#livin' a lie

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Livin' a Lie

Summary: Dean thinks he’s doing the right thing, believes it’s for the best. Still, he struggles to let go, even when he overhears that you’ve moved on with someone new.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Dean being Dean; Language; Mentions of smut; Canon divergence.

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 2,318

Pulling out of Jody’s hug, Dean’s eyes scan the room.

“She’s not coming,” Jody says, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“I wasn’t-” The mom look she gives him cuts him off. She knows. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

The monthly get-togethers had started a while back at Jody’s insistence. He and Sam hadn’t been able to make it last month, and he was hoping… Well, he doesn’t know what he was hoping for, not sure if the flood of emotion is unmitigated relief or agonizing disappointment.

“How are you?”

“Good. I’m good,” he lies. He’s so far from good he doesn’t even know how to explain it. “You?”

Jody lets the lie slide this time. “The girls haven’t killed each other yet, and no one is pregnant. So, I’m taking the win.” Patting him on the arm, she steps around him to hug Sam. 

“Who’s manning the grill?” It’s a safe enough subject. Or so he thought.

“Garth.” Jody chuckles.

“Oh, hell no! I like some pink, but I don’t want my meat still mooing.” He takes off in the direction of the backyard to save their meal.

A couple of hours later, everyone sated with good food and the alcohol of their choice for those old enough; the group lounges around the fire pit, making s'mores, sharing stories, and enjoying each other’s company.

Dean excuses himself to take a leak. Returning from the bathroom, he heads toward the kitchen to sneak another slice of pie but stops short upon hearing Alex.

“Dean looks hap- well… like he’s doing okay. You think it’s just a cover?”

“Hard to tell. He went home with some waitress a couple of weeks back.” Sam overshares, and Dean can visualize the disapproving bitch face and condescending roll of his eyes. 

“Really?” Donna tosses out. “He back to his old habits? Or, ah y’ know, just trying to drown his sorrows ‘cause he still loves her?”

Of course, I still love her! Do they honestly think I could ever stop?  

“Honestly, I don’t think he ever stopped. He probably loves her more than ever. Even if he refuses to talk about it.”

That’s because it’s none of your goddamn business, little brother. Sharing my feelings like we’re in some chick flick ain’t gonna change anything.

There is no way in hell he will ever tell Sam that all he did was drop the waitress off at her home—walked her to the door, waited until she was safely inside, then left. Instead of going back to the motel to put up with more of Sam’s whiny nagging, he’d parked on an old dirt track and spent the night in Baby, dreaming about her, trying to recapture even the tiniest scrap of happiness. 

“Have you talked to her?” Sam asks.

Oh shit, what if it gets back to her about the waitress?

He hadn’t given any thought to it becoming a rumor that might make its way back to her. 

Sam and his stupid big mouth. 

Flirting with that woman had been a means to an end, an old habit resurfacing to disguise his misery and to stop Sam’s perpetual insistence to call and make things right or let go and move on.

Dean refuses to call. The threat is even bigger than before. There’s no moving on, either. The memories that haunt him are no longer of his time in the pit but of the hell of losing her. Every time he closes his eyes, she’s there—the warmth of her body, her sweet scent, the whisper of her voice, the taste of her lips. All of it was a reminder of what a thickheaded fool he was to push her away... to hurt her the way he did. 

“Yeah. She’s moving next week. Cooper asked her to-”

Throat closing around a lump of guilt and pain, he stumbles forward—guilt for treating her the way he did and pain for the finality of knowing that he will never be able to call her ‘mine’ again.

He needs air, the open road.

Striding toward the front door, he hollers over his shoulder to no one in particular that he’ll be back later. Not waiting for a response, he’s outside and backing out of the driveway in a matter of seconds, speeding toward the clearing by the lake a few miles away. The sound of Baby’s engine helps to ease muscles held tight with tension and soothe the anger raging in his soul.

She’d shared what she had dubbed Stargazer’s Loch with him a few years back. He’d shown up at Jody’s after a bad hunt, and she’d been there recovering from a hunting injury of her own. She’d brought him out here, told him it was her sanctuary, a place of peace and inspiration. It was the night he’d admitted to himself that he was falling in love with her.  

