asked, allowing myself a second of hope that he immediately squashed.

"God no," he said, chuckling. "You're our gold mine, and we aren't just going to give that up. But, we'll censor you on the recording. The minute there's full frontal, blurring effects will go on. You'll also be given a guaranteed five more printings of this book, and a contract for five books of your choice, plus a memoir deal that you'll write after five years all about your first five years as the world's most public nudist."

"I don't think so," I said.

"I would reconsider," my editor said. "This allows you to ease into your exposure. Sure, the live studio audience won't have the blur, but the world at large will. Eventually, you'll end up somewhere online, and everyone will see everything, but this buys you a little more time. Plus, the company is throwing in a private jet, since I know you haven't bought one yet."

I hadn't bought the jet. But now, I knew I needed one, otherwise I'd be pushing my way through busy terminals, the only naked person getting pressed up on by the hundreds of people hauling their luggage.

"It's tempting," I said.

"You're alternative is that we will send our enforcement team to collect what is ours," my editor said. "And you know how hard it is to schedule things as a company of this size. It's likely we'd forget to send you warning, so you could be out in the street, and our big, burly enforcers could show up and tear the clothes right off your body, in front of everyone, and those beautiful camera phones won't give you the same guarantee of a modesty blur."

"Fine," I said, understanding that my publishing company would be getting what they wanted.

The printing came and sold. My editor was right, my bank account now had over $75,000,000, and that was with the cost of my small, private cabin in the woods taken out. I signed the new contract the day of the recording in my editor's office before I was escorted to a filming studio. I had packed up every piece of clothing I owned, and had given the publishing company's enforcers keys to my home and my cabin so they could ensure that I was living up to my end of the contract. I hadn't withheld any clothing.

In the filming studio, my editor called me up on stage. Surrounding me on stage were at least fifteen mannequins, each dressed in something that had been mine. One was dressed in my talk-show suit. One was dressed in my favorite jockstrap that I used to wear on dates when I hoped to get lucky.

I wore my normal clothes: t-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, baseball cap. I wanted today to feel as normal as possible, even though I had barely slept the night before, even though I knew today would not be a normal day.

The program wasn't long. I sat across from my editor, both of surrounded by mannequins, the jock-strap clad one framed by the two of us. He asked me about each outfit that was displayed. I told him the stories of where I got them, why I picked them, what I would miss about them.

"And which outfit will you miss the most?" my editor asked.

"The only answer to that question is the one that I have on right now," I said, and the audience chuckled appreciatively. Hungrily.

"I'd miss that one too, if I were you," he said to more laughs. "But the time has come to say goodbye."

The blood rushed to my face and to my crotch.

"I've been instructed to give you one last choice," my editor said. "Would you like to hand over your clothes or have them taken from you?"

Without giving me time to respond, two burly men appeared out of nowhere. Their hands groped and grabbed at my clothing, and my arms and legs moved at their command as I was shucked of everything.

In seconds, almost as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, and with them every stitch of clothing I had worn today. There was no ceremony, no gentleness, no gradual removal to acclimate to new levels of nudity. I was fully clothed one moment. Completely naked the next.

And I stood there, hands at my sides, processing that I didn't even say goodbye to my clothing, that I would never again feel denim on my legs, or cotton sleeves against my arms. It took me nearly a full minute standing in front of my editor and my live audience to realize that I hadn't reached down to cover my cock.

#enm #gay #12 days of enm-mas

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notmorbid · 6 months ago

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any other family.

dialogue prompts from any other family by eleanor brown.

who gets to say what it means to be a family?

all perfect moments are comprised of small details, are they not?

there just never seems to be enough time.

i am generally filled with rage, these days.

you can't bullshit a bullshitter.

you're always saying how tired you are. let someone help.

it will all work out. it has to.

it is all so complicated, and it was supposed to be so simple.

don't make me do this again.

why didn't you tell me how bad it was?

i've tried to talk to you dozens of times.

i have never felt so far away from you.

people say we're strange. maybe we are.

i don't understand why you're being so stubborn.

when the universe offers you a gift, you say yes.

i am not yours to rescue.

your hearing is highly selective.

do all parents feel like this?

abrupt change is not helpful for anyone.

this is turning out to be the least relaxing vacation in the history of ever.

i must not have prayed hard enough.

you're a terrible example, but most only children turn out okay.

family and money don't mix.

you can't rescue everyone, okay?

i'll figure it out. i always do.

when you say goodbye to something, you also get to say hello to everything that'll take its place.

