#manifest your ex back while you sleep

[miaaaxxz]

Bush Man | CL16

summary: It was supposed to be an ordinary night.Just a walk home after the club, the familiar silence of Monaco in the early hours. But then you found him. In your bush.And nothing about that night or the morning was normal. word count: 1.2K

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader

NOT PROOFREAD

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After another race where Ferrari had managed to screw him over , again, Charles Leclerc flew back to Monaco with a head full of noise and no desire to hear anyone’s voice but his own.

Summer break had officially started, but instead of rest, he felt hollow. Drained. Like something inside him had burned out quietly while no one was looking.

He didn’t even unpack. He just threw on a jacket, grabbed his wallet, and left the apartment. No plans, no texts. He needed to not think. So he went where thinking was nearly impossible: a club.

The lights were too bright. The music too loud.

He hadn’t meant to drink that much , a couple shots, just to take the edge off. But the edge only grew sharper. The music blurred into a hum, the voices faded into static, and at some point, the idea of staying in that room, in that body, became unbearable.

So he left. Alone. Jacket forgotten somewhere. Phone slipping in and out of his hand. His steps unsteady as he wandered through the warm streets of Monaco, passing bars, cafés, glowing storefronts he’d known since childhood.

He didn’t know where he was going.But eventually, he saw it. A patch of green. A quiet little garden in front of someone’s house. And for some reason it looked inviting.

So Charles Leclerc, Formula 1 driver, Ferrari’s golden boy, collapsed into a bush like it was a luxury mattress.

જ⁀➴

You had just said goodbye to your best friend at the corner of the street, the two of you walking home from a night out that was supposed to last one drink and ended five hours later. Typical.

Lina lived a few houses down. You were staying at your aunt’s place for the summer, which thankfully wasn’t far. She made sure you got to the front gate before turning back, still talking about some guy in the club who had danced.

“Text me when you get in” she grinned.

“Only if you promise not to drunk-message your ex again.”

You waved her off with a lazy smirk and headed inside. Within minutes you were out of your dress and into the comfiest t-shirt you owned. The one with the slightly faded print and sleeves you always rolled twice.

You had just sat on the edge of the bed when your phone lit up.

Lina. Again.You frowned, picking up.

“I don’t wanna scare you or anything, but I think you have a Charles Leclerc in your bush.”

You blinked. “…I have a what in my bush?”

“A man. In your garden. And he looks exactly like Charles freaking Leclerc. Like... Monaco’s price. Ferrari golden boy"

You sighed. “You’re drunk. Lina, babe, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just manifest men into existence.”

“I’m dead serious. Come outside right now. Bring a flashlight. Or a bat. I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

She hung up.

Still half-convinced this was some sleep-deprived prank, you shoved your feet into the first pair of slides you could find and tiptoed down the stairs of your aunt’s house. The summer air in Monaco was heavy and warm, humming faintly with the remnants of club music from the hill above.

Lina stood dead still near the front hedge, phone flashlight trained at something just beyond the leaves.

“There. Look,” she whispered dramatically. “I swear is him”

You squinted. There was definitely someone in the bush. A figure lay curled up awkwardly in the bushes, one shoe missing, hair a chaotic mess, muttering low curses in French.

“…Oh my God,” you breathed.

“Right?” Lina hissed. “Tell me that’s not him.”

You angled your phone light closer to his face.

Brown eyes squinted open, immediately scrunching shut again. He groaned.

“Putain de lumière… qu’est-ce que c’est…”

Yep. That was him.

That was Monaco’s golden boy. Passed out in your shrubbery.And definitely very drunk.

“What do we do? Call someone?” you whispered, panic rising. “Ferrari? A manager? The Pope?”

Lina looked down at him, then at you. “You want me to call Ferrari and say ‘Hi, your driver’s in my garden and it's look like he's dying'"?

“I don’t know!” you hissed. “Check if he has his phone or something.”

She leaned down, carefully patting his pockets while trying not to fall over.

“Found it!” Lina pulled out a sleek phone completely black.

“…It’s dead.”

Of course.

You both stared at each other for a long moment, like you were in the middle of some weird alternate universe.

“What now?” Lina asked.

You glanced down at him again. He groaned, rolling slightly, trying to find a comfortable position in the shrubbery.

“…We drag him inside.”

“What?”

“We can’t just leave him in a bush, Lina!”

“I’m not dragging an unconscious Formula 1 driver into the house like it’s normal!”

You sighed. “Help me with his legs.”

Lina groaned. “This is how people end up on the news.”

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Lina hissed, practically folded in half as she tried to lift Charles by the shoulders.

You had one arm under his knees and another gripping the back of his now grass-covered shirt. “Why is he so floppy?”

“Because he’s unconscious. And a man.”

You adjusted your stance, your sock sliding slightly on the tile as you both finally dragged him through the front door. He groaned low in his throat, head lolling against Lina’s shoulder.

“Shhh,” you whispered instinctively, though no one else was home.

Your aunt had left for Nice that weekend, a spontaneous getaway with her best friend.

“I think my spine just snapped,” Lina muttered as you both half-carried, half-dragged Charles into the living room and awkwardly maneuvered him toward the couch.

“I think my soul just left my body.”

You bumped his legs against the coffee table on the way. He barely flinched. Just let out another dramatic groan in slurred French and melted deeper into your grip.

“Almost there,” you breathed, sweat prickling the back of your neck.

With one final push, the two of you managed to drop him gently, but not gracefully onto the couch. He slumped sideways, one arm flopping dramatically off the edge.

You both stood back, panting.

Lina placed her hands on her hips. “Well. That’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to Charles Leclerc’s thighs.”

You gave her a flat look.

She smirked. “Too soon?”

You walked over, grabbed the soft grey throw blanket from the armchair, and unfolded it.

“Help me roll him.”

“What are we, paramedics?”

“Shut up and lift.”

Between the two of you, you managed to get him somewhat properly positioned head on the pillow, legs stretched out, arms tucked in enough to not dangle off the sides.

You pulled the blanket over him, tucking it slightly around his shoulders, then stepped back and stared at the scene.

Charles Leclerc.Formula 1 driver.Sleeping like a tranquilized bear in your aunt’s house.

“What even is my life right now?” you muttered.

Lina flopped onto the armchair. “Honestly? I don’t know, but I think I love it.”

Eventually, Lina stood up and stretched. “I should go before I start making questionable choices.”

You walked her to the door. “Thanks for helping me not drop him on the front steps.”

She winked and disappeared into the night.

You closed the door behind her, locked it, then turned back to the couch.

Charles was still fast asleep, mouth parted slightly, one hand now curled under the pillow like he’d always belonged there.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, watching him for a moment that lasted longer than it should’ve.

Then you muttered to yourself, “Tomorrow is going to be weird.”

જ⁀➴

Sunlight poured gently through the curtains, casting long stripes of gold across the wooden floor.

The apartment was still. Quiet. Still half-asleep.Until a soft, muffled groan broke the silence.

Charles stirred on the couch, head sinking deeper into the pillow before lifting suddenly, his brow furrowed, lips dry and slightly parted.

His body ached. His mouth tasted like regret. And his brain? Foggy. Useless.

He blinked against the light, squinting as he tried to figure out... anything.

This wasn’t his house.This wasn’t anyone’s house he recognized.

He sat up slowly, groaning again as the blanket slipped off his chest.

The first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar living room: warm-toned walls, a throw blanket now puddled in his lap, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the air.

The second thing he noticed... was you.

Curled up in the armchair across the room, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, a half-full mug resting on your knee. You looked like you’d just woken up too, hair messily tied up, but your eyes were fully on him.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

A tense beat passed.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to remember how he’d ended up here.

He opened his mouth, voice dry and cracked.

Then, he finally spoke.

“Where am I?”

You stretched and yawned softly, pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You’re at my aunt’s,” you said simply. “She’s away for a few days, so I’m looking after the place.”

Charles blinked, trying to piece together the foggy fragments of last night.

Then the memory hit or at least part of it.

“…Did I…?” he asked, voice hoarse. He gestured between the couch and where you were sitting. “Did we…?”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“No,” you said, lips twitching into a small, amused smile. “ Babe, I just found you in the bush.”

Charles stared at you.

“…Sorry, what?”

“The bush,” you said again, nodding toward the window. “Outside. You were face-down in it. Very committed, honestly.”

He let out a noise half groan, half mortified choke. His hands dragged down his face as if he could wipe away the entire memory.

“Putain…” he muttered, muffled.

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “So no, nothing happened. ”

“God…” he muttered again, now flopping back against the couch, blanket tangled around his legs like it was trying to strangle him out of pity. “Please tell me no one saw that.”

You tilted your head.

“Are you asking if I’m going to tell anyone, or if I’ve already drafted the tweet?”

He cracked one eye open. “Both.”

You smirked. “Depends.”

His brow furrowed. “…On?”

You leaned back, swirling your mug slowly.

“Do I get free paddock passes for life if I keep it a secret?”

His groan echoed through the room as he dropped his head back against the pillow.

“Please don’t blackmail me.”

You grinned. “Too late.”

Another pause.

Then silence again. But this time, a little warmer. He peeked at you from under the blanket.

“I really was in a bush?”

You nodded. “Dead center.”

“…That explains the scratches on my neck.”

“And the bit of leaf still in your hair.”

He reached up immediately, running his fingers through it. You pointed. He missed it. You walked over, leaned down, and gently plucked the small, crumpled green leaf from behind his ear, holding it up like a prize.

“Souvenir?” you asked.

He let out the softest, defeated laugh.

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@luvs4haechan @emneedshelp @thepassionatereader @paaarrriiiii @formula1fordisaster @vinylphwoar @virtualperfectioncat @sltwins @lost-library-of-violets (Tagging based on previous fic! If you don’t wanna be tagged in other future things I post, just lmk 💌 part 5 of Unfinished Business soon)

[huggybug]

red flags - ryan leonard

word count: 4.0 words

note: oh hi, remember me?? it’s been a minute but i’m back! my first time writing in a LONG time so go easy on me <3 manifesting big things for the caps with this one🙂‍↕️

One week.

It had been a week since you watched your boyfriend lose to Denver in the Frozen Four. Well, he was your boyfriend. As of 6 days ago, he was your ex.

You weren’t surprised when Ryan texted you the morning after the game. He had returned to Boston the night before but you were already asleep so waking up to a text from Ryan reading ‘I need to focus on hockey right now. I’m sorry’

You didn’t even bother with a response. It wasn’t necessarily a complete surprise but you also weren’t thrilled. Ryan knew he was moving on to the NHL after this season, it was more a matter of when that would happen. And while you figured long distance might be a bit of a strain, you hadn’t expected your relationship to be ended through a text on a random Monday morning.

Over the past two years, you were known among your friends to have a tumultuous relationship. You were both easily jealous and it caused constant fights. It was never the same thing, it would go back and forth and neither of you were one to back down from a fight. You had to admit it was toxic but despite knowing that, you’d be right back with him within the week every time.

They were playing Michigan State and were there for the whole weekend. You had watched his game in your dorm and as Ryan scored his first goal of the season. When the game ended in a 4-3 loss, you sent your boyfriend a text congratulating him on the goal and condolences on the loss. He only heart reacted to the message but you chalked it up to the loss and let it slide. Ryan usually will call you after a game but you didn’t expect anything after that so you put your phone away and went to sleep.

A couple hours later, you woke up to your phone buzzing and open it to see text after text from a friend from high school who just so happened to go to Michigan State. ‘Isn’t this your boyfriend??’ Followed by a blurry photo of guy standing at a bar. You have to zoom in to see the girl who’s trapped between his arms, facing him with her back to said bar. You sit up in bed, flicking through the other photos your friend sent. One of Ryan bending down to hear whatever the girl is saying, one with him tipping his head back in laughter, and finally one where he’s leaning in for what looks like a kiss. While they’re not actually kissing, it’s not hard to assume that’s what’s about to happen.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you try to figure out what to do. It’s not like you can do much. Ryan’s 12 hours away, making out with a mystery Michigan woman while you’re stuck in your dorm. You quickly answered your friend before switching over to your thread with Ryan. Staring at the message he’d basically ignored from four hours earlier, you’re hitting the call button before you even register it.