They’d run into each other several times before, worked a few cases together, and had fun hanging out, playing darts, or hustling drunk locals out of their hard-earned cash at pool, but he’d never ‘gone for it’ with her. Something about her was different. He felt different around her. He had never wanted her to be just another notch on his bedpost. It had taken him a while, but at this lake, is where he first told her he was in love with her. 

Not until he’s lying on the hood, back against the windshield and staring at the stars, does he let his mind wander and the tears fall. The months had dragged on, but with years of experience under his belt, he shoved down the regret and loneliness, locking it away with all the other crap. He can put on a good show for others with a smile plastered on his face and a nonchalant attitude. Yet, there are still times, usually when he is relaxed, guard down, like tonight, they rise to the surface like a tidal wave.

He’d heard things about her in passing from other hunters—She looked happy. Saw her in Chicago outside a museum, dressed for some fancy event… Colorado… New York… California—but nothing about another guy. She’s obviously traveling a lot, but no one seems to know what she’s doing. He knows she’s not hunting, though. Anyone who had spoken with her said she wouldn’t assist with anything beyond what she knew of the lore. Said that she’d told them, ‘I’m not a hunter.’ His harsh accusation echoed back to him.

How could he have said that to her? She was a great hunter—an exquisite balance of book and street smarts, keen instinct, skill, and heart. He’s glad she’s not hunting, though. She’s safer and seemingly happier. It’s what he wanted for her. She’s better off without him. He just wishes his heart had gotten the message.

Absentmindedly reaching for a hand that’s no longer there, finding only cold metal, his chest seizes, and he chokes on a sob. Fuck, he misses her. Of all the idiotic things he’s done over the years, forcing her away ranks the highest. He wishes he could tell her that it was all a lie. He figures she knows. He simply had given her no choice. 

Folding his hands on his stomach, he does nothing to curb the surge of tears streaming from his eyes. There’s no reason to repair the dam with no one around to suffer the flood. So he lets the groundswell of memories wash over him.

“The porch?” Delicate fingers traced along his temple, curling behind his ear, thumb strumming over his cheekbone.

“Wrap-around,” a quick peck to her palm, “a porch swing facing a lake so we can watch the thunderstorms in the spring and the leaves change in the fall. Rocking chairs for when we get old.”

She laughed. “You? Sitting in a rocking chair? Doing nothing? I don’t care how old you are. I don’t buy it.”

“As long as you’re next to me, I can do anything.” 

It had become a post-bad hunt ritual. They would lie in bed, the back of the Impala, or, weather permitting, beneath the stars, usually naked but always wrapped in each other’s arms, and talk about where they would live, the home he would build for her when they got out. A way to escape the current reality of their life. The thin thread of hope they clung to while holding tight to each other.

“In the mountains, away from everyone. In the winter, we’ll hole up and hibernate like bears. In the summer, we’ll go skinny dipping in the lake.”

Soft lips, breath moist and hot against his ear. “With no one else around, we could stay naked all the time.”

“I like how you think.” He’d taken her then, on top of the old fleece in the middle of a field lit only by firefly glow and a sky pin holed by stars. Gentle and slow, teasing out moans and getting drunk on every whimper and sigh she surrendered to him.

He’d had the perfect property in mind, Rufus’ old safe house in Montana. They could fix it-it up exactly how they wanted. He’d never mentioned it, though, before everything fell apart. He’d wanted to surprise her, check into actually purchasing it, and start renovations.

Hell, he’d even fantasized about proposing, down on one knee in front of the refurbished home when he told her to remove the blindfold. But with each new hunt, the threat grew bigger and badder, the burden to save innocent lives grew exponentially, and the struggle to keep those he cared about safe and alive became an almost impossible endeavor. So he pushed—shoved—her out of his life and away from danger.

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in my old room tonight.”

“No. I want you to pack your things and get out of the bunker. I’m tired of having to rescue you. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to try and keep you from getting yourself killed all the time.”