you've survived 100% of the changes in your life thus far. odds are, you'll survive whatever comes next.

tonight. not 'later'. tonight.

you need to let ___ go.

what the hell is wrong with me? besides everything?

knowing and feeling are two different things.

the only thing we can do is hold hands and walk into the future together. with hope.

you're the only one i can count on to tell me the truth.

everything you do seems easy.

is this what we've been reduced to?

i have a good feeling about this.

everyone needs something to take care of.

why don't you ever stand up to ____?

one of the most amazing things about being a parent is rediscovering things you forgot were amazing.

we are a family now, whether we like it or not.

isn't it nice having someone to share the load, every once in a while?

you should take up drinking. it has all sorts of side benefits.

i told you [name] was a bitch.

i felt better when we weren't talking about it.

when i am ready for help, i will ask for help.

i am a gordian knot of emotions, and i cannot bear to cut through it.

what are we but the sum of our experiences?

what's the use of living if we can't apply our pasts to our presents?

you always seem so calm and confident.

we're still going to be a family, though, right?

if only parenthood came with scheduled alerts on coming changes and crises.

i didn't have to be your mother, i get to be your mother.

you are smart and silly and amazing and curious, and i love you very, very much.

i would have said yes to anything, to make the pain end.

i'm sad. it sucks. what else is there to say?

i can't imagine going through that alone.

you must be so strong.

i just want to burn it all down.

a relationship is a series of promises.

i am not above bribery.

it's not a family vacation without a few trips to the emergency room.

it's intimidating to be around you.

you probably came out of the womb punching.

it doesn't do us any good to be comparing, does it? we aren't the same people.

i've never been good at crying.

it's amazing how you can be right next to someone and have no idea what they're thinking.

you don't have to do this alone. you don't have to pretend to be okay when you're not.

you have to talk to someone. it's too much to carry if you don't.

i don't need reminders. i think about it every day.

i said ____ could spend the night, not move in.

your eyes are like cartoon saucers.

i'm sorry i didn't realize how unhappy you were.

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp memes #ask memes #inbox memes #ask meme #families

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year ago

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Part 2 to the Kas!Eddie thingy. Please read that for this to make sense, but you can just ignore this good ending bit and pretend that they never learned their lesson.

When they come to, they are safely tucked in beds, still in their clothes, but their bruises and scratches have been treated. There's a small table too, with some fruits, coffee, juice and a healthy breakfast they haven't had in ages.

Next to it, they see a handwritten note: "Come see me downstairs when you're ready. Steve Harrington."

They are cautious. Terrified. But the windows have bars, their stomachs are empty and even if they could escape, that winged creature wouldn't let them leave, they think. So they eat, some of them even use the warm shower in the guest room, and then they take the stairs down, to their fate.

Steve Harrington is sitting at his kitchen table, sipping coffee. He is wearing a yellow sweater, reading glasses and even though his hair has grey streaks and there are wrinkles around his eyes, he doesn't seem like someone they could take on. They don't even think about trying it.

"Ah, good morning. I hope you liked the breakfast. Now, I hope you got everything you needed out of your system yesterday, so we can get down to business. What would you say to having a job and a roof over your head?"

They stare, but he's not joking. Harrington explains to them that he's willing to house them and feed them for some work on his house and the grounds until they get back on their feet. He needs the help anyway, he has the money to pay them a reasonable amount. They already saw the accomodations, so...are they interested?

They are, this is their chance and they all see it, but one of them has the presence of mind to ask - what about the monster?

"The boyfriend!" one of them corrects him quickly.

Steve smiles and gets up. "Ah, that is good question indeed." He knocks on the door of the small bedroom on the main floor and calls out: "Eddie? Can you come here for a second?"

It - no, he - doesn't like a monster. He's a normal young man, maybe a bit too old school rockstar looking to be completely inconspicuous, but still a man. He has a mane of curly hair, a lazy smile with teeth that are just a bit too sharp...and a swarm of bats tattoed on his forearm.

Harrington gives him a brief peck on his cheek. "Our guests want to know if the monster is going to be a problem. Care to tell them? I need to get something done in the town anyways."

Eddie sits down and winks at them. He waits for Steve to leave and then he explains it all.

Steve is all about second chances. He also can't bear to leave strays outside, much to the group's luck. And Eddie respects that, he wants to believe that they all had just a lot of bad luck, just like he once had. But he'll be watching them so that they don't end up hurting anyone, including themselves.

"Like you didn't hurt us yesterday?" someone chimes in and Eddie laughs.