“Y/n?” You can barely hear him when he answers but then it gets quieter so you assume he’s stepped outside of whatever bar they’re at. “What’s going on?”

You’re at a loss for words. After a minute of silence, you realize you have nothing to say to him so you hang up. Instead, you copy the photos you were sent and send them to him. Then, you shut your phone off and go back to sleep.

When the team got back to campus the following day, Ryan beelined it to your dorm and when you opened your door to him with lunch from your favourite place and a bouquet of pink tulips, begging for your forgiveness, of course you let him in.

You weren’t sure if you wanted it to stick this time. The past two years had been building up to the excitement of Ryan making to the NHL and you feel like you’d been a small part in that journey so not getting to experience it with him was a little disappointing. However, if that’s what was better for him, so be it. You decided to distract yourself the way you knew best, partying.

Your friends made it their mission to not let you stay home when there was opportunity to go out. You went to bars, frat parties, you name it. And if Ryan happened to see you through peoples stories or posts on social media, that just made it all the better.

Ryan made his NHL debut on the Tuesday and you didn’t watch. You went to a friends house for a games night. He scored his first goal on Friday night, you were at a frat party. The Capitals clinched their playoff spot on the following Tuesday while you were at your favourite bar to watch the Bruins game with your friends.

It had been 8 days since you last spoke to him when the text came through.

Can you be here on the 20th?

You had to check the name three times before you believed it. Ryan Leonard.

You didn’t answer at first, not exactly knowing what to do. Then your phone started to ring. You slid your phone off the table and excused yourself from your friends. Stepping outside of the restaurant, you took a breath before sliding to answer.

“What do you want Ryan?” You answered with an attitude.

“Did you see my text?” He puffed out quickly.

“Yes” You sighed, “Again, what do you want?” You weren’t exactly upset but you were frustrated.

“Well the girls were asking when you’d be able to get here because I guess they want some group picture in the outfits…” Ryan trailed off and left you confused.

“What girls?” You felt like this was a practical joke being played on you. There was not a single hint of your understanding in what he was talking about.

“The fucking wives Y/n. What do you mean what girls?” Ryan huffed and you almost laughed at the fact that he sounded so put out by your confusion.

“Ryan what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The jackets Y/n. They ordered them and now they want to know when you’ll be here to get yours” That made your head spin. First of all, how did they know to order one for Ryan and also why was he now expecting you to come collect it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Y/n. Just answer the question” He was getting mad but you didn’t care.

“No Ryan, tell me what the hell is going on. Did I just imagine you breaking up with me in a text last week? Are you really coming back and pretending nothing happened? You can’t blame me for being confused right now”

“Look, I shouldn’t have blown you off like that, I’m sorry. I was stressed about leaving and I know that’s not an excuse but I promise I’ll be better. I just need you here for playoffs, please baby” You took a deep breath, taking it in. He sounded sincere but Ryan always had a knack for that. You never doubted his sincerity and usually that led to your own demise.

“If I get you a flight on the 20th, can you be here?” He asked after a moment had gone by without you saying anything. You can't believe the words until they're spewing out of your mouth.

“Fine. Send me the ticket” You said quickly before hanging up the phone, dropping your head and wondering why the hell you just agreed to that.

…

As soon as you stepped out of the doors at Dulles International Airport, your eyes locked on Ryan. He was leaning against what you would imagine was his rental car, a sleek black Range Rover, with a huge bouquet of pink flowers in hand. One thing about Ryan is while he knows how to cause a fight, he sure as hell knows how to fix one.

“Hi baby” He immediately pulls you into his arms and you melt right into him. “I’m so sorry, I missed you, I love you so much”

You take a step back and accept the flowers as he takes care of your luggage. “Missed you too Ry”

Last summer you went to see Ryan when he was staying at his family’s house on the Cape with a few of the guys on the team. Ryan promised you a week of drinking, going out on his boat, and hanging around with friends and you were excited. That was until you spent the first two days in the house alone while all the boys went golfing. You could have gone with them but when Will had been the one to ask you to come instead of your boyfriend, you opted to stay back and sulk.

When Ryan came home from golfing the second day, you were in a bad mood and he was the perfect target to take it out on.

"Hey babe, we're going to go out for dinner, you almost ready?" Ryan asked as he walked into your shared bedroom for the week.

"Oh I'm invited?" You scoffed and he paused, shirt halfway over his head, turning to look at you.

"What are you talking about? Of course you are" Ryan tosses his shirt onto the floor near the laundry hamper.

"Well you haven't exactly cared to have me around so far, how am I supposed to know tonight's different" You huff and you can hear Ryan sigh as he turns to head into the bathroom.

"I'm not doing this right now. Come or don't, I don't give a shit" Ryan rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated with you but you continue to push at him.

"You invite me here and for what Ryan? To have me wait around for you while you're out with your buddies? Great way for me to spend my time"

"God forbid I go golfing with the boys" He holds his hands up in surrender, mocking you.

"You know it's not just that Ryan" He had barely spoken to you over the past couple days, coming home after dinner at the club last night and leaving this morning before you woke up.

"You're acting ridiculous right now, I'm going to shower. Either be ready when I'm done or stay home" He flings the door shut behind him and you're left alone in the bedroom once again.

Needing some fresh air, you head to the backyard but stop in your tracks when you run into Will as you're stepping outside. "Hey, are you okay?" You laugh dryly, knowing that the look on your face is answering his question itself. "Leno's an idiot, I'm sure he didn't mean whatever he said" The fact that he knew that you two were fighting without you having to say anything spoke volumes about your relationship. Sometimes you thought about what your friends or family members think about your relationship. How many more times your best friend will let you crash at her place at 2 am after Ryan had ran you out of his dorm, when you’re crying on her couch and she has to reassure you everything is going to be okay. You think about how much time and energy this relationship takes from you yet you still decide to go back each time.

"You know I love you Will but if you're just going to defend him, I really don't want to hear it" You brush past him and move to the edge of the deck, looking out at the water and taking a few breaths.

“Look, you know I love you both but give him a chance to apologize for whatever it is, you know he will, he always does” Will says and hesitates for a moment, “You guys always figure it out, this time won’t be any different” You hear the door to the house open and close again behind him.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it?” You mumble to yourself. You let Will’s words sit with you for a moment before heading back up to your room where Ryan is just finishing getting ready.

“You’re not ready?” He asks through the mirror as he fusses with his hair.

“I was just talking to Will and-” He abruptly cuts you off.

“Oh? Fucking around with Smitty now are we?” He asks and you’re frozen in your spot, jaw hanging at his insinuation. While he had had his moments, you were not a cheater.

“Stop talking out of your ass you know that’s not true” You roll your eyes, almost mad at yourself that you had come back up here to make up with him.

“Wouldn’t put it past you”

“You know what? Fuck you. I’m done” Grabbing your bag from the closet, you start throwing your things in, collecting whatever you can find of your stuff before moving onto the bathroom.

“Oh you’re gonna run away now?” He wasn’t even looking at you, he was on his phone and that only made you more angry.

“Yeah I am because I’m so over your shit. You act like a child and I’m not putting up with it anymore”

Once you’re in the car, it’s like nothing even happened. Ryan spends the whole time talking about the team and how great everyone’s been at helping him out. He explains how he’s living with one of the guys and it’s been nothing short of a dream. Pulling up to the house, it’s absolutely gorgeous. Ryan gets your bags out and is up to the door before you can even process it. He introduces you to his teammate and his girlfriend, Maddie before ushering you towards his room, leaving your bags by the closet doors. You wait until he’s finished fiddling around with things before you burst the bubble of happiness he’s created.

“Ryan, why am I here?” He sets the puck down that he had picked up to show you, his first goal puck you’re assuming, and turns to look at you.

It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to look at him, to take it all in. He looks tired. His usual bright blue eyes are dimmed and are matching with the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders are slightly hunched like he’s holding more weight on them since you’d last seen him.

“I needed you” He says simply. It’s quiet but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I fucked up leaving you like that, I know. I thought it would be for the best but I think I forgot how much I fucking need you in my life”

You don’t know what to say to that so instead you close the distance between the two of you and pull him down for a kiss. This is how it always goes with you two and well, who were you to ruin the cycle.

…

Capital One Arena was absolutely electric for the Captials’ first playoff game. You follow close behind Maddie, the only girlfriend on the team that you know however you’re all in a group. 20 girls in matching jackets charging through the arena and you’ve never felt more out of place. The girls are all talking to each other and while they all introduced themselves when Maddie introduced you to the group, you had been left out of the conversation ever since. You didn’t blame them though, they’ve all spent the year together, their husbands or boyfriends were all friends and you were just a random 20 year old following them around. At least back at BC, all the girls were so similar it was easy to hang out as a group.

You tried to keep up the facade of being Ryan’s girlfriend. It wasn’t a total lie of course, but the reality of your relationship seemed too intricate to explain to the group of women you had just met. You spoke when you were spoken to but aside from that, you kept to yourself which nobody seemed to mind.

“So Y/n, this is your first time here? You didn’t come for Ryan’s debut?” One of the girls asks and you smile sheepishly.

“I couldn’t make it because of school” You lie, “I couldn’t miss this though” That part was more true.

Then, the lights dimmed and the conversation was dropped, everyone’s attention turning to the ice where the team was coming out of the tunnel as the crowd roared.

You spotted Ryan as soon as he stepped onto the ice. This is what you were comfortable with. Watching Ryan’s games over the past couple years became one of your favourite memories, you loved watching him excel in his passion and a wave of pride rolled over you as the in-arena announcer said his name, prompting the crowd to get even louder.

The game eventually got started and you watched intently as you toyed with the sleeve of your jacket. The jacket with the 9 patches on the sleeves, Leonard stitched into the collar. It made you feel a certain type of way, it was like Ryan had accepted you into this part of his life. Like by giving you this jacket, he had decided you weren’t going to be a part of his college life, you were going to last longer than that. You’d assume that after two years you wouldn’t need a silly jacket to tell you that but Ryan always kept you guessing.

The game ended up going to overtime but luckily the Capitals pulled off the win. The girls celebrated with the rest of the fans before heading down to the family room. You of course just followed along, not knowing where to go and suddenly very grateful you had a group of people with you so you didn’t have to figure it out yourself. The family room was pretty full once everyone was there, some kids running around while the younger ones were falling asleep on the couches. Guys trickled out one by one from the big double doors at one end of the room, which you assumed led to the locker room. You waited for probably 30 minutes before Ryan emerged, wide smile on his face and eyes searching for you in the small crowd that was left.

“Congrats on the win” You say as he hugs you tightly, pulling you close.

“Thanks for being here baby” He says quietly and you smile, squeezing him even tighter.

It was the moments like this that made you forget all the red flags. Ryan was the sweetest, most loving guy most of the time. The not so great moments, those were only a fraction of what you experienced with him. You went easily as he slung his arm around your shoulders and started walking you out to his car.

…

Game two was here and it feels like the energy had multiplied from last game. You went out with the girls before and surprisingly, you felt more at ease. As you all headed to the arena, you found yourself thinking that you could get used to this.

This game wasn't nearly as close as the last one but the fans fed into the excitement and you cheered as the Capitals won again, going 2-0 in the series. It was the best possible outcome and you knew Ryan would be excited. The team was all happy with the wins but most, if not all of them, have experienced it before. Ryan wasn't new to playoff hockey but the Stanley Cup Playoffs were a whole thing entirely, or so he told you.

The night went similarly to last time, you waited for him in the family room and once he finally emerged, you walked hand in hand to his car.

"So you leave tomorrow?" You ask him once you're out of the parking garage.

"Yeah in the afternoon I think" He pauses, trying to remember the schedule that they had just gone over in their meeting. "There's probably a flight to Boston in the morning" You nodded, sinking back into your seat. Of course you had to go back. You had school and there was no reason for you to stay here while Ryan was in Montreal.

"I should pack then" You say more to yourself than to him.

"You didn't expect to stay here did you?" He asked and the question hit you like a knife in the chest. You were at a loss for words for a moment, feeling stupid for ever expecting anything different from him.

"So is this it then?" You decide to ignore his question and ask one of your own instead.

"What?" He looks over at you with wide eyes.

"Well I'd rather get it out of the way rather than land in Boston to another text from you" You say coldly, staring straight ahead at the road in front of you.