“Rescue me?! You didn’t rescue me. I killed that bitch before you even got to me. You’re being an asshole! How-”  She’d cut herself off, tilted her head, and huffed, “huh.”  Eyes narrowed, she’d clicked her tongue. “I get it. I know what you’re doing, and I’m not leaving. You’re scared. Afraid that something will happen to me. You can’t make me hate you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I can make you do. Hate me or not, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, “I don’t want you here. You’re not a hunter. You’re a liability.”

The forceful harshness he put behind the words, the way he had sarcastically called her sweetheart, drawing himself up to tower over her, had made her stumble in shock, gripping the desk for support as she bumped into it.

He’ll never be able to dislodge the memory of utter devastation drenched in sorrow—exhale of disbelief, trembling bottom lip, the twitch of her eye as tears gathered on her lashes—right before it was all hidden behind a stoic mask. Once she had steeled herself against his acerbity, she didn’t plead or yell, didn’t try to change his mind with honey-drenched words or soft touches. No harsh discourse left her lips. 

The calm acceptance she’d radiated had been unexpected, and a shiver caressed his spine. He’d felt relief and disappointment within the same heartbeat. He’d wanted her to be angry, curse the day she met him and walk out to never look back, but she hadn’t.

After the initial pause, he’d understood what she was doing. She had always tried to ease his burdens whenever possible, and even then, when her heart was most likely as broken and battered as his, she had still wanted to make it less difficult for him. It hadn’t lessened any of the pain.

“I love you.” 

That was it. Nothing else. Stared him dead in the eye, standing tall and creating an imposing figure of her own. Three words, filled with so much promise and hope, nearly broke his resolve.

Instead, he spat, “Yeah, well, sucks to be you,” and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Two steps into the hallway, the sensation of his heart being ripped from his chest made him stumble and press a hand against the cold tile to stay upright. Unlike in hell, there was a finality to it. There would be no rejuvenation. He wouldn’t wake up the following day and be whole again; he’d be left with a void in his chest for the rest of his days.

It nearly had him turning around to fall on his knees in front of her, beg for forgiveness, and plead with her never to leave him.

He reminded himself why he was doing this. He couldn’t keep her safe. The target on her back would only continue to grow the longer she stayed with him. The next step was painful, forced, but with each subsequent footfall, his pace quickened until he sprinted through the garage and spun Baby’s tires as he hauled ass away from the bunker… from her… from the self-inflicted misery.

Even though he’d driven for hours, returning just before sunrise, he’d yearned to find her still there, waiting—her anger, her stubbornness, her love, refusing to let her leave. He’d suffer anything she threw at him, every angry word, every slap, kick, or punch hurled, just to see her.

As soon as the Impala’s front tires had hit the concrete, brutal misery encompassed him. The space where she’d kept her truck was empty, as hollow as his chest. 

He’d sat in the car for a long time cycling through the stages of grief, never reaching the final one. He has to accept it now, though, right? She’s moving in with some guy. A guy that’s not him.

He waited too long. Too afraid, too ashamed to contact her.

Part Two

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[frnkiebby]

frank pls.~🎃

[luminous-faerie]

making an agathario playlist but for every song i add the more pain i feel

[panb1mbo]

silly lil' thought dump cause i'm still here, wanna reply to messages + asks but movin' just takes FOREVER and massive amounts of energy my disabled ass definitely did not have but used anyway:

i'm challenging myself to make a digital wardrobe + tryna use more pieces in my closet so today i dressed like some bougie ballerina with the forest green leo + wide-leg leggings and vintage gold jewelry. get this, the jewelry pieces are all multigenerational family heirlooms cause i inherited SO MANY in the move + i want to make a habit of wearing jewelry more often. i feel a weird sense of satisfaction reclaiming these little pieces of history from people who, to put it simply, i most likely would not fuck with if they were alive today. especially considering i don't fuck with several folks who are alive + related to my husband as is. seeing these bits of my husband's family history discarded with such little care has been so odd. back to my outfit, the main star of the show. i put this dragonfly pin and a locket pin on my leggings to accentuate my hips ( 〃．．) and i'm honorin' my southern belle roots bc i'm wearing this pretty little cross ring, a pearl ring, and a bracelet that looks like a tiny gold belt with a buckle as the clasp. i look so good. the outfit is so cute. and oh my lord am i getting dance studio flashbacks. the drill team practices. the pom poms. the heat and the mosquitos on the football fields. bless my heart. i don't know how or why i ever did it. my arm feels itchy.