"You stupid twerp," he says and it almost sounds loving, "No matter what you think happened yesterday, I did save you. I heard you coming from a mile away, saw you arguing in the woods. I smelled your anger. That's why I could afford to just scare you, knock you around a little. But if you got past me and attacked Steve..."

"You would have killed us?"

But Eddie shakes his head. "No. Not me. But Steve would have. You'd stand no chance. Against monsters, maybe. Against a man who's been to the hell and back? No way."

---

They work on the grounds of the Harrington mansion, do the maintenance, mow lawns, clean and dust everything, and in a few months, they have enough money to move away. They thank Steve and Eddie, promise to call and stay in touch.

That day the last one leaves, Steve drives to the pawnshop and when the owner comes to the counter, Steve tells him: "They're gone now."

"Good job, Steve. Another group of misguided youth brought back to the right path. You're so good at this, it's almost disgusting." A glass of vodka finds its way to Steve's hand and he laughs, drinks with his friend to success.

As Steve turns around to leave, he nods at Murray. "Just warn a guy the next time, okay? You're lucky Eddie got to them first."

Murray grins back. "Saved by a monster. How poetic."

And he mouths along with Steve's words, when he corrects him: "Not a monster. My boyfriend."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie #kas eddie #kas eddie munson

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marscantread7 · 29 days ago

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"What the fuck?!"

"What do you mean, 'what the fuck'?"

"I mean, what the fuck?"

You and Xavier are staring at your phone screen, him baffled and a little irritated and you just confused. See, you hired Xavier a few months back as a cameraman for your... business... and well. You didn't take into account how jealous and parasocial some of your viewers were.

"Well, I mean, are you not reading the same message I'm reading???? This guy just threatened to chop my dick off if I go anywhere near you?"

"Okay, but they're random people behind a screen. Xavie, I know this is really concerning to you, but even before you joined I got messages of my viewers threatening me the object of their affection. I promise, nobody is going to hurt you, and if somebody does pose a serious threat, I have the police on speed dial. And my brother who lives a block away. We will both be fine."

Xavier still looks a little unsure, and you're starting to get antsy. You don't want to lose him. He's actually really respectful of your boundaries, he's really fucking hot, AND his work with the camera is amazing and has brought you in so many more fans these past few months. You can't afford to lose him.

"Would you like me to block and ban these guys? I have more than enough money, losing them won't hurt. They're not even my top donors anyway. Please, Xavie. There are fans who really love you and your work, and I really love your work and I feel so safe working with you. Please don't quit on me."

Xavier's brows quickly furrowed, and he grabbed your hands bringing you to the couch to sit. He, shook his head, opening his mouth before closing it again, thinking over his words, looking at you earnestly.

"I'm not going to quit on you. I wouldn't dream of it. Sure, this job is a little odd, but I do enjoy working with you too. I just... I guess I'm not used to... gruesome? Threats like that? It's just odd, and confusing, and a tad bit scary. I know you said you're used to these types of messages, but you shouldn't have to be. Let me help you carry this burden. If I'm scared as a man, I can't imagine what you feel as woman. You don't have to put up a strong front and deal with this alone anymore. You can block them and ban them and if the harassment continues then we take this to the police, agreed?" Xavier never once let go of your hands, but he waited until you gave a nod and squeezed his hands back to give a soft smile.

He ruffled your hair, tucking a curl behind a ear, huffing when it bounced back. "Silly girl, thinking I would quit on you and leave you to find another camera man. Who else would execute 'Toxic ex bf controls my vibrator' from 7 different angles as well as me?" You give a laugh, slapping his chest, causing him to laugh too.

"Let's never get this tense again," you say, still laughing, hand subtly squeezing his chest.

"Yeah! Let's save the tension for the sexy scenes, haha!" Xavier says, oblivious to you trying to feel him up... man... his chest is big... but that's a conversation for another day, unfortunately.

--------------------------------------------------------

Hey chat... did u miss me😝😝😝 so uhm update! I've been suffering w/ tension headaches and migraines for the past week, and I can't see my neurologist until like June so erm... yeah there's that.

My job has been making me increasingly more and more depressed as the days go by and that's why I haven't been writing bc I fear I just don't have the energy to do so💔💔💔 so while I look for a new job and try not to get conked out by these headaches, take this for the timebeing.

Onto some good news!!! My birthday was on Friday, and I am officially 20 years old!!! I am also finally back in school!!! So like, besides all these bad things, there are some positives and things are sort of looking up. I just have to push through.