"Y/n... I said I was sorry for. that" He replied, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"I just don't know if I can trust you to not do it again" You don't want to start a fight but you had to ask.

"Are you serious?"

"Look at our track record Ry, and it's not just you. Trust me, I know I've caused a lot of it too. We just can't seem to figure it out"

"I have figured it out. I need you Y/n. I need you in my life, in Washington. I don't know how you got the idea that I don't but we can figure it out, I know we can" He flicked the turn signal on a little more aggressively than necessary, his frustration ringing out.

"Why can't you see it Ryan? You shouldn't need me here. You should want me" You sigh, "And you don't, that's the problem" Ryan's number one priority was Ryan and right after that it was hockey. You didn't fault him for it but with that being said, it just didn't seem like there was a space for you in his life right now.

"No- I can't-" He had pulled into the driveway now and turned as much as he could to face you in the car. "I'm sorry, just tell me what to do"

"Look, we both have our shit we need to figure out. We break up and we make up but nothing ever changes. Just cause we want it to work doesn't mean it should, some things just aren't meant to be"

...

You watched the airport get smaller as the plane pulled away and you felt it deep in your chest. You were leaving a part of you behind in Washington. He was going to get on a plane himself and you hated that he would probably be laughing and joking around with his teammates while you're by yourself, pressed against the window.

When Ryan dropped you off this morning, walking away from him was the hardest thing you have ever done. It wasn't the first time but it did feel like the last time. In your previous break ups, it typically was a result from a fight. It was immature and silly but that's what made you fall right back into it days later. This time, it was stemmed from a more mature place, you had a conversation and while it wasn't necessarily what either of you wanted, but it was what was needed.

However, that didn't mean the door was closed forever. And if he messaged you when they made it to the finals, asking if you could come back to the city for the series, part of you knew you'd be looking for flights before you even finished reading the text.

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

Keep me, please (I I)

MDNI

John Price x reader with a cheating husband

PART 2 >> PART 1

Price finds a pretty little thing, only to learn that she is married, the caveat being her husband is cheating on her.

Cw: cheating (not between mc’s) , sleepy sex, unprotected PIV, oral (!f) , daddy kink (😝), aftercare

Notes: I got a bit carried away, so there will be a part 3 , where he fucks her in her marital bed lol.

He pieces you together afterwards—putting a glass of water to your lips as you drink it with big thirsty gulps, wiping away your tears with a warm washcloth, between your legs—considers getting an ice pack for your sore pussy but decides against it when you cling to him, limp arms reaching, pulling him closer.

“ baby , I’m not going anywhere”— he rumbles , with you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, fingers knotting into the dark curls on his chest, half of your body onto his, inhaling his heady,loamy scent, as a rough hand caresses your back. Sleep slowly overtakes you —soft warm cheek rested on his cushiony pec, fucked out and in bliss.

The weight of your limp, boneless body on top of him—the cute little pucker of your lips, soft even breaths as your chest rises and falls—fully sated—his cum still leaking out of your hole, fires the want in him to own,to possess beyond the confines of his self control.

So, the reality of you still being married, still cohabitating, having his —your husband’s— last name, makes his palms itch, makes the thorn buried deep inside his brain sting and throb, makes him want to sort it out the only way he knows how.

Then , there is the image of your woeful misty eyes, lash line barely containing the storm inside of your little heart, the furrow of your eyebrows as you tried your hardest to keep all the tiny broken pieces together on your lunches(courtship) with him. He barely contained the urge to scruff you by the nape of your neck, drag you home, to his bed, where you belong, have always belonged.

But— you choosing this, choosing him, chanting “keep me please”, little cunt clenching, moulding to his thick cock, milking him, filled with his spend , is cathartic , eases at least some of his homicidal tendencies.

Besides, the idea of you being tainted, directly or indirectly with even a lick of violence, of blood on your manicured paws is enough to stop John from killing him, he will take care of him, oh he will, just in other ways.

—————————

It’s still dark outside.

You wake up slick with sweat , blistering hot— a heavy arm wrapped around you ,weighing you down, furry thick chest plastered to your back, half hard prick nudging your lower back and him —snoring like a big hibernation bear against the crown of your head.

Your heart is rabbit quick, as sleep slides off you and the realisation sinks in—you are not in your bed, that you are naked and in John’s arms, the only other man you have slept with beside you soon to be ex-husband.

Guilt , something you know you should feel is absent, it’s been a long time since you have felt desired, felt intimacy, felt need this thick. The degradation of your relationship began long ago, the touches, the love, the want slowly dissipating as teenage lovers evolved into full fledged adults. You are still young, some would say too young to have been married and the idea of spending your entire life in a distant, fractured relationship had been eating at you for quite a while now. Then he cheated, the hurt, the gut wrenching , heart-ache was all consuming but somehow, also tinged in relief, that you finally had a reason to get out, and as the stars so aligned, that reason manifested itself into, John.

“ mm it’s early, baby” — he rumbles into your nape, voice thick with sleep, placing a hot wet kiss on it. You stir against him, rump brushing his cock, which causes him to pull you further into him, heavy arm wrapped around you trapping you under his bulk.

“Uhmm John ” you whisper as his big paw fondles your breast, worrying your nipple between his knuckles, pinching it ,extracting sleepy little ‘ah’s from you. Slowly, his hand slides down, dragging across your belly until he cups your mound.

He Stays like that for a while, kissing, licking the sweat off your nape, the curve of your neck. One thick finger slides in-between your lips as he rubs the tiniest half circles around your clit.

The light hum of pleasure lulls you into a daze, eyelids slowly getting heavier, as you breathe evenly, letting him touch you, play with you as he pleases. He jiggles your clit faster, syrupy pleasure engulfing you until your breath hitches, body tensing as you come, jolting you at first then lulling you back into a deeper cottony haze.

“m’ sore Daddy”— you whimper when he slides one thick finger inside your hole. He shifts you more onto your belly—his bulk pressing you into the mattress, with his finger massaging the little spongy spot inside you, getting you worked up so you are slick for him.

“Mmm baby, will be nice and gentle, ok?” He rumbles, notching his head against your hole.

The initial stretch, burns,makes your toes curl, as you whimper into the pillow. “Shh baby, let Daddy take care of you hmmm”— he drawls into your cheek as he slowly feeds his cock into your cunt, letting you squirm and tremble under him, get acclimated to the stretch.

He goes slow, so slow, taking you through it— “doing so well for Daddy baby”—as he ruts into you almost leisurely, letting you clench around him, pull him in deeper, feel the warm wet squeeze of your cunt against every vein , every ridge of his thick cock.

The angle knocks the wind out of you, as every thrust rubs against the spongy spot inside of you making you see stars. One deep thrust makes you clench around him hard, as you come, creaming his cock, shaking under him, in your delirium, you bite the pillow—

Which gets you a hard, stern smack on your asscheek, “ None of that love , let me hear you”.

You come for him again soon enough, this time though, you let him hear your little whimpers, “Daddy” rolling of your tongue, like it belongs. You assume he likes it, because his rhythm gets more frantic, as he cums with one last deep thrust, cock head notched against your cervix as big spurts of cum fill you up yet again.

You wince as he pulls out, come flooding out onto the sheets, your pussy all tender. He kisses your cheek, rasping into your skin.

“Going’ to kiss her better in the morning baby, eat your little cunt out, go to sleep now sweetheart”

And you do, nuzzling back into him, letting him wrap you up in his arms again. As you slowly slip back to sleep.

——————————

The bed is empty, you realise—his weight, furnace like heat is missing as you shed the last of sleep. You feel a slight jab, right in the middle of your middle of your chest, a prickle of doubt which holds the possibility of potentially sending you into a spiral that maybe just maybe—now that he has fucked you, he is done with you, that this was all just a hookup.

Every muscle in your body is hurts—almost like the achy feeling after a new workout class.you climb out of the too tall, too big bed, and limp to the en-suit bathroom.

In the bathroom mirror, you look at all the marks on your throat ,the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, the swell of your breast, your lips still swollen and bitten, you turn just a little bit and see little circular bruises on you hips , upper arms.

You thumb a little bruise on your hip, tender warm pain flooding you with a bittersweet longing, a weird reminder of him on you, all the time you have spent with together — the lunches which if you were a little less in denial you would have know were dates all along—after all he paid for them no matter how much you insisted “come on John, just let me pay for once”.

The shower is huge, glass-enclosed, with many little knobs each of which control the fixtures. You fiddle with a few them until you finally are cascaded in warm water, soothing your sore tendons, all the little aches in your body.

There are just two bottles—a body wash, and a shampoo— on the built-in niche. You lather the eucalyptus scented shower gel in between your palms and start rubbing it on, slowly cleaning all the dried cum clinging onto your inner thighs. You are still leaking his cum— after all he came so much and lodged it so deep inside you— wincing as you try your best to get it out of your sore little hole.

( God, you hope your IUD keeps working)

Freshly showered, damp skinned, wrapped in his towel —you find him waiting for you, sitting on the edge of the bed. He is dressed already, in a tight fitted navy shirt and denim jeans.

“ mornin’” you squeak , standing in front of him, all self conscious and unsure.

Relief washes over you as he stands up towering over you, cupping your face and tilting it up so he can place little kisses on your forehead, cheeks , the tip of your nose. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you up, till you are at his eye level—“ mornin’ sweetheart “

Before you know it, the the world spins— with you laying on the bed with John unwrapping the towel, he dips down, lips brushing yours and mumbles—

“Let Daddy kiss you better sweetheart, eat your sore little cunt hmm”

He sits up on his haunches, between your legs, with you laying before him. Big rough hands caress your tender skin, as he slowly traces every curve every dip of your flesh almost as if he is committing you to memory.

He is soft—kissing your seam, beard pricking your sore cunt, letting you grind into his face, with tired little hip rolls, as his nose nudges your clit, he slides his tongue inside of your hole, as you thread your fingers into his hair and come.

—————————-

“Where were you?” —You ask,taking a sip of coffee, sitting across from him on the dining table.

“Getting some of your stuff back home baby”

You look around , tilting your head slightly, and see bags and bags filled with your clothes, from your wardrobe, placed neatly on the couch.

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 3

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 5k words

Chapter Warnings: canon typical violence, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: The first two chapters I uploaded were partially rewritten from the original version I have elsewhere, but it’s not feasible for me to keep doing that, especially if I’m ever going to write new stuff; so from now on I’ll be uploading this story as is. Chapters 3 to 14 predate both, Another Notch On His Belt and Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce While I’d do some things differently, they’re all part of the journey. Enjoy! ✌️❤️

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Dick?” Sam gave a half-assed chuckle.

Dean’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Her mate.”

Oh, the mother fucking irony. He wasn’t just a dick, his name was Dick. Or Richard, to be more concise. Dean had passed over that insignificant detail and Ritchie, as you’d called him, to go with what he found to be the most fitting of the three.

While Ritchie suggested a plain loser, Richard sounded like a pompous jackass, which Dean figured didn’t fall far from the tree. But Dick? Dick narrated a scumbag he could work with.

He remembered Dick Roman and his crass grin all too well, and with his face in mind, Dean had run through all the satisfying things he wanted to do to your mate since the moment he’d found you in the park. Whatever manifested, or not, was for later Dean’s enjoyment, but everything his genius had concocted so far suited Dick to a tee.

Sammy, however, saw the bigger picture.

A tsk left his mouth. Followed by an eye roll and the shaking of his mop-hair through a downward glance. It was a wonder he could do both at the same time. “Don’t you think you should be worrying about her, not her ex?”

Dean’s head flicked over his shoulder to the door on the other side of the car park, where he presumed you were still fast asleep. The heel of his left boot even shifted backwards a fraction. All he had to do was fling his other leg towards the room, and your scent and stimulating curves would soon surround him again.

Was it possible for a heart to skip a beat? Because that action, with that very organ popping out of someone like Scooby Doo’s chest, sure described the way Dean felt at the mention of Dick’s finality in your life.

“I’m really getting soft,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s still sleeping. With any luck, I’ll be back before she wakes up.”

“Dean.”

“Don’t Dean me.”

Sam could argue, meddle, and question all he wanted. Dean wouldn’t sway from his plans, no matter how stupid his method was. “I ain’t letting him get away with it.”