[citylighten]

I think if Sink or Swim was a GTA game there would be an option like

(a) Kill Goodlove's Brother (b) Walk away from Goodlove's Brother

[jasonsthunderthighs]

Wish I had friends.

[kyliejcnncr-archived]

new tag dump do not like or reblog if you aren't apart of hollywood fame rp.

[cassiefisherdrake]

I've been playing sporadically because Life, but when I do, man. It's just as good as I remember. I end up playing it for hours and hours at a time. When I do finally log off, I just wanna go back and keep playing it. The gameplay is just so good. I still have my tiny complaints, but it feels great to play again - I'm already back in Novigrad and going on quests with Triss!

I'm starting a replay of the Witcher 3, which I haven't played since my first and only nearly 200hr-long playthrough in 2018. I'm excited to return and hope it's as fun as I remember.

[princessbrunette]

i just love scolding rafe whenever he does something mean to a pouge, just making him sit on the couch and then standing in front of him with a frown on my face and scolding him

౨ৎ🐇 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

deep down, he thought it was adorable when you got like this. all huffy and puffy, sitting him down like you had any real authority and telling him off. you really think he’s gonna take some little ass girls advice, stood there with your arms crossed over that tiny floral sundress, stomping your kitten heels at him? nah. but he’d listen anyway, ‘cos he was a good boyfriend.

“its totally outdated, rafe. you can’t be mean to someone purely based on the fact they’re from a different side of the island! they’re people!” you ramble, stood infront of him with your palms splayed stressfully by your sides.

he sits on the couch at tannyhill infront of you, relaxed into this seat, arms crossed over his chest and legs spread as wide as would be physically comfortable. “i don’t expect you to understand the dynamics—” he begins in a slow and disinterested drawl, his eyes fluttering and jaw tensing in irritation when you interrupt him to continue.

“its classist. rafe, i know the real you. you’re nice deep down. but you’re acting like a bully lately and i don’t like it! i have pogue friends, you know that— and, and i’m not ashamed of it either.” you stick your chin up, pouty and proud like a cartoon baby kitten and he rolls his eyes, licking his lips as he shakes his head. if anyones out of touch, it’s you.

“deep down? i’m nice deep down. alright, okay— so i suppose me putting endless amounts of money on your card and decking you out with whatever shoes it is you want that week is… what? mean? that makes me the bad guy?” he tilts his head, squinting at you and for a second he thinks you might back down. he doesn’t seem genuinely angry like he’s going to explode on you, just tired of the conversation and having to make his point.

“thats… not what im talking about rafe, you know i’m grateful.” you toe at the carpet, huffing out guiltily making him shrug carelessly, wanting to hurry things along.

“okay so… spit it out. c’mon.” he exhales, sinking back into the couch, gesturing for you to go on with it.

“so, from now on— you are not to pick on harmless pogues who did nothing to you. it’s unkind and it makes me upset.” you state your point, folding your arms and standing up straight. a smirk twitches at his lip.

“or, okay— hear me out here, you keep livin’ your girly little carefree life and you let me handle things the way i handle them. yeah?” he raises his eyebrows like he expected you to agree and you deflate, puffing out your bottom lip.

“rafe.” you whinge.

“baby.” he tilts his head mockingly, using the same tone as you.

“can you try? atleast?” you stress, and just wanting the conversation to end he rolls his eyes theatrically, nodding his head with his lips pressed in a thin line.

“alright, whatever. now come here, would you?” he holds his arms out to pull you onto his lap and you decide his wishy-washy promise was good enough, happily skipping over.

“yay.” you smile, victoriously and he huffs out a chuckle.

“always somethin’ with you huh? keep you fucked and fed and you still got shit to say. good thing i’m so patient, right?” he smirks, tickling your waist making you giggle. to call him patient would be an outright lie, but you were too giddy to bring that up.