I tried to write just a short drabble for my camgirl!reader x cameraman!Xavier bc I wanna get SOMETHING out for you guys while I can. Ah, this really isn't my best work at all, I'm sorry but I didn't really know what else to put out. I hope you guys are all safe and healthy! And I hope y'all had a great Easter if u celebrate

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love & deepspace #l&ds #xavier love and deepspace #xavier lnds #xavier lads #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x mc #xavier x reader #lads xavier #lads reader #lads mc #marshall cant write

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stormberry-12 · 1 year ago

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faceless // P3: yes sir. negative ~ charles leclerc x reader

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader

includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n". So sorry this took so long, I've had some mega writters block and no motivation really. But I hope it's still good and thank you so much for all the kind feedback, it means a lot! <3

Bold Italics are the past.

Normal Italics are thoughts.

summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”

"No fucking way mate," Lando choked out his words, "Holy fuck-"

Lando's face had never looked so shocked, he scratched the inner corner of his left eye as if he thought he was seeing something. And when his eyes focused back on you, you could see his mind filling with questions. His eyes flickered from the helmet sitting on the ground to the tears brimming in your eyes.

"Oh my god," you sobbed into your hands as your mind began to race.

Should you run away?

'Oh, sorry Lando, no you must have seen my celebrity doppelganger in the suit earlier. It wasn't me-"

"No wait, don't cry-" he protested, rushing over and crouching down next to you on the ground, "You're my idol, I'm like obsessed with your driving, you're frickin' amazing-"

"Oh, shut up Lando!" you snapped, instantly feeling bad for yelling in his face. He was silent for a moment, not taken aback by your outburst though. "Sorry," you whispered.

You looked up to see him scanning your face intently. "You haven't told Charles yet," he said matter-of-factly like he could read your life all of a sudden.

You shook your head.

"Who else knows?"

"Just you and Christian-"

"Heh, I'm so special,"

"Lando stop!" you cried quietly, feeling more tears forming. "You weren't supposed to find out and I'm so going to get fired for this-"

"Why would you be fired?" he asked, "You're the driver keeping Red Bull afloat right now while Max is shittin' the bed,"

"Because. It's part of my contract that no one knows who I am,"

"Who came up with that shit?"

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, "What shit?"

"Your contract rules," he said.

"We both did. I didn't want to be in the media, I've never liked it. And Christian just agreed I guess-"

"But you and Charles were just in a video together, you've been doing media anyway," He chuckled dryly.

True.

"And you and Charles love each other, I can see it in your eyes, I don't think the media content is going to stop anytime soon. Frankly, they will ask you to do more now that you've already agreed once."

Also true.

"I understand that privacy is important to you but..."

"Yeah, I know, I know... you're right," you said, wiping tears away from under your eyes, thinking back to the tweets you had just read, "After the video went out I was expecting so much worse but nothing happened, I might need to take a chill pill."

"Maybe..." he said slowly. "And why should-"

"-I care what people on the internet think of me?" you stole the words right out of Lando's mouth, a smile growing on his face. "Charles tells me that every time I don't help with his Twitch streams,"

"Right, you're thinking like a media-trained F1 driver already!" he grinned. "Except, I don't think you're getting enough credit for your racing because you keep that helmet on all the damn time. Just one guy's opinion though,"

You hummed in response, getting lost in your own mind again.

"I won't tell a soul, I promise," He crossed his hand over his heart, "Scouts honor,"

For some reason, you felt you could trust Lando. You gave him a small smile and let your shoulders relax, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. He stood up and offered you his hand, you took it gladly and rose to your feet. "I think you should talk to Christian about it,"

"I will, thanks Lan,"

"No problem," he winked, slowly stepping away, "And for what it's worth I truly meant what I said before. You're amazing, don't let them push you around or tell you otherwise. You gotta pave the way for all the little girls out there."

That shook you to your core.

You had never thought about your career that way and it bothered you how oblivious you had been.

How could you not realize the impact you could be making for the girls who dream of racing just like you had? Who cared what some old guy on the internet thought about women in motorsport, he needed to grow up. And you needed to make a difference. It was all sliding into place.

Also, since when had Lando been that well-spoken in his life?

After a quick 'See you on track,' you and Lando parted ways towards your respected garages. Pulling your helmet over your face, you stepped out of the alleyway and marched towards the blue and red signs of the Red Bull garage.

Christian gave you a look through your visor as you walked up to the car, you just nodded, he hated it when you were late. You climbed into the car and tried to shake the nerves out of your body, you could see a camera in your peripherals, panning the garage and landing on you.