“I’m not saying you should. Just take a minute to calm down and focus on her, not him.”

“What part of he raped her, don’t you understand?” He sighed and drew his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. His voice, while not the loudest he’d ever produced, had been enough to make even Dean anxious.

He cared little about anyone else in the vicinity, but as with every other motel they frequented, the walls were paper thin, and the door you were behind was a mere thirty yards away. Yes. His guilt fueled conscience had him going stir crazy.

Him needing to be long gone before you woke up wasn’t for your benefit. It was for his own sanity. Sam’s too.

“I understand you want revenge. But she still went back to him yesterday.”

“Because I let—”

“You didn’t do anything!” Sam snapped, then shook his head. “They’re bonded. Chances are she loves him. That won’t change overnight.”

“I know that.” Of course he did. Dean wasn’t that unattuned with the world around him, as people always suggested. He got social cues and had feelings like any other guy. He simply chose not to wear his deepest ones on his sleeve out of survival.

Everyone else could still suck it. Sam could too.

“So why are you so set on doing this right now? Do you really wanna risk pushing her away by beating up the alpha she cares about?”

“It ain’t about him or me.”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Like I said, revenge.”

“No. Alright? Just, no.” Dean’s arm swooped through the air, as if shoving Sam’s statement off an imaginary table.

This wasn’t about Dean seeking retribution, although he’d never deny there wasn’t a small piece of him that found the concept enticing.

Okay, a large slice.

He had to find some fun in his shitty existence, especially after being careful for so long.

Ever since Sam had lost Jess, they both had been. Aware there were plenty of other fuckers out there besides the likes of yellow eyes. Crowley, for starters, even Cas and the other angels, Roman, the Steins, Chuck. And not wanting to risk history repeating itself, they turned to suppressants.

Though it took a single instance of him going feral and a stern warning from Bobby and his own shotgun pointed at his extremities, for Dean to see sense and allow his rut to occur once a year.

“One cycle with one of them fake dolls ain’t gonna kill ya, idjit,” he had said. And while that was a fond memory of Dean’s now, it had scared the crap out of him.

So, “If I let him walk, she’s a target. With my claim or not,” he said.

Sam should’ve known that, but his eyes grew wide and a grin made them lift even higher. “Are you going to?”

“I just met her!” And that was still the scariest thing in all this.

He and you were soulmates. Fated to be. Chosen for each other by who even knew? Someone who didn’t know you and expected you both to do what? Commit to each other at the drop of a hat?

Dean couldn’t bring himself to think, let alone say the L word. He’d avoided it on purpose when Sam had mentioned you loving Dick, and that was plain dumb. It was four fucking letters. He wasn’t a child, though he had done some crazy, adultly stigmatised shit on your behalf.

Taking you back to the motel as he had and cleaning your wounds. Sleeping close by and letting you take his jacket to nest with. Ordinarily, these things were tame, but law enforcement would say otherwise if Dick decided to press charges against him even before he did what he planned to do.

It was way too much, not because of the illicit nature, but because it was too soon. Too easy to fall. Too easy to be trapped into something more, and yet, he’d been thriving on every second of it so far.

As usual, Sam knew it, too.

“You’re thinking about it,” he said. “You should ask her to come with us.”

But he didn’t respond with how Sam wanted him to. “Keep an eye on her, would ya?” He patted him on the shoulder, once to steady himself, the second to reassure. “Call me if anything happens.” And with that, he strode ‘round to Baby’s driver’s side and got in. It was now or never.

When he reached your street, Dean parked Baby around the corner. Close enough for a quick exit, but further away from your building to avoid arousing suspicions. Not that there was anyone around to question him or his motives.

Just as it had been during the night, the neighbourhood was quiet and restful. Still early enough on a Sunday for most people to be in bed.

Not him, of course. But regular people. Civilians.

Someone like you, included in his picture of suburbia and the apple pie life he’d always admired from a safe distance. It was a shame that the bubble had burst when he found you in the park.

It looked different in the daylight hours as he moved towards the entrance. All that he’d witnessed tainted the luscious leaves, turning the hues dim. It didn’t help that the clouds overhead were already bleak with grey.

They made the white rendered walls of your apartment block appear worse than his original critique of the place. Even though this was your home, it was a home you shared with Dick. A place Dean would find no comfort in.

He entered the building and made quick work of the steps, bounding up them two at a time, guided by his nose. And the letterbox he’d read at the bottom that had your surname on it.

As he honed in on your front door, his ears perked for any movement besides his own, but all was clear, and he was able to thump on the wood without interruption.

Once.

Twice.

But by the third time, his patience had worn thin, and he resorted to his usual methods.

He wrapped his fingers around the ivory grip of his 1911 and drew it out of his waistband, cocking it in readiness. The cool metal, the perfect fit as always, satisfied his hand and the hunter within.

Was the gun overkill? Eh. That was up to interpretation. Just as he still knew little about you, he knew less about Dick, besides the name and what he had done. The weapon was a precaution. A scare tactic at best.

And with that in mind, the sole of his boot raised and collided with the door of the small apartment, sounding a loud crunch as the wood gave way. It made his bow leg twang from the force, but damn, was the rush of adrenaline worth it.

Fuck! He was pumped.

Ready for a fight or a match of words, though the former was far more enticing. Revenge would be sweet, no matter what Sam said. Which was such a shame because his grand entrance hadn’t paid off.

Dick was nowhere in sight, and Dean begrudgingly returned his firearm to its usual resting place. The fucker must’ve been out looking for you.

As Dean stepped over the threshold and past the now broken door, your familiar scent hit his nostrils. That, and the musk he’d caught in your hair. It was the smell you’d find labelled pine or forest in a gas station’s air freshener selection. Pungent, overpowering and something he’d never allow Baby to be exposed to, let alone his own skin, anymore.

Of course, anything that belonged to Dick was repulsive. The recliner Dean stared at had to be his. What with the high back, built-in cup holders that were the perfect size for a cold one or a Dean-sized arm holding a scotch, and a remote in the other hand.

The chair would be awesome in the bunker. Maybe he could… no. No, no. He’d get himself a new one. Along with the flat screen, comfortable-looking three-seater sofa, and the fluffy blanket that had to be yours.

His feet carried him over to the item and brought it to his nose. It was yours alright. The touch of cinnamon he’d savoured during the night had soaked into the colourful fibres and worn thread, and he could just picture you curled under it, cosy and warm. You would look even better with the one he’d buy you, on his bed, nesting, with his pup safe inside your belly.

God, he was being delusional. Conceited too. You nesting on his bed? His pup? The second you discovered the true extent of his meaningless existence, you would change whatever mind you had about him. As you should.

This window into your personality he wandered through reminded him of what he knew, though, and your world was far different from his. Soulmate or no, it would be selfish of him to ask you to give this lifestyle up to be in his where monsters and gore were a constant.

As for pups. Little versions of him mixed with you? The idea took over his body with warm fuzzies, but it was a pipe dream fueled by his instinct to mate and breed.

He knew that.

‘What the hell, man? You don’t even want a family.’ Not like that, anyway.

Fuck no. He’d already dipped his toe in that pool and found it too cold. Being a dad wasn’t for him. Not with the target on his back. And this infinite loop of yearning, then backtracking? It certainly wasn’t, either.

Was this what they meant by a mid-life crisis?

Or maybe it was Dick’s pheromones making him go awol? With notes that belonged in a can of axe body spray Dean had used as a teen before he presented.

His snort was comical.

At least he could put whatever this was to good use. That and the rest of his self worth and a smidgen of hate. They were the perfect recipe for a strong uppercut and Dean was lucky Dick didn’t keep him waiting long.

The unmistakable jangle of keys looking for their lock was the first thing that alerted Dean to his presence.

“Who’re you?” was the second.

Dean spun around on his heels, oozing confidence with his cocksure grin. He didn’t feel the slightest bit intimidated as Dick puffed his chest out. Nor when his gaze travelled the length of his body, top to toe. And rather than answering the other alpha before him, he thought it best to show him how badly he’d fucked up.

Dean’s language was action, after all, and he was finally about to have some fun.

His right hand moved to hover behind his back as the other’s fingers locked around the edging of his shirt collar, pulling it down in slow motion for added effect. He was an expert in gaining attention, even if it was purposeful to piss someone off.

The haughty laugh Dick produced was better than any reaction he could’ve hoped for, and it urged him on.

“Somethin’ funny?” Dean said.

“Guess I was looking in the wrong places. She swore you didn’t want her.” Dick stepped forward, slinking further into the room, unaware of what Dean could achieve.

Mistake number one.

On the outside, Dean was relaxed, too. Both arms returned to his side, keeping his distance with his front positioned towards the other alpha.

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her, huh? When you tried to scratch my initials out of her skin?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

“The little slut is obviously yours now. What do you want?”

Other than using your name, there was nothing Dick could’ve called you that wouldn’t have resulted in him handing over the axe and a third strike.

“I came here to give you a taste of your own medicine. But I don’t swing that way,” Dean said as he withdrew his gun and held it in the air. “Then I thought I’d use this.”

Dick’s whole body flinched. A Mexican wave of nerves twitching all over if you had watched closely, as Dean, of course, had. “You’re fucking crazy!”

Dean was still casual, his smirk devilish. “Oh buddy, you’ve got no idea. If we’d have met last night, well, let’s just say you wouldn’t be here.”

It was all talk. Dean would never go that extreme, not now that he’d had some time to think. He’d meant that bit about being calm. But he loved watching Dick squirm.

His face was hilarious. Dick’s not Dean’s. Dean looked down for business, whereas Dick may as well have been down on his knees. “You want me to apologise? Never see her again? Done. She’s all yours.”

“You think I was waiting for your permission or something? Nah. But I’d appreciate it if you come at me first.”

“Why?” Dick scowled.

“So I can claim self defence.”

To Dean’s exhilarated surprise, his jaunts worked and Dick lunged forward, colliding his fist into his cheek. The muscle below throbbed, and the broken skin stung, but the blood that swirled through his mouth was worth it.

Dick was too dumb to realise Dean was playing with him.

He took blow after blow, waiting for the moment Dick wore himself down to absolute exhaustion.

A punch to the gut. Another to his ribs. With each new strike, more of Dean’s stock appeared on the other alpha’s knuckles. If it weren’t for the colour, he may have confused the patterns and added chunky bits with strawberry jelly, seeds and all, smeared over his pasty white skin.

“Is this what you did to her?” Dean taunted. As much as the truth would anger him, he wanted to know. The more he heard, the easier beating Dick to a pulp would be.

But Dick was too busy concentrating on his workout. Huffing and puffing, with zero energy to answer, or blow the house down.

“That all you got?” Dean made him work a little harder. He’d started dodging, adding some defensive blocks amongst the steps he took backwards. His goal, further from the door, knowing full well that by bringing Dick into a different room, there would be no chance of any witnesses.

It proved more difficult, what with his centre of gravity slightly off because of the punch he’d allowed Dick to land on his right ear. But now in the kitchen, with counters he could lean and bounce off of, Dean decided it was time. His defence turned into offence, and in a matter of seconds, his fist had shaped its way into Dick’s face twice, the butt of his gun another, satisfying every part of his being.

Dean delivered more, all to the fleshiest parts of Dick. His stomach, his thighs, colliding with both boots, and his namesake, which met Dean’s very forceful left knee.

Both men winced. Both groaned, too. Only Dick was in pain, Dean out of mock sympathy.

His hand grabbed the back of Dick’s shirt next, lifting his body upright to send him flying, much like his front door. He landed head first into the lower cabinet with a thump and a flop onto the floor, where he received more of Dean’s wrath.

Looming over your mate, he used his boot to roll him to the side, further toeing his chin to make sure he had the bloodied face’s attention. “Being someone’s bitch ain’t so fun, huh, Dick?”

“Who wants breakfast?” Dean did his best to act casual and ignore the two pairs of eyes that followed him as he walked back into the room. His body ached all over.

He’d been gone a little under three hours now, but he knew that wasn’t what either of you had an issue with.

His brother’s gaze forever judged, while yours appeared concerned, possibly frightened, and neither surprised him, having received similar stares from strangers the entire way back to the motel. A swollen face and bloody knuckles just did that to people, and Dean accepted it.