౨ৎ🐇 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[bambisnc]

-> riize .🗄⊹ ▷

s.es 🪨 ೀ⋆.˚ college bf!eunseok 🍪 waking up eunseok on his birthday <3 🍧 him as hindi songs 🍪

j.sc 🐸 ೀ⋆.˚ he's the one that's livin' in my system baby! [roommate series]🥮 you got mail~! 🥮[valentines' 2024] #trapped in a ferris wheel cabin with a cute stranger ?! [smau] 🥮yet to be started! nobody knows 🍧 raspberry lip gloss 🍧 road trips w him 🍪 13.41 🍭

p.wb 🎸 ೀ⋆.˚ 00.57 🍭 you attack my heart~! 🍧 03.24 🍧 vacation w childhood bsf!wonbin 🍧 she's so gone 🍧 him as hindi songs 🍪

h. sh 🫧 ೀ⋆.˚ midnight grocery store runs 🍭 him as hindi songs 🍪

l.ch 🦕 ೀ⋆.˚ seatmate!anton 🍪

ot7 ೀ⋆.˚ lie with you - them comforting u when u cry bc of a nightmare 🍪 ok! - group projects w them 🍪 zero - the italicised oh moment w them 🍪 fairy of shampoo - holding hands w them 🍪 operation : true love - how likely they are to NOT confess 🍪 whispers of sealook high - an otome choose your own ending au! 🥮 magnetic - when they have a crush on you 🍪 them at a mehndi! 🍪 them when they see you in desi clothes! 🍪

[🍧drabble 🥮 series 🍰 oneshot 🍪 headcanon 🍭 blurb ]

back to record store?

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Daryl's head ached as he came back to consciousness. He was immediately aware of being constricted by rough ropes around his wrists, tying him to a support beam of some kind. He took stock of his surroundings. He was still in what he had thought was an abandoned building.

Then his eyes landed on you, seated on the floor and leaning against another support, a pistol in your hand. He was surprised to see that your expression was more curious than hostile at the moment.

"Do you usually go around kicking down stranger's front doors?" you asked him.

He had to clear his throat before he talked. It felt dry. "Didn't know somebody was livin' here. I was just scavengin'."

"Mmm," you frowned, considering him carefully.

Daryl's shoulders were pulled uncomfortably back to accommodate his bonds and he shifted. The muscles burned and ached "If ya untie me, I'll leave and ya won't ever see me again. I swear."

"I find that people generally pay more attention to what I'm saying when they're tied up. So, I think I'll leave them on for now while we hash a few things out." You climbed steadily up to your feet. "Did he send you? And don't lie. I'll know if you do."

Daryl's brow furrowed and it shadowed the brilliant blues of his irises. "Nobody sent me. I told ya. I was just scavengin. Tha's it."

You stared at him for a long moment.

He stared back. "What d'ya mean you'll know if I do?" he drawled.

You paced toward him, withdrawing a knife from a sheath on your hip. Daryl shied away, pressing his back into the beam behind him, his face tensing. But to his surprise, you simply cut the bonds and released him. He shook the ropes off and rubbed his wrists.

"Don't worry about it," you said, putting your knife away. "You were telling the truth.

Prompt: "I find that people generally pay more attention to what I'm saying when they're tied up."

[r-misa]

Maybe I’m just paranoid Or maybe I’m just livin’ a lie Can’t stop this screamin’ voice Or maybe I’m just sick inside

[2demondogs]

You Could Do Anything | Kieran/Reader

Tags: Love confession in his own bittersweet way, first kiss, shotgunning, gender-neutral reader Word Count: 1k A/N: Quick fill for Kinktober. It is SFW tho. Stream Blew.

Kieran bummed enough cigarettes off of you the past week that you bought him his own pack. He acted like you'd gave him a lock of your hair, grinning big and dumb. Lucky cigarettes were a new concept to him, and he insisted you turn the first one because it feels like it means somethin'.

"Two luckies," he said. "Makes us twice as lucky!"