Pave the way Y/n.

This newfound purpose gave you anxiety but at the same time a different kind of drive to your craft. You could feel the car hum beneath you, grateful for the all-clear from the team, you exited the garage to start warming up your tires.

"Radio check, you ready for this?"

"Yep. Copy."

Shit, that sounded forced didn't it? Why were you acting so weird? Be yourself Y/n.

"Ah, not going to humor me today? That's too bad mate," Rick chuckled.

"Don't know why but it smells like barbeque in the car,"

"You've got a problem, change your fucking carrrr,"

"No, you change your car because Checo has been saying the car is fucked-"

This had Ricky howling with laughter over the mic.

"Okay, that's enough lads." Christian stepped in, pulling the plug on you and Rick mocking him.

"Fun police..." Ricky sighed.

"I'm not a fun police, do your job Richard."

"You are a fun police, I have it on record. I hAvE it, I hAve iT pRiNteD oUt!"

"66."

"Sorry." you replied, giggling to yourself and waving back at Lando as you passed.

"Damn it!" Charles cursed stomping towards the Ferrari garage. He had just spun out two races in a row and had to, unfortunately, retire from the race.

Walking into the garage he could feel all eyes on him as he stuffed his gloves and balaclava into his helmet angrily. A few engineers and his trainer gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he walked past, but no one dared to interact with Charles while he was this livid.

He needed y/n.

She was who he always needed after a bad race, he walked to his driver's room remembering the spin-out from his previous race hoping that y/n would actually be there this time.

"Where's y/n?"

"I don't know mate, sorry. She disappeared a while ago," an engineer named Fred shrugged.

But of course, as he opened the door she was nowhere to be found once again. Thoughts ran through his mind a hundred miles per minute

Had she always left after he got into the car and never actually watched him race?

Is he not as important to her as she made it seem?

Was she just in this for the money like a few of the girls he had been with before?

No, y/n isn't like that. He told himself, but still, he felt that pang of uncertainty in his chest. It would certainly be the reason why whenever he asked for her opinion on his performance it was almost as if she didn't remember what happened, she would just nod, smile, and agree with whatever he said.

Charles sat down on the couch and shut the door to his room. The TV had the race on and he watched the 19 remaining cars complete lap after lap.

He couldn't watch this anymore...

"Ohh! That was a nasty hit from Verstappen from behind- SOMEONE HAS SPUN INTO THE WALL AND IT LOOKS TO BE THE OTHER RED BULL!"

"Oh my, it is! I can tell you right now Crofty, Christian Horner is not going to be pleased about that,"

"The race has just been red-flagged and we are currently awaiting more news on the second Red Bull driver. Here's a replay, there's Max Verstappen in third and his teammate ahead of him in second."

"And Verstappen was told to hold position because both drivers were in the podium places, Max is slightly slower than his teammate with very worn tires, but he pushes them anyway and tries to go for the very forced overtake. And there it is! Now why does he swerve into his teammate?!? This is mind-boggling to me-"

Charles looked up from his phone and back to the television. A bright 66 is painted on the Red Bull that is in pieces on the edge of the track. And as the camera zooms into the smoking race car, the eerie silence in Charles's driver's room makes his chest tighten slightly.

"Oh dear, it seems we have no verbal conformation from the driver so as you can see the medical car has made it's way to the scene."

Charles watches the unconscious driver slowly get pulled from the car and layed on a stretcher right there on the side of the track. They lift the visor of his helmet and shine a light across the driver's face as their eyes flutter awake. Beautiful eyes that Charles had engraved in his brain from the moment he met her.

previous chapter // next chapter

#storms library #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #faceless driver trend #fanfiction

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sweetdispatch · 3 months ago

Text

Utah Hockey Club - J. Marino

the trilogy of love | part II pairing: John Marino x fem!reader summary: You and John started a long distance relationship but was it a good decision? warning: mentions of sex, swearing, arguments

2024

You took a week off at work to help John with moving on to Salt Lake City. Both of you got déjà vu when you started to arrange the apartment but this time, you were leaving him. He was still bitter over the fact that you chose your work in New York over him but he understood this. At least, he acted this way. John couldn’t believe that his fiancée preferred to work than be with him and support him, especially when he was making enough money for both of you.

John knew that he’s in a lost position and that’s why he never told you what he really feels about this decision. He just swallowed it and tried his best to make it work long distance. On the other hand, you were delighted with this decision. You were grateful that you had such an understanding partner. When John drove you to the airport, it was an emotional time for them.