“What happened?” Sam asked from behind his laptop. Though it should’ve been obvious “I thought—“

“Nothin’.” Dean wasn’t gonna talk about his confrontation with Dick. Not anytime soon, least of all when you were in the room. He needed to gauge your feelings on the matter first, then he’d play into them.

Would you be upset he’d beaten the guy into a pulp or were you concerned with his injuries at all? Because while the latter sure sounded appealing, it wouldn’t help his latest penchant towards you.

He moved to the table and unburdened his hands of everything he carried, starting one by one with the two trays of drinks he’d been balancing. “We got, ah, black, milk, mocha, red-eye, iced, breakfast tea? With, huh, milk? Hot chocolate, and,” he lifted a steaming cup to his chin and inspected the scrawl written on the lid, “the lady said this had Thai in it? I dunno. It’s popular with the locals.”

Impressed, Sam stood up and reached over to pick out a coffee Dean had labelled, only to be smacked away by an overtly aggressive hand.

“Ladies first.” Dean shot you a glance.

You were sitting on the bed he’d left you sleeping on, but had since been remade. As had his Sam’s, with his jacket folded at the end. “I also bought some sandwiches, donuts. Pie.” Both brows raised on that last part, and his grin, although stained with blood, was rather proud.

He had no idea what you liked, but he was confident you would find something to your tastes among this lot. He may have been intent on pushing you away, but he could still protect and act chivalrous towards his soulmate.

If you decided you wanted nothing, it wouldn’t go to waste because he was salivating over the aroma alone since he’d picked it all out. He could always have another coffee, too.

While he didn’t hesitate to pull up a chair and slump into it, he did second guess himself when he addressed you. “C’mon Omega. You must be hungry.”

The term slipped off his tongue with ease, and one thing he was suddenly certain about was his sack being empty. He’d dropped his balls somewhere between dealing with Dick and now, and this uncertainty and stilted behaviour needed to stop.

Even after seeing your apartment, being surrounded by your things and having his inadequacies resurface again. He wasn’t what you needed in your life, and he had to remind himself of that, though it drove him crazy.

This constant mystification around you would surely end with your reflection in Baby’s rearview once more, wouldn’t it?

Yes. It had to because he was Dean frigging Winchester. Never confused by anyone, male or female.

But you and your hesitant steps, observing him as you made your way to join them, were an enigma. Beautiful even with your still stiff gait and bruising on your face and neck that had darkened again. The two of you could almost be a matching pair. Dick sure favoured a hook.

“What’ll you have?” he asked as you sat down, eyes focused in and around his.

The plastic against your pelvis must’ve been uncomfortable. Dean paid particular attention to the way your expression tightened, then relaxed as your body did.

“Coffee? Tea?” He ignored his anguish, pointing to each cup as he listed them, waiting for your response, then passing you your selection when you did.

Your grip was gentle. Your bites and movements were just as soft as how you held your drink when you ate, and through Dean’s constant glimpsing, he found himself less and less interested in his own food.

“You sleep alright?” he said, and your lip twitched into a soft smile when you nodded. Your continued stare had him pulling at his collar.

Sam watched the entire exchange with interest. Here was Dean, someone so hellbent on never entering another relationship after whatever it was he’d had with Lisa and Ben, now infatuated with you. Sure you were soulmates, but it was simple and refreshing.

He saw the way Dean grappled with his instincts, trying to pretend you were no one special, even though all these sweet gestures showed otherwise. The food, the coffee, the bag he’d packed with as many things of yours as he could after leaving your apartment.

You may not have realised what the duffle below your feet was just yet, but Sam sure did. The scent of your belongings oozed off of it, blending with his brother’s own.

Cinnamon, apple, a touch of vanilla, and other spices that collected under those which Dean surrounded himself with. It fit that his palate, in its purest form, would work so well with that of his soulmates.

Almost the same as Sam and Jess’ own mix…

Sam understood Dean’s reluctance, not just with you, but with everyone. He appreciated that his own misery had shielded Dean from heartbreak so far. He wished the transformation he saw in his brother would open himself up more to find what he had lost.

Until then, though, Dean was going to receive a world of shit when they were alone again. Sam owed him for the morning’s wake up call. No doubt for other instances he still didn’t know about, too.

The clothes Dean had picked for you from your wardrobe before leaving the apartment, while fitting as they should, left him disappointed. As crazy as he knew the notion was, he enjoyed seeing you wearing his things, even though temporarily. There was something about the way his shirt flowed over your breasts and hips.

It had engulfed your figure. How it hung below your rear, revealing your thighs when you stretched, and the edging of what he presumed to be a cute pair of lacy panties hugging the curve of that sweet ass he’d pictured as he took care of himself.

Yup. He was going to hell. Again.

He’d been over this and it couldn’t happen.

‘She was just fucking assaulted, man,’ his brain rerouted. ‘Not even a day ago. She doesn’t need this shit from anyone, least of all her soulmate. Or her alpha.’

There it was, that primal side of him coming out. It had been there at your apartment too, but it, like the more sane part of him, was more interested in screwing with Dick at the time.

Now that it was all over, he needed to do his utmost best to reel it in. There was still one last thing that had to be addressed, and neither lusting nor pussyfooting around was going to get it done.

He had to cut ties with you. He had to. His life wasn’t for you, not after seeing the life you could have, with or without Dick. So as he helped you clean up from breakfast, sorting out scraps from leftovers and recycling from trash, he decided there was no time like the present. The sooner the better.

Dammit. He had to do this, now, and he listened to make sure the shower was still on and Sam, in it. Then, running his fingers over his hair, flinging each bristle forward, he cleared his throat.

“So, now that our case is over, me and Sammy will head home to Kansas.” He was smooth. In control, and confident in his delivery. It showed a little too well.

“Right,” you whispered. Your head, delaying by a second, gave a quick shake.

Was that pulling your teeth over your lip nerves? Disappointment?

Scrap that part about confidence. There was that powerful beat in his heart again. The one that felt like it had escaped his chest, pumping back and forth for the world to see.

“I ah. The good news is he won’t bother you anymore.”

Your body froze on the spot. “You—”

There was no need for you to say anything further because he could tell by your horrified expression alone you thought the worst.

“No. No, no. I mean, he looks worse than I do.” He chuckled awkwardly. “But I didn’t murder the guy. As much as I wanted to.”

He shouldn’t have said that.

“I might’ve hustled him a little first, but he’s gonna recover. Just like you will.” He paused and raised himself, pulling his muscles taut. He’d forgotten all about the medicated cream he’d bought you.

His hands touched his hips, then his thighs, searching his pockets, though he didn’t know why. The tube, still in its box, wouldn’t fit anywhere on his person.

He scanned the table and the ground below it before reaching down to pick up the small paper bag. “I got ya this at the pharmacy near the diner. They said it’d help with the infection. Might have to borrow some myself before we leave.” He grinned.

But you didn’t return it. Your brow furrowed as he stepped closer to hand it to you, fingers playing with the package the second they touched. “What’re you trying to say, Dean?” you said, and damn. Using his name stung.

You really were intuitive. He should’ve bargained for it. And what choice did he have but to rip the bandaid off? “Look. What I said about wanting you was true. But my life is dangerous, and I can’t bring anyone into it. Especially you.”

Though his words were every bit rejecting, the way your chest rose below the outline of his chin and your lashes batting against your cheek had him taken, and his concentration proved difficult to maintain.

There was a touch of spice in the air that hadn’t been there before. Something familiar, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on where it came from. It was addicting, and while he knew it was wrong to let it engulf his senses, he didn’t stop himself.

“So,” he shuddered, using the slight tremor as a final plight to clear his head, “if there’s some place you can go, family or friends, I’m happy to take you there. Anywhere at all. I think it’s best you do that, and you know, forget about Ritchie, and—“

“And you.” Your lips were so plump and enticing. His eyes could only focus’s on their shine, moving under the light as you spoke.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his stomach pulling a one-eighty.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Nope. But what could he do? Your safety was far more important than his need to have you around. His life wasn’t for you. Hell, it wasn’t a life for anyone, and when he stuttered and your mouth pursed in an understanding smile, he was further reminded that what he was doing was right.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said as your hand came up to touch his and your face lifted to graze a simple peck on the other.

The softness he felt against his skin covered his body in a blanket of goosebumps, igniting a fire within that made his blood thrum, and his ears pop and pulse along with his gut, churning once again. And before you could retract, before you could step away or even turn, his arm had wrapped around your waist, tight, and he commandeered a kiss of his own.

Was he stupid? Damn straight he was, but the genius that lay dormant would pull him through. His inner alpha would always be there to protect his omega. He just needed to figure out how.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How awesome was that gif at the top? Gave me goosebumps when I was going back and forth, formatting.

I wish I could say that’s the last we’ll see of Dick, but unfortunately, memories live on, and we’ll delve into them more in the future. Did Dean beat him up enough, though? I’ve killed some characters off in the past, not going to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it with him.

We have a cyclone causing trouble here - yay - and my kids are already driving me insane. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’ve either lost power/internet, or I’m huddled in the foetal position of my living room, with my wine stash, gone… That’s far more likely. Enjoy your weekend wherever you are in the world!

Chapter 4: Familiarising - 14/03

Dean rolled off to the side, bringing you with him to rest your head against his chest instead. He pulled the covers with you to drape them across your shoulder. Close and cosy, but away from his clear arousal, choosing it best to leave the pressure in his pants over putting it on you.

“I, ah, just need a sec,” he breathed through the grin plastered over his face.

If only you’d give him one.

Your hand patted his sternum, but your leg wrapped over his, bringing your knee close to his semi.

“Not that I’m complaining, sweetheart, but you’re making it hard for me here.”

“Pun intended?” You asked, earning yourself a light smack on your rear.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

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[m-robinavitch]

angel.

Pairing: Frank Langdon and Reader/Slight Original Character (Best Friends/Roommates/Platonic Soulmates) Summary: How angel originally got her name from none other than Frank Langdon during their first semester at NYU Fall 2013 Warnings: my poor attempt at understanding NYU and how the elite live, Langdon has his own warning for just being himself. Origin story of Frank and angel from sedated. and strangers.

The longest you had gone without talking to Frank Langdon was 17 years, 10 months, and 25 days, give or take a few days because you’re sure you threw a snarky comment or two his way before a full conversation or introduction was had. But that time frame was the exact period it took for your souls met once again, only in this current lifetime. You never really believed in soulmates or fate or anything of the nature. Because the world was cruel and random, a kind world that gave you the exact person who would make you feel whole wouldn’t take your father away from you when you were 8 years old, wouldn’t have your mother spend the rest of her days self medicating and sleeping until noon when she would then wake up and drink her breakfast. A kind world would’ve given you Langdon much sooner in life. A kind world wouldn’t have put you through agony until the other half of your soul could find you again. 

You like to think that you manifested him, that you were intentional with your heart and that you picked him out of a line up and said “yes- this is the idiot I choose,” but no- Frank Langdon was irksome and frustrating since before you officially met. He was arrogant and annoying and so damn charming all at the same time. But somehow you felt instantly that you’ve known him for a hundred lifetimes and will continue for many more to come. He spoke to the inner parts of you that you shoved down, he didn’t chisel away at the wall you built up, no- he had a wrecking ball and that dopey smile on his face while he demolished everything you spent years building. You did not pick him, no- he forced his way into your life because that’s where he belonged, that’s where his inner being was comfortable and where it was meant to be. 

“Hey,” you kicked the desk, “I have this time slot.” The light was off in the study room which you thought meant that you didn’t have to awkwardly stick your head in and fake niceties to whoever couldn’t fucking tell time. But no- it was off because someone had decided to use your rented space as an impromptu napping area. 

“Leave-“ you kicked again, putting your backpack on the table when the folded up person groaned. 

“Can’t you go anywhere else?” He started to unwind himself, stretching heavily so his hoodie rode up his stomach just a bit- an obnoxious noise coming from his mouth while he did so. No- you couldn’t go anywhere else. Ok you could have, but for the last few weeks this had been your spot, it was tucked away perfectly and near a hidden restroom and the good vending machines. The squatter looked up at you with striking blue eyes, dark brown hair cropped around his ears and the longer pieces at the top pushed back- you knew those eyes. 

“No- this has been my room for weeks” you reply, starting to unpack your backpack of all your books and laptop and some snacks for the few hours you had locked in. “You’re in my bio lab.”