Nevermind that they weren't so much for luck as a promise, or that no one had ever made him that promise before.

Maybe it does mean something.

That sweet boy seems far away, now. It's late, sure, and you've met him on the riverbank outside the Outlook more than once in the past week — so clearly he isn't sleeping too well.

"Sometimes I wonder why I keep on livin'," Kieran is saying, flicks the built-up ash off his cigarette and onto the grass and sand between his boots. His knees are curled up to his chest, resting easily in the arm that curls around his shins yet still pressed protectively over his vitals. "'S like life wants me to find somethin'... go somewhere."

For his difficulty finding them, he's awful fine with words when he wants to be. You can tell he's been thinking more lately, running the same-old, same-old through his head over and over in a way unlike himself.

You accept it when he offers you the smoke, the man watching the moon cast shadows over your form as you take a drag. His eyes sting the skin of your hand and cheek, burning with the need to express... something.

Normally, his emotions are easy to read from his face. Kieran has been through so much, yet he never has learned how to hide. Or maybe he has always trusted you in some pre-destined way that neither of you cared to resist, and you've learned his language on accident; either way, all you can see in the twitching of his mouth and eyes is uncertainty.

"What do you think that is?" You ask, handing the cigarette back. His fingers linger.

"Dunno," he admits, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. It sounds like a lie. He looks over the water, the ripples drawn on the surface by rascal fish every now and then, and you follow his gaze. "Jus' seems funny, lookin' back. Ma 'n' Pa die, but I don't? Then everyone else keeps dyin', 'n' I don't. Not even when Arthur had me at the wrong end of his barrel." He makes a face, glances around as if checking that every rock is in the same place as a few seconds ago. "Gotta be some— purpose 'bout me."

You nod, pressing a thumb to your lips. "I think there is," you say after a moment. What you really want to say is: you've got something good inside you, Kieran, something unsoiled.

Kieran goes quiet with the cigarette perched between his lips and you fear scaring him off with that intensity. Smoke comes out of his nostrils with each breath. You're somewhat impressed that he can already handle so much tobacco in and out at once. He told you never smoked much, too broke to buy and too unliked to bum.

Watching his face again instead of the night, his eyes look tired, bagged heavily. You want nothing more than to reach out and touch his hair, to smooth your hand down his freckled neck and bring his head to your chest.

Something about him always triggers this instinct to protect. He can hold his own, but does he really deserve to need to?

What is—

Shit, what is love if not this overwhelming need to carry the weight for someone else?

Kieran turns as you're studying him, his face flickering through a reel of feelings before settling on one familiar, yet unnamed. He opens his mouth and plucks the smoke from his lips in one smooth movement, then pauses before speaking; green eyes glaze over with sudden inhibition looking at yours, then break away to study his own fingers and how they hold the orange filter of the cigarette.

"Thinking so hard you forgot what it was?" You tease, brows raised.

His laughter is nervous, cheeks rosy as you lean in closer. He glances up. "Thinkin' was gettin' hard, in fact," he says, takes a drag and rubs the back of his neck.

Ash falls as he does it, and you reach over to brush it off the back of his coat. It happens as quickly as the gray stuff fell and smeared its mark down the dark fabric beneath your fingertips: his hand loops around your wrist and he breaths hard before he is breathing you, those exhausted eyes softened with affection and inches from your own, wide with amused surprise.

Heat finds your face even before he quickly takes another drag — to boost his confidence, probably not even thinking it through — and smoke is half-exhaled into your mouth as his presses to yours in a sloppy attempt at shotgunning you a suave first kiss. Your spine itches with the gesture, as poorly executed as it is.

Yanking his hand towards you by your captured wrist, you grab his scruffy jaw in the other to keep him close. He tastes like tobacco and something metallic; he needs to eat more, tastes like empty. Lips part and brush as you retreat enough to let the smoke wisp from between your faces, lashes tickling each other.

The cigarette falls to the ground, his eyes roaming over your face in a near-panicky search. Kieran is looking at you like he's just killed you and doesn't know what to do with the body — he seems to have used all his confidence in one fell swoop, the air tangible with how his brain flounders as you press a second, short kiss to his lips.