“Do you really have to leave?” John asked.

“Johnny… you know I have to” You sighed.

“I’m gonna miss you so much. We’ve been spending all the time together for the past four years and it just feels odd”

“It’s gonna be tough at the beginning but I believe we can make it work” You hugged him.

“I love you. Call me when you land, actually call me in every free minute” He kissed you. The kiss was full of love, sadness and desperation.

“I love you Johnny”

And you were gone. He was all alone in a new city and new state. Two thousand miles apart and two different time zones from the love of his life. First week apart, you’ve been doing great but later it got worse. You two missed each other so much. As you promised, you were calling John in every free time you had but it wasn’t enough for them.

John missed your presence. He missed coming back home to all the smells from the kitchen where you were cooking dinner for him. He missed the way you were always welcoming him when he was coming through the door. He missed the unorganised coffee table where all your papers were laying. He missed your cosmetics around the sink you were leaving them instead of cleaning. Most importantly, he missed you.

You missed his presence too. You missed his monologues about games and training when you were cooking. You missed waiting for him late at night when he was coming back from roadies. You missed seeing him trying to organise your papers, knowing that he doesn’t understand a thing. You missed having his suits in the wardrobe. Most importantly, you missed him.

The thing that you two also missed was sex. Both of you have crazy stamina and the fact that you’ve been far away from each other was killing you. John proposed phone sex but you weren't so sure about it.

“Why don’t you want to try?” He asked, frustrated.

“I just know I won’t be having any pleasure from it”

“How can you know it if we never tried it?”

“Because it’s not you. That’s why” You said honestly.

“So what? You're gonna wait until Christmas because of that?”

“Maybe I will”

“You are ridiculous” John couldn’t believe your words.

“Whatever, I’m going back to work. I love you” You were tired of this conversation and wanted to end it.

“Love you too” And you hung up but John felt that something was wrong with his fiancée. Not only because you didn’t want to try phone sex but because you were acting off lately.

You checked your contract to see if you could quit the job but you were a manager of your team only for a year so for another year you were stuck in New York before you could quit it. After reading this, you fell apart. You never felt so bad. All the voices from your family came back to you saying that you’re gonna fail and you’re making a huge mistake moving out. You regretted leaving your hometown. At that moment, you regret that you met John.

John was living quietly in Salt Lake City. He was hanging out with his new teammates but he wished his fiancée was here with him. While he was visiting new restaurants and bars, he had flashbacks to moments from New Jersey where you were doing this with him. He was slowly getting used to the long distance but couldn’t push the thoughts that something was happening with you.

You’ve been together for four years. John knew you like the back of his hand. He wanted to bring this up but he knew you’re gonna make excuses and ignore his questions which would start the argument in between you two. He didn’t want to have a fight with you over the phone. He decided to wait for you to bring the topic.

It never happened. You knew that all of this was your fault and didn't want to hear John saying “I told you”. Instead, you decided to throw yourself into work. You were taking more tasks than you could handle. All to try to keep your feelings down about John and this relationship. You knew that’s not fair towards him but you couldn’t help it. Days went by and John was tired of waiting for you to tell him how you really felt. He had to do something.

“What’s happening with you lately? And don’t lie to me” He said firmly.

“Johnny, nothing is…” Before you could finish your sentence, he interrupted you.

“Fucking hell, stop lying. I don’t know who you want to trick but that’s not working on me. I can see that something is wrong so tell me. You know you can trust me”

“I hate myself for what I did” You said quietly.

“What?” John was surprised, shocked and hurt by your words.

“Every single day, I regret the decision of choosing the job over you. It’s not worth it. I can’t enjoy it anymore. I feel forced to be here and do the stupid numbers. I’m also hearing in my head the words from my family saying to me that I’m a failure and to make it worse, I feel like one right now. My head is spiraling. All I want is to be with you but I can’t for at least another year. That’s why I’m taking more and more tasks just to keep myself busy” You said with tears.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden. I made this bed and now I have to lay in it”

“Baby, you could never be a burden. I want to help you. We are a team. We are together in this. Your problems are my problems and vice versa”

“You are too good for me, I don’t even deserve you”

“Now, you are talking nonsense. I’m the lucky one to have you. You are more than a man can imagine. Please stop crying” He pleaded.

John felt bad for you. He didn't expect you to take the long distance so hard. That’s why he decided to visit you. He had the weekend off and he wanted to spend it with you. He flew to New York and took a taxi to your apartment. John opened the door but didn't expect to see your place being such a mess.