“That’s where I know you” he knows he’d never seen you at a rush party, “umm-“ snapping at himself to jog his memory for your name, confidently getting it wrong, only for you to correct him. “Frank Langdon” he says, leaning back in the chair across from you. You weren’t the party type really, he could tell by the way you’d all but sneer at him and his friends. Well- ex friends now. 

“I know,” you mumble, clearly he’s staying here- maybe to assert dominance or just to be a shit. “You sit in my row- you always make noise coming in late.” The last few classes he had come in late, grumbling and trying to be inconspicuous but he was 6 feet tall and not very graceful, last time he broke a few flasks when he swung his backpack- professor Ross was not impressed. But how could you get mad at someone with big sky blue eyes and boyish charm. Easily. He was cocky and annoying and you could hear him coming down the hall with his frat brothers before every fucking class.

“Yeah- you’re um, lab partners with that one guy,” ah yes- the poor kid who threw up upon the first slice in the dissection of the fetal pig, and then proceeded to go down like an anvil in some Looney Tunes bit. He hasn’t been back to class since then so you’ve been partnerless for about two weeks. “Jason, no- Jackson?” God Frank was so bad at names. He just dubs everyone a nickname- something he can refer back to when he has to think of them or talk to them. You were angel eyes. It wasn’t sweet- no. Yes you were very pretty- but the nickname was more for the unsettling way you’d stare at him when he and his friends were being loud. Like the way you see an actual angel- it’s scary but dammit you can’t look away. 

“James, and yeah he decided the Premed track wasn’t for him. So I’m riding solo,” opening your laptop to the course plan for this semester and snatching back the bag of chips that Frank started to open up, clearly easily making himself at home in your space. 

“I’ll be your lab partner- I mean, if you need? Mine skipped out on me, so-” He tried to sound nonchalant, tried to not beg because now that he’s out of his frat- said lab partner is now an official frat member and has resigned from being his lab partner- banned even. He needed help. He needed you. A lab partner. He was smart, yes- but he couldn’t get his own thoughts out sometimes because they’re too fast and he doesn’t focus well and sometimes working with someone calms him a bit and he’s been struggling this last few weeks with-

“Yeah,” you shrug, sliding the bag of chips his way again, “yeah okay.” You needed a lab partner. Desperately. Professor Ross strongly recommended that this course was best worked in pairs. To split the load- and you could definitely do it yourself. You’re definitely smart and not at all panicking. But- solidarity in numbers right? Maybe suffering with someone else was better than going it alone? Because you’re almost 3 months into freshman year and- yes, you’re already drowning. Someone to split the difference with will help. You didn’t need friends. No this was a business transaction- a necessity. He moves his chair over to yours, following along to the plan you’ve laid out for the rest of the semester while passing the bag of chips between you both now. Hours had passed- you managed to knock out a few discussions and quizzes with Langdon and- he was funny. Annoying as hell, but made you laugh and smarter than your last lab partner by far. Okay so- you did judge him a little. Just a bit. First month in class he already had his frat regalia on and was cocky and overconfident and loud and annoying and- really all that’s missing is the clothes now but you’ve spent longer with him and he’s not that bad. Maybe it was the group of the other 18 year olds who would gas each other up and jerk around and he’d just follow suit. But alone he’s human. Alone he’s funny and failing at catching the nasty orange skittles in his mouth that you throw at him. 

“It’s late- we should go, they’ll be closing up soon.” you’re closing your laptop now and bending down to pick up the skittles Langdon missed from the floor, “same time Monday then?” You were ready for the next few days. To do what? Same thing you do every weekend. Absolutely. Fucking. Nothing. Well- nothing but in the best way possible. You wake up whenever your body decides it’s uncomfortable and can’t lay still anymore- usually around 10 or 11 am. You’ll wrap the biggest coat you can find around you and make your way to the closest newsstand for the Times and run back upstairs before the chill sets in to your bones. You’ll sip your coffee, iced- no matter the weather, in bed if it’s too cold out but on the little balcony when the weather is nice- while thumbing through the paper. Then eventually you settle in for the crossword puzzle of the day. Every weekend. Like clockwork. 

“Uh- yeah- yeah definitely.” Frank makes himself look busy, shuffling some paper and tells you he’ll clean the rest of the skittles off the floor so you can go home. He tosses a quick bye to you and you’re confused with his sudden change in attitude, but leave nonetheless. You make it a few steps outside, down the stairs even but- something tells you to go back. You don’t even know Frank but- something in your gut pulls you to go back to him.

“Why are you still here?” You burst through the study room again, watching him anxiously pick his backpack up from the floor and attempt to open it.

“Oh- um, I- I was just- gonna get some more chapters in and-“

“You’re a terrible liar, Langdon. C’mon, lemme at least drive you back to your frat.”

“You can’t-“

“Look don’t be macho, I’m not driving I mean-“

“No I mean,” sucking in a breath he starts, “you can’t because I got kicked out 2 weeks ago. And it’s too late to get a dorm now- and even if I could- I can’t afford one. I’ve been staying in the study rooms, that’s why I’ve been late for class the last few times.” It was hard taking orders from a punk kid, only a year older than him, named Carter of all fucking things. Ivy League wannabe, whose daddy couldn’t get him into Columbia so he’s slumming it at NYU until he can maybe transfer. Frank wanted a brotherhood, wanted to go to college with people who cared about him and he could make relationships with. Not fucking “brothers” who forced him to clean windows and their shoes with his own toothbrush, then proceeded to make him use said toothbrush still. Or “brothers” who brought barely conscious girls up to their rooms and told him to shut the fuck up when he said something about it. After he brought it up to the counselor, he was kicked out the same night. Came back to the house with his stuff littering the curb and only had enough time to grab a duffle back with some clothes before running off. He was able to sneak into the library before it closed and- well this is where he’s been for the last few weeks. 

Like clockwork Frank would come in with a group of students and find an empty corner to hide in until they left their study room for the night, then he’d sneak into the used room- turn the light off and sleep until class started the next morning. If he was lucky enough to wake up before his alarm, he’d run down to the gym to take a quick shower with some of the free sample sized toiletries from the student resource center. Then he’d run to the cafeteria and try to use as little of his meal plan money as possible- loading up for breakfast and getting easy to carry snacks for his classes throughout the day. For dinner he’d come back to the cafeteria for another meal that was as cheap as possible- then to the library. 

Frank couldn’t ask his parents for money. No- they’d give it to him even if he knows they don’t have it. He’ll figure something out. He has a few months until next semester- he can talk to the counselor about getting a dorm or do work in exchange or- or something. But right now he’s tired. He’s exhausted. Mentally drained and he barely has enough energy to do his class work at the moment, let alone having to figure out how to be homeless for a few months. Because, if he failed classes, he can lose his scholarship. Losing his scholarship means he either has to come up with the money for a full tuition or leave. And his parents will kill themselves trying to find the money for him. No- no he was fine. He just had to keep his head above the water, tread heavily, don’t drown. 

Nodding- you take in what Frank says and reach down to grab his duffle bag that you somehow missed when you first entered the study room. 

“C’mon,” you toss behind you, “I know where you can stay.” Frank is stuttering out for you to wait- tripping over himself to catch up to you and trying to grab his bag back from you but you shove him away. You’re not letting the kid stay in a study room, no bed to recline in or fucking area to relax in- and you have the room, you have more than enough room. 

“Look I don’t need help,” he pulls his bag from you again, a little more forceful but you’re stubborn and not letting go. He doesn’t want charity or a hand out. He can’t afford to be a roommate, he can’t even fucking afford food right now. “I’m fine- I’m comfortable and it’s not that bad and-“

“Dude shut up. You’re sleeping curled up in a desk- hiding like a stowaway on a ship. I have an extra room.” You silence a bit when you hear a few students shush you both, “Frank- you can’t stay here okay? It’s fine- my place is too quiet anyway. Look-“ you pause and compose yourself. Why was he so fucking stubborn? You’re not taking him to a homeless shelter- you’re offering him a space and you can work out payment later if that’s what’s bothering him but right now he needs help. “Just one night okay? I can’t let you stay here another night in good conscience. Please?” That was the first time Frank Langdon realized you were hard to say no to. And he didn’t know he would spend the next decade having a hard time telling you no when it really came down to it. So he nodded, still grabbing his duffle from your shoulder but followed you nonetheless out the door and down the steps of Brause Library as the thunder started to pick up. Following you to the black town car- stopping a few feet behind when a man in a pressed uniform opens the door for you with a polite greeting. You hear Frank’s footsteps falter, feel him hesitate and can literally hear the gears turning in his head as a few drops of rain started to fall from above.

“This way Langdon.” You stop his thoughts, nodding him over and holding the door open so he can slide into the backseat first. You can feel your driver’s eyes on him, not fully trusting Frank because he knows you. Knows you to not make the best decisions but you just smile to him- a silent indicator to drop it, that you know what you’re doing. Sighing to himself, he turns to Frank and asks “Your bag sir?” So he can throw whatever few possessions Langdon hastily grabbed into the trunk.

“Where to miss?” Clearing his throat, shutting the drivers side door and meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Home, Bradley.” Clicking your seatbelt and replying like it was obvious, the same way you do every day.

“And- um, for the gentleman?” His eyebrow raised, meeting your gaze. Frank sat uncomfortably in the chair. The leather too cold and stiff-  the same way the gaze from your driver felt.

“I picked up a stray, he’s staying with me tonight.” You didn’t have time to explain to your driver, Bradley, whom has been driving you around for the last decade, the background information of Langdon’s housing situation. That he’s not driving you and your hook up to your home. And well- even if he was driving you and your hook up home, you’re an adult and he can lovingly fuck off.

Frank had no idea what he was getting himself into when he agreed to stay with you. He thought he agreed to being roommates in a tiny shoebox apartment- sleeping on your couch that was definitely going to be too small for him. That was a laughable thought now as your driver, Bradley, pulled up to a Park Avenue building with a fucking doorman of all things. He was definitely not dressed to even speak to the doorman, let alone walk across the marbled lobby. Bradley was handing Frank his bag when you walked up the fucking carpeted steps to the doorman.

“Evening miss,” Greeting the doorman, you hung back for Frank, nodding for him to follow again because you know he would be stopped and questioned by security- clearly not a resident of the building. Frank just- takes it all in. He knows New York as stuffy and congested and loud. He doesn’t even allow himself to imagine anything between 59th and 79th street. He doesn’t picture it and feels odd as his wet, old Nike’s squeak across the lobby floor, looking up at the grand high ceiling and fucking velvet accent curtains. You wait, in the elevator as it speeds up to the penthouse floor, you wait for Frank to say something- anything. But he’s just, still. Quiet and stiff. Frank feels like- well he feels like a fucking child in a museum, afraid to touch at anything- to look at anything in fear that it will shatter.

“Home sweet home,” You mumble, stepping off the elevator and go to unlock the front door, letting it swing open so he can step in. The lights automatically flicker on once you walk through the threshold, following you room by room and-

“What the fuck?” He finally allows himself to say. Circling around in the spacious living room, looking out the floor to ceiling windows that show the lighting, how it clearly outlines the skyscrapers in the background. From this height he swears even the view is better, in HD even. Frank feels like he stepped into a copy of his mom’s “West Elm” catalogue that she would flip through and imagine the extravagant lives those people live and what it takes to afford even the napkin holders. 

“Are you hungry? I can order something- or see if Andre is still around to make dinner.” You ignore his gaped, confused look, setting your backpack down on the couch and opening the glass paned refrigerator looking for something to drink. Now, Frank wasn’t ignorant- he knew kids of the so called “elite” went to school with him. But- you just didn’t give off the snobbed vibe that they did. You didn’t bring up familial connections or rub elbows with the professors and dean like some did. You didn’t strut in with designer clothing and accessories- but to be fair, even if you did, it’s not like he’d know what they looked like. And who the fuck was Andre?

“No- um, no, no I can’t stay here,” he’s tightening his duffle bag and backpack around him now- nervous and suddenly very aware of his surroundings and- “it’s, this is too much. Thank you for- yeah.” He’s walking towards the door but you’re faster- running to meet him and wedging yourself between him. 