"I— I think..." he begins, voice shakey with the sheer force behind it. He leans back, clears his throat and takes another hard breath. "Think you're part of it. That somethin'. You know?"

Your chest feels squeezed. "Yes," you say. "I do know."

[honey-minded-hivemind]

The X-Men try appealing to Gambit in the spirit realm the dozenth time by telling him what exactly would happen if they were able to bring him and Reader back:

Gambit: .... what...

Scott, Jean, and Hank: Yes... if Reader came back, they'd be human, a mutant, like us...

Gambit: ...

Logan: It'll be ok, Gumbo... ya an' the kid would just be gettin' newer bodies, 's all

Gambit: ... how ...?

Hank: Well, it was quite the discovery! You see, we found a set of caves below our new home, which can grow bodies and remake those who have passed on or are in dire need of healing! It is very fascinating-

Rogue: Sugah, ya could be human again! Alive again! Don't ya want that? Don't ya think Reader would like that? For once, they could actually feel things, experience food and laughter and livin'! They'd be free from Bastion and Sinister! Please, sugah... we wouldn't lie about this...

Kurt: Mein freund, it is true... You vould both be safe... Bastion is gone, and ve have a new home now... No more running, or hiding, or vorrying... Ve're at peace now...

Gambit: ...

Also awhile beforehand in the Afterlife void realm-

Reader and Gambit: 😍🥰

Boo the Ghost Kitten: 🥰🐱🐾💕

Boo: mews and snuggles into their hands

Reader and Gambit: 🥺😭☺

[b4ddprincess]

the thing that scares me more than anything in the world is what all of these success stories "i manifested a boyfriend!" and "i manifested weight loss" are just pure coincidence and could be explained in a logical way, and what if law of assumption is fake and neville goddard tried to sell a product that he never even believed in? i hope you don't take this as harm on you, i don't mean to harm you i just lately see these basic "success stories" and think to myself what if this is all a lie? we have zero proof that are hard cold and factual only "succes stories" of people behind anon mask.

tht's called doubts luv. and a lot of us had it before, but whether u believe in manifesting or not, it's still 10000% real. the void state is a state of consciousness believers and non-believers can induce.

how can you explain an overnight 60-lbs weight loss logically? how can you explain people's faces suddenly becoming different overnight without swelling and scars logically?

it's all about what you accept and persist!

trust me when i tell u tht the law of assumption is 100% real and neville's teachings aren't in vain!

we have zero proof that are hard cold and factual only "success stories" of people behind anon mask.

those anons want their ✨️ privacy ✨️. sumthing a lot of people don't respect nowadays! and when y'all do get proof, y'all over-analyse pictures, say they're fake, make up a bunch of theories and chase ppl off tumblr cuz it's too much for bloggers to handle, and ask yourselves why ppl don't show proof?

why do people feel so obligated to be so deeply involved in other's lives dawgg 😔 they livin their dream lives at peace and y'all on the other end tryna be all detective over a success story?? 😭😭

i mean yea, there has been a lot of fake success stories in the past. those ppl just want attention. but the rest of success stories are 1000% real!

i've manifested quite a few things myself using loass: txts from my sps, food, money and high marks in sum subjects, but other than tht i feel more comfortable with wanting to manifest as pure consciousness.

(srry for the lil rant at the end 😔)

[pssp-lore]

Stellar Parallax Troll Call No 4: GALEOC CUVIER (Gale for short) * He/Him

[Opens Scottish slang dictionary] AHEM

This lichtsome wee lad is nae fandan such as the other prissy princes, livin’ lie lane undersea (wit his hefty serving of a Da gobblin’ up any would-be explorers). He's no' a stranger to a braw bit o’ larkie— Okay I’m not doing this bit anymore

Socially inept little boy who lives in a pine-castle under the sea, trying desperately to fix his crazy mutant ass before the 9 sweep deadline.

[Transcript of text on card and credits under the cut]

- Curiosity killed the catfish

- Rapunzel Syndrome

- IPad Baby

* Art by @neon-chemicals * Read the comic @stellarparallaxcomic