Your clothes were laying on the floor. Kitchen was full of dishes to wash. Couch and coffee table were full of your work papers. There was no sign of you so he walked to the bedroom. What he saw broke his heart. You were crying into the pillow on the bed. He slowly made his way to you.

“Hi baby”

“Oh my gosh, you scared the shit out of me” You screamed.

“Sorry. It wasn’t my intention” He kissed your temple and laid next to you.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have a free weekend so I decided to visit you”

“Thank you”

“How about bath and dinner?” He suggested.

“Can we just lay in the bed and think about it later?” You asked. All you wanted was to feel him.

“Always” John kissed you.

This weekend opened your eyes. You realised that your insecurities were pointless. John loved you and made you believe that two of you can work long distance. This also had a huge flaw. You became confident and started going out with your work friends. Every weekend you were drunk in clubs all across New York. This is how you were spending your free time since you didn’t want to come back to an empty apartment. John hated your new side. He was scared that something might happen to you and he’s not there to pick you up and help. Also, he was thinking all the time that you might find a replacement in his place while you’re out.

All his worries were put aside when John started training with a new team. Soon after, he got injured. At first, this didn't look that bad, just a week break from training. But the week turned into two weeks and later into three weeks. He was heartbroken when he heard that he required an operation and will be out for a couple months. On top of that, you started to pissing him off. After his visit, you became ignorant towards him because you wanted to do as much work as you can during the week so you could get drunk on the weekend. Nevertheless, he called you to tell you about his problems.

“Hi baby, bad news”

“What happened?” You said while going to a meeting.

“I’ve got an injury and it required an operation. He said sadly.

“Oh… sorry to hear that”

“That’s it?” He was mad at your lack of interest.

“What do you expect me to say? You are injured and need an operation”

“Oh, fuck you. When you were insecure because of your own decision, I was there for you. Now, I need your support and you don’t give a fuck” John was fuming.

“I don’t have time, I’ll call you after the meeting and we can talk”

“Don’t bother” He hung up and threw his phone on the couch.

Now, John had regretted that he met you. You two started talking less and less with each other. You haven’t even visited him in the hospital after the operation, making excuses that you couldn’t leave the work. At that moment, everything you’ve built in four years started falling apart. He wondered what went wrong after he visited you.

John was focusing on his rehabilitation and being back on the ice. You were focusing on your work. You’ve been dating all the time but both of you felt that this relationship is over. You haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks. You two barely texted. You decided to visit John thinking that maybe you can still fix it.

“Hi there” You said.

“Hi” He was surprised to see you.

“You are not happy to see me? You joked.

“Actually no” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“What the fuck Marino? I flew here to see you and you don’t want me there?”

“Oh please, stop acting”

“What’s your problem?”

“You are my problem” He said.

“Enlighten me” You were getting frustrated.

“You can’t be that dumb” He laughed.

“Why are you acting like a fucking bitch?” You asked him.

“Me? Fuck, you are dumber than I thought. You wanted a long distance, fine. I accepted it even when I wanted you here with me. Later, you got insecure over it and I helped you. You started working more and completely forgot about me! I told you about my operation and you weren’t there for me. I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t support me. We are supposed to be a team but you prefer to get drunk at every occasion instead of being with your injured fiancé” John said in one breath with anger boiling inside of him.

“You don’t want to be with me?” You asked.

“No. I don’t want to be with someone who acts like a bitch and this is how you are acting”

“So you just gonna throw away the four years because I haven’t been with you during your operation?” You laughed.

“Can’t you see? We barely talked with each other in the past month. I don’t even know what’s happening in your life anymore. I love you but this is the best decision” John sighed.

“Fine! Let it be your way” You took the engagement ring and threw it at him then continued. “Let me grab my stuff so you can be free again” You went to pack all the things you had in his place. John hasn't stopped you. He knew that’s the best for both of you. He was tired of fighting for this relationship. “I’ll send you your stuff and you can close this chapter. I really thought you were my soulmate but I guess I was wrong. Have a nice life in Utah” You said and left.

When you closed the doors, you started crying. You knew that you fucked up but never thought that he would broke up with you. You came to fix up the mess you made but he already made a decision about your future. John was the best thing that ever happened to you and now he was gone. You knew that you had to move on but how? Your whole life in New York reminded you about him.

Weeks later, you found out that you’re pregnant. You were carrying John’s kid. You didn’t know what to do.

Should you tell him?

What if he thinks that you baby trapped him to get back together?

One thing you knew for sure. You want to keep the kid with or without his help.