“Look-“ you say, angrily because he’s definitely fucking hard headed and he needs to listen. “You are staying here tonight- even if I have to call security downstairs and post a cop outside the door. You’re staying here tonight Langdon.” You come up to his shoulder, shorter than he is but fucking mighty and he might be afraid of you a bit more now. He can’t- he can’t accept staying here. His siblings are doubled up in rooms back home and he’s going to stay in a penthouse apartment with a doorman and whoever the fuck Andre was. You don’t move, content on staying there the entire night if you have to. 

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t know if he asks for himself or for you but- he needs to hear you say it’s okay. Because he can’t tell himself it’s okay right now. He’s been getting less than 3 hours sleep a night in the last week, curled up in the just too small desk- uncomfortable and stressed. And an actual bed sounds so fucking good right now. And food. Not shitty cafeteria food or scrounged up protein bars- a meal he can enjoy. But you’re nodding, relaxing yourself a bit because you were ready to jump on his back and drag him down fighting- even if you’re sure he’d just be able to easily shrug you off. He drops his bags on the floor, beautiful, herringboned Ebony wood floors- sighing and- “who’s Andre?”

“The chef.” you say, grabbing his duffle so you can show him where he’ll stay for the night- hopefully longer if he agrees. His room would be on the opposite side of the floor from you, his own bathroom and view- his own space that he’s never really had or enjoyed really. He never had his own room, he shared with one of his brothers up until he left for college, then a roommate in the dorms for a week, then a room with one of his potential frat brothers, and- well the cramped study room didn’t even have a bed so it didn’t count. The bed was made, crisp white linens that you could probably bounce a quarter off of- bathroom towels fluffed to perfection and a stocked shower. It was like a fucking hotel only this time he was afraid of putting his bag down- afraid of stepping onto the rug with his gross shoes but it was so nice. It smelled like cotton and fresh air- the curtains looked pressed and he might even check for a mint on the pillow later because, you live here? You did- you’ve lived here in this cold, quiet apartment for a decade now. And sure- this guest room was nice and freshly made in case someone needed a place to stay. Not that you had many friends who stayed- none in fact. But your room has been destroyed and stripped from its original foundation of its Pure Park Avenue glory and into your angsty teenage decorations long ago. 

“It’s okay Frank,” you see him slowly turning and taking in the room- the fucking view from the 80-something-th floor in his own room. “Relax- the room doesn’t bite.” He tries to laugh, but he’s easing himself on the bed now and there’s a million pillows on it and- fucking soft. “Thank you,” he sits up, smiling and trying to not cry because he was tired. He was drowning. He didn’t know how he was going to make it another few months like he was and you were some godsend. “You’re literally an angel.” You were. To him anyway because in this moment you’ve stopped his spiraling. You’ve stopped his downfall. He will definitely make it up to you however he can.

[zazaiafe2]

can u talk about sleep paralysis to manifest/ enter the void state please!?

Hi! I've already talked about the Void State twice on my account,feel free to check those out, especially because what I said about shifting also applies to manifestation.

Now, I haven’t talked much about sleep paralysis as an entry point, sleep paralysis and the void state are two different altered states, but I truly believe that entering the void from sleep paralysis is one of the easiest ways, at least for me.

I've personally shifted multiple times from sleep paralysis, and I find it’s one of the most favorable states because:

-Your body is completely asleep,

-Your consciousness is still present,

You’re already in a deeply altered state, and just one mental “push” away from the void or your DR.

(I'm not saying it's the best state for everyone, but it's one of my favorites.)

🛑 The most important thing is: Do not panic. Hallucinations can happen (visuals, sounds, pressure), but I personally find them easy to ignore or push away if I stay calm. They’re just noise,i personally take deep breath and focus on something that bring me peace.

Tips to Enter Sleep Paralysis on Purpose (for beginners and void seekers):

1. Use the WBTB method (Wake Back To Bed):

Sleep 4–6 hours → wake up for 10–30 mins (calm activity) → go back to bed with your intention.

This increases the chance of staying conscious while your body falls asleep.

2. Lay completely still (starfish or soldier position)(yeah bringing back good memory haha).

Avoid moving or scratching, no matter what.

Your brain will send “tests” like itches or twitches to check if you're awake. Ignore them

3. Focus on your breath or a mantra

Ex: “I’m shifting now” or just count “1… 2… 3…”

What i personally like to do is box breathing (inhale for 4, then hold for 4 and exhale for 4).

Don’t overthink it. Let your body relax and detach.

4. When paralysis kicks in (heaviness, buzzing, can't move):

Stay emotionally neutral. Don’t force anything. Observe.

Feel like you're sinking or floating, then push into the void or DR with intention or visualization.

5. If you see/hear things (hallucinations):

Don’t resist or fear them. They can’t hurt you.

Smile internally and remind yourself: “I’m safe. I’m in control.”

Most of the time i just affirm that i'm shifting,but you can adapt based on what you wanna do.

Trust your calm. Let go. Let it pull you in. You’ve got this.

[pinkpigtailsprincess]

* ੈ✩🏩‧₊˚ Manifesting is SO Fun ⋆.ೃ࿔*

?? . . open me !! … 𓈒 ݁ ₊ > 👖

₊˚📧✩; a frequently asked question i get on my blog and is that question of “How do i make manifesting fun?” and truth is manifesting I’SNT supposed to feel like a chore in any context and i was really trying to dissect this question because this is also something i’ve struggled with in the PAST and i finally figured out that a reason it feels like a chore sometimes because since LOA is such a diverse topic with TONS of opinions and methods being thrown out it can get overwhelming

and then the topic of knowing “if you’re doing it right” solution? MAKE YOUR OWN RULES!! i mean it is YOUR WORLD whatever you say goes so make your own manifesting rules that best benefit you!!

also some fun ways to manifest . . . [generating data]

DISCLAIMER!! you don’t HAVE to do these if you don’t want to!!

#1 Dear,Diary Method!! ୭₊˚

a method where you journal/type about your desired life as if you’re already living as you would do with your affirmations!

#2 Seasons !! ୭₊˚

this one is lowkey the list/write a story method but i saw this on a youtube community post a while back and thought it fit but basically mark off the a sections in your notes with like

season1,2,3 etc. and write down everything that happened

#3 Subliminals !! ୭₊˚

BEST FOR SLEEPING!! because you can literally just play it on low while and you sleep and literally get AMAZING results OBVI!!

#4 Repeat it Back !! ୭₊˚

this is more for affirmations but this is something i came up with SO LONG AGO and basically it’s using the outside/3D influence to your advantage and turning it into something that benefits you

ex. you are so _ > i am soo _

#5 Make your own Rules !! ୭₊˚

as previously stated MAKE YOUR OWN RULES either way its your world and you make the rules nothing has to be hard if you don’t want it to be Life is what you make of it so make it benefit YOU

[yourmoonie]

How to manifest an SP

The Neville Goddard way and my interpretation:

Neville:

“When I decided to marry the lady who now bears my name, I applied this principle. At the time, I was terribly involved. I had married at the age of eighteen and became a father at nineteen. We separated that year, but I never sought a divorce; therefore, my separation was not legal in the state of New York.”

Moonie:

Neville had specific circumstances in front of him:

- He wasn't legally divorced

- The Ancient laws of the New York city were getting on his way of marrying his 2nd wife

Neville:

“Sixteen years later, when I fell in love and wanted to marry my present wife, I decided to sleep as though we were married. While sleeping, physically in my hotel room, I slept imaginatively in an apartment, she in one bed and I in the other. My dancing partner did not want me to marry, so she told my wife that I would be seeking a divorce and to make herself scarce – which she did, taking up residence in another state. But I persisted! Night after night I slept in the assumption that I was happily married to the girl I love."

Moonie:

As you can see, despite the annoying circumstances, Neville still believed in his imagination even if his 1st wife wasn't around, even if his 1st wife didn't sign the divorce papers, he still believed in his imagination more than his 3D or his human senses. He slept in the assumption that he was happily married to the girl he loved even if his 3D was showing him the opposite.

Neville:

“Within a week I received a call requesting me to be in court the next Tuesday morning at 10:00 A.M., giving me no reason why I should be there, I dismissed the request, thinking it was a hoax played on me by a friend. So the next Tuesday morning at 9:30 A.M.I was unshaved and only casually dressed, when the phone rang and a lady said: “It would be to your advantage, as a public figure, to be in court this morning, as your wife is on trial. “What a shock! I quickly thanked the lady, caught a taxi, and arrived just as the court began. My wife had been caught lifting a few items from a store in New York City, which she had not paid for. Asking to speak on her behalf I said: “She is my wife and the mother of my son. Although we have been separated for sixteen years, as far as I know, she has never done this before and I do not think she will ever do it again. We have a marvellous son. Please do nothing to her to reflect in any way upon our son, who lives with me. If I may say something, she is eight years my senior and may be passing through a certain emotional state which prompted her to do what she did. If you must sentence her, then please suspend it.”

Moonie:

Despite the fact that his 1st wife was "running away" from signing the divorce papers or facing Neville so he could marry his second wife, Neville didn't hold any grudges against his ex wife because he believed that his imagination was greater than anything. So Neville experienced a very unique bridge of events, which then later on led him to get whatever he wanted in his 3D

Neville:

“The judge then said to me, “In all of my years on the bench I have never heard an appeal like this. Your wife tells me you want a divorce, and here you could have tangible evidence for it, yet you plead for her release.” He then sentenced her for six months and suspended the sentence. My wife waited for me at the back of the room and said: “Neville, that was a decent thing to do. Give me the subpoena and I will sign it.” We took a taxi together and I did that which was not legal: I served my own subpoena and she signed it. “Now, who was the cause of her misfortune? She lived in another state but came to New York City to do an act for which she was to be caught and tried.

Moonie:

See? She was in another state, but when she came to New York, she was "forced" to do a specific act, which later on became Neville's bridge of events to marrying his 2nd wife. Neville focused on the desire, aka marrying his 2nd wife and not the circumstances (the divorce papers).

Neville:

So, I say: every being in the world will serve your purpose, so in the end, you will say: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." “They will move under compulsion to do your will, just as my wife did.” “I tell this story only to illustrate a principle. You do not need to ask anyone to aid you in the answer to a prayer, for the simple reason that God is omnipotent and omniscient. He is in you as your own wonderful I Am ness. Everyone on the outside is your servant, your slave, ready and able to do your will.“

Moonie:

So if people have to move for you, then THEY WILL. Do you want your desire to get externalized faster? Forget about the timing and "trying" and start BEING. If 5000 people have to move for you in order for you to get your desire in a materialized way then they will have to run for you

Neville:

“All you need do is know what you want, Construct a scene which would imply the fulfilment of your desire. Enter the scene and remain there. If your imaginal counsellor (your feeling of fulfilment) agrees with that which is used to illustrate your fulfilled desire, your fantasy will become a fact. If it does not, start all over again by creating a new scene and enter it. In my own case the scene was a bedroom of an apartment, with my wife in one bed and I in the other, denoting that I was no longer living in a hotel alone. I fell asleep in that state, and within one week I had the necessary papers to start action on a divorce.“

Moonie:

You really don't need to beg, or lift up a finger to get whatever you want. Don't focus on the problem, focus on the solution, don't focus on the circumstance, focus on the end goal.

He really proved himself that all he needed to do was to stay true to his imagination.

Do you want your shit faster?

- go straight to the end, accept that your desire is yours (has already been externalized and is yours)

- stand firm

- forgive yourself, forgive the people in your reality bcs they are just playing their roles in your reality.

- It is not your job to worry about "the how" or "the when", your job is to define+decide your desire, then believe and trust yourself that its already yours

Because THERE IS NO SEPARATION

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What would your broken heart feel about your nuptial union ? (18+)

PILE 2 

Star (reverse), High priestess (reverse), 2 cups, 2 wands (reverse) 

SONG 1 : A Sunday Kind Of Love - Etta James

You are an over-sharer and u dont care. You often say the most out of pocket things and walk away like the queen you are. Because you may be disrespectful but u aint wrong. You give me the vibe of Luna Lovegood with the mouth of Cookie Lyon or Pat LuPon. You have a sense of humor, sex-appeal and feminine expression similar to Helena Bonham. Ok Pile 2, I am obsessed with you … Plz say u want to be my friend. It said we are friends, yes you have no choice. I swear I am cool too, maybe not as much as you but I am still a STAR (Mia Goth scream way). 