2025

Your life changed completely after you found out that you’re pregnant. You tried to work hard in New York despite the fact that you were growing a new life inside of you. After a month, you decided to take a break. You couldn’t be much of a help in this state. First week of being at home and resting was fun but you got bored very quickly. Your friends tried to convince you to reach out to John and tell him about the situation but you were too stubborn.

John was still going through rehabilitation. He was back in training and couldn’t wait to have a debut with the new team. He felt like his life was coming back again on the right track. Well, that was a lie. He missed you badly, but he didn’t want to bother you. He was aware that it was his decision to break up. He still had her engagement ring in the apartment. Maybe you two weren’t together but he could feel your presence thanks to this item.

You went to another ultrasound. Today was the day when you finally found out what the gender of your and John’s kid. To your surprise, you have learned that you’re expecting twins. You cried at this news. You knew that you wouldn't be able to make it by yourself with two kids. At that moment you knew that you had to share this information with John.

Will he be mad at you for keeping this from him?

Would he even pick up the phone?

You pushed the thoughts and called him when you got back home.

“Hi John” You said not trusting her voice.

“Oh, hello” He was surprised to hear your voice but also he was delighted.

“I need to tell you something but promise me, you won’t get mad at me”

“Okay…” He was confused.

“I… I’m pregnant or more likely we’re pregnant. I’m 20 weeks pregnant and we’re gonna have twins” John stayed quiet for a minute before you spoke again. “Please say something” You started crying. You felt like it was a bad idea to call.

“I don’t really know what to say. I didn't expect this news”

“Look, if you don’t want to have to do anything with them…” Before you could finish, John said.

“That’s not what I said. Did you really think I’ll let you be by yourself with this? I just don’t know how to react. I mean, I’m happy but we’re far away from each other. You are in New York and I’m in Salt Lake City” He said.

“If it’s not a problem for you, I can move to Salt Lake City. My contract will expire before I give birth so I’m free” You felt bad for even proposing this but you knew it’s the best for the kids.

“Yeah, sure. Umm, do you need help with moving here? I’m still in rehabilitation so I can ask the coach for a free week and explain to him the situation” He proposed.

“I don’t want to cause you problems, especially since you had a back injury”

“Let me help you… Please”

“Okay” You said softly.

“Start packing and I’ll be as fast as I can. Be careful and don’t lift heavy things”

“Understood. Also, thank you Johnny” He hasn't said anything back, just smiled when he hung up.

Months went by. You are eight months pregnant now. John was more than supportive to you. It was tough after he came back to playing but he tried his best. He went to every ultrasound with you and was taking care of everything. Still, you were only friends. None of you brought up the conversation about being back together. All of it felt so natural and you two didn’t want to ruin it.

Unexpectedly, you started giving birth two weeks before the due date. John was in a different state at that time. You called him and he tried to be as fast as possible with you. Unfortunately, he missed the birth but he was there with you to choose the names. Real problem started when the nurse asked for the last name.

“I know that we are not together but I would love them to have my last name” John said.

“But I want them to have my last name” You responded.

“They should have their father’s last name”

“Says who?” You felt offended.

“Says almost everyone”

“Johnny, you said that we are not together so I think they can have my last name”

“What if we get back together?” He asked.

“What? You can’t be serious right now”

“I am. I still love you and I would love to be back with you. I never brought this conversation because I was the one who ended things between us but I’m willing to have this talk now”

“Oh thank God!” You said.

“What does it supposed to mean?” He asked confused.

“It means that I still love you and would love to try again” He smiled widely at your words.

“Can we come back to the part where you are my fiancée or do I have to propose again?”

“You don’t have to propose again” You laughed.

“So, the kids are taking my last name right?”

“Only if I can take it too”

“With pleasure” John leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was full of emotion but also the beginning of a new chapter.

2026

You and John were already married. You never returned to work. You decided to sacrifice your life to raise the kids. Although, it wasn’t the only reason why you haven’t come back to work or even searched for one. The real reason was the fact that you were pregnant again. This time with John by your side through all the journey. All pregnancy went smoothly and after nine months, you two welcomed your third kid to the world.

Your relationship wasn’t the easiest one but you two were definitely soulmates. From an unexpected meeting in one of the bars in Pittsburgh, later to moving on to New Jersey and thereafter to a long distance relationship and break up. Just to end up together because of the miracle of pregnancy.

You and John have never been happier.

#john marino #john marino x reader #john marino imagine #john marino fanfiction #john marino au #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #utah hockey club #the trilogy of love #v' work

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