First letter is written by your present self. Y’all may live alone. You may have  black cat or thought of adopting one from the shelter. You are always down for a late night snack. You were raised by a naked mom (twin … told u we have a lot in common) that's why u walk around your house naked. For the one that doesn't apply to their 3D reality, just know that your manifestations are working. You are on the right path to achieve that kind of freedom. 

Second letter is an update from your future self. 

You drop everything. Close your phone or your TV. Give it a big sight and take some paper and a pen. Other of you, is in your journal. Your done being confused or acting confused. Waiting for the right one to appear, you are taking matters on your own and writing about him (without knowing your are manifesting and using a powerful energy : frustration. Also you may do under a powerful moon (ex : full moon) without knowing) 

Ok … So I want him to look so deep in my eyes that it seems like his having a discussion with my soul. I  don't care that I can't handle eye contact (some of y’all wear glasses), I just want a cute moment. Is that too much to ask ? No it is not ! AND I WANT IT. I also want someone that can't keep his hand away from me. I want someone who's going to drag me towards him softly while I speak to my friend just cause he needs to feel me. I want someone that would hug me to sleep while he plays video games with his friend but he would not just stop there. He would not scream and his friend would yell at him in his headphones but he would chuckle that he’s the only one with a gf for a reason. He would never be ashamed of being pussy whipped and a total simp boy for a fucking weird girl like me. He will not fetishize my weirdness or quirks, he would actually embrace it. He will found joy bringing me to the spiritual shop so I can buy all my crystal and herbs, he would love to plan a trip to Salem so we can dive deeper into the witchcraft scene or maybe love to go to New Orleans so I can bask in the magical air and learn the beauty of a closed practice (u will not practice it but u love learning). He would love to see me put cinnamon  a front of all our doors, fuck why not add this since HIS MY PERFECT MEN …he would love to live in an old house with some antique decor. I also need him to be tall , this tall queen needs to feel like a little spoon 2. Back off my man, short princess, mama got this. I WANT HIM CLINGY. I want him to be unable to sleep without me. I want him to be a homebody but like the clean kind, not the incel way ( ME: EXPLOSION OF LAUGHTER. Girl u seem to talk from a specific experience). I want him to love holding on to my purse, tying my shoes and throwing in some kind of braiding hair skills. I want him to enjoy a road trip because if there's one thing my family is going to do, is go on a trip. I want him to love my family and accept the fact that I am a crybaby. Yes… the stereotype is real, I am the last (or only ) daughter of the family so��is my way or the highway. I want him to be able to chase after me when the zoomies catch me when  I am drunk. Did I mention that I want him tie to my hip ? I want him to stop his car whenever he sees me in  the neighborhood just so he can get out and hug me. Universe frl don't play with me … he better not be some long distance bullshit. You know I can't handle it ! 

Yes! Angel number : 999 must be meant to be. 

PS: I just want to throw this here … I mean may as well. I want us to have some light hearted  love making. I want to be comfortable being naked under the cover. I want us to build healthy sexual tension. I also want him to seduce me into having sex, no pressure. I want him to touch me like I am a delicate porcelain doll and look at me with so much love and adoration. I want him to see the value in my naked body … I just want to feel like I am worth more than just a sex doll. 

555

(Your signature) 

Update (In your manifestation journal. You will have one in the future. Also I am channeling a time where u are more organized in your spirituality and more confident than a baby witch) 

SONG : CRUSH - AJ Tracey ft Jorja Smith 

Before I start, you are coming to a realization. Don't worry, it's not a bad one. You just did something u never thought u would do. Actually when u went to meet up with him u did not even think, y’all would do that. You guys fucked in the forest. Some of y’all have a lake in your neighberhood which is your secret spot and u fucked in parking lot around.  Depending on how u park it can be in front of the forest. You were literally coochie out moaning  with the birds. BYEEE … Chérie D’Amour I did not know y’all were down like that. Some of y’all reading are surprise but intrigue, yeah this person is going to bring out the nasty gyal out of you. 

3 pentacles (reverse), king cups, 6 wands (reverse), magician (reverse) 

Home sweet home… I'm back. 

(You take a deep breath. Nod your head and stand up  and caress your bed (lol) then  decide is best to just take a shower. The flashbacks are attacking you in the shower. You may get horny in the shower to the point of wanting to touch yourself but I heard u speak out loud : (Your name) stop being so perv, ( chuckle ) … fuck I forgot how good and hot he was). Dinner with the fam and watching a movie with your sibling back in your bedroom.) 

Ok not only did he crack my shit he also clocked my tea (you are talking to one of your deities). I thought I was the healer in the relationship and maybe I let my ego get bigger than it needed to be just because I did some shadow work. Honestly I hate to say it but I think I stereotyped him … I was so sure he was emotionally unavailable … the whole time I was the guard up one. I remember when he first approached me it was in such an awkward setting (an embarrassing thing that can happen to you on the mundane: Toilet paper on your shoes, blood spotting in your bottoms, maybe your drink spilled all over you.) and he offered to help me. You know me … I don’t have shame because life is life. Nobody is going to remember me in 5 years if I fell on my ass or throw up in the bush after the club and even if they do … fuck them, we ball. He offered his help with a charming smile, Goddess does he smell good. Thank you so much for the tall setting on him … I was starting to lose hope. Offering me paper and running a hand on my back while I threw up in the bush while my other friend is stopping my homegirl from sending her nudes to her boss. (Chuckle) How did he survive such an overstimulating experience ? A crazy girl yelling her sexual fantasy about a man twice her age, while another trying to take the phone away from her and me completely sick on knees vomiting my life away. Yet he was cracking jokes and comforting me. I still remember : ‘’ No you fine baby … No you don't smell, I swear all I can smell is roses. What was that princess ? Can you repeat ? Yes… Thank you baby … I also think you are smoking hot. I would love to talk but let's make sure you are fine first …’’ ( You heart skip a beat, You take a break from writing to enjoy the butterfly in your stomach). His voice adhfbhfnekihgejkng, fuck and dont get me started when his dirty talking me or moaning on top of me. Still can't believe he took my number and called me first in the morning making sure I am fine. Over the months we got closer, no pressure since he already saw me at my worst. We both realize that harboring love was more complicated than we thought but we want each other so bad. My hyper independence had the best of us because I made him think that he was useless. The way I treated him made him feel like I was using him just for entertainment. I made him insecure regarding his intentions, his real feelings and actions because I am not going to lie when he opens up about his past … I started projecting all the men  that hurted me and just distance myself. On his side his separation anxiety is quite overbearing. Always having to text him, calling him and showing him a picture of where I was. Before we knew it, loving each other became a task. A tarot reading later, he texts me randomly and asks me for a second chance. What ? What was I supposed to do ? He invited me to his house and cooked for me. Than gave me a foot massage while we watched one of my trashy TV shows. One thing lead to the other, the flirtatious comment, the sneaky touch, the meal, the clean house, him without a tee-shirt, me in my cute 2 piece, the glasses of wine and before I knew it we were confessing once again our love promising each other to do the wok require to make it work. Honestly I have so much faith in us. He’s the only one that actually sees me. Lol he even gave me a box of beautiful crystals … you would have folded 2, if it were u. 

(The bell of your house goes off. Somebody calls your name downstair, a flower bouquet is waiting for you. You never finish the letter.)

You are going to marry this person but unlike the other girly pop a key moment of y’all relationship came through instead of marriage. Which I didn't even ask for marriage to come through just for your future spouse to do. So it's actually a coincidence that the 2 other piles came through with their wedding specifically. 

[syzthefrizz]

Tips for writing dream sequences (from someone who has really vivid, weird dreams on a frequent basis)

My biggest pet peeve with fictional dream sequences is that they make too much sense!! They're too relevant! There's not enough random crazy stuff! That's not always unrealistic per se, but you are missing out on some of the fun ways you can reveal information about your character's mindset, fears, struggles, and future.

Most of my dreams have a goal or objective driving the plot, and it's usually urgent. Ex. "escape the huge storm on the horizon", "find a place to sleep for the night in an unfamiliar town", "find a bathroom". This is especially true of stress dreams.

Everything going on in the dream makes perfect sense to you during the dream. It doesn't feel like reality per se, but you think it is. You're living in a house full of vampires that could eat you at any moment? Seems legit.

Emotions and situations from the dreamer's life can/will find their way into dreams, with varying levels of subtlety. The dream could be about the stressful event itself, or it could be some sort of exaggerated metaphor. Ex. I was worried about whether I was a competent CS major while I was still trying to find a summer job/internship, and I was worried about what my professors must think of me. Such a good student on paper, still without summer plans. I dreamed that I ran into my professors all having lunch together at a restaurant (during a dream with a completely different storyline), and I was wearing my pajamas. They judged me.

Certain things are very hard to do in dreams. This could vary from person to person. For me, it's always driving (the brakes never work right), flying (I can't stay off the ground for very long), and running (it's like trying to run through waist-deep water).

People with PTSD may dream about the traumatic event happening differently than it actually happened. (Take this one with a grain of salt - I don't suffer from PTSD, I just research it sometimes so my blorbos can suffer accurately).

You can have a string of loosely connected or disconnected dream sequences back to back, each with an entirely different plot, setting, etc.

People can have reoccurring themes or plotlines in their dreams, which are often connected to their lives/psyche somehow. I frequently dream about running away from tornadoes and being in situations where there's some catastrophe coming but I'm the only one who understands that there's a problem and nobody will listen to me.

It's common for me to have a dream setting that I KNOW is someplace I'm familiar with, but it doesn't actually look like that place at all. Ex. "I dreamed that we were at my house, but it didn't look like my house..."

Dreams can end in cliffhangers. Sometimes I wake up right before I'm about to eat something delicious.

Sometimes people have dreams about doing things that they would never, ever do in real life, and they wake up feeling disgusted. This is Not a manifestation of their secret desires (*glares at Freud*).

Images are the most memorable parts of dreams. I forget the specific plot points, but I can still picture dozens of liminal spaces my brain has created, even years after I dreamed about it.

Dreams will fade from memory very quickly unless the dream had a strong impression on you, you write details about it down or you tell someone about it before you forget.

If you realize you're dreaming during your dream, sometimes you can control the dream going forward. This is called lucid dreaming. I've done it accidentally a couple times, and it's really hard to "hold on" to the dream and control it. I usually wake up soon after starting. With practice, you can get better at it.

Sometimes a normal/good dream can turn into a nightmare, and vice versa. Most of my dreams aren't really good or bad, they're something in between.

Your subconscious brain is CRAZY intuitive. We can argue over the existence of prophetic dreams (I've heard so many crazy stories), but at the end of the day, your subconscious brain knows things that you don't consciously know. If your character is in love with someone, their subconscious brain will know even if the character doesn't. Relationship problems? Deepest darkest fears and insecurities? Your brain knows. A dream predicted the downfall of my first relationship eight months before it happened, down to the reason why we failed. You can absolutely foreshadow this way. A character might subconsciously know what the consequences of their or other people's actions will be, understand things about the situation they're in, know things about the people they're interacting with, and more, despite their conscious realizations.

There are plenty of ways to make a dream sequence relevant to your story, but don't forget to add in some fun, random details. Character A is secretly in love with Character B? Have Character A dream about Character B confessing feelings to them while in a Vine Nostalgia themed restaurant over a plate of mac-n-cheese. The details are the fun part, and you can get as weird as you want. I once ran into my aunt in a dream, and she was wearing a backpack with a bunch of (fake?) hands sticking out of it, making a fan that rose above her back behind her head like some sort of peacock feather costume piece. I was so freaked out that I woke up. I dare you to get weirder than that.

Not everyone's brain works the same way. I have vivid, random, detailed, memorable dreams on a frequent basis. When I describe them to people they often ask "what were you on?". My roommate only remembers her dreams when they're nightmares. I have some friends who say they don't dream. Other friends have really boring, mundane dreams about their normal lives. Some people have weird dreams but only once in a blue moon. It's a good idea to decide off the bat what kinds of dreams your character has, and how often they remember them.

That's it for now, but I might make a part two if I think of more things to add. Feel free to reblog with your own personal dream expertise!

[jolidei]

Of Fëanáro and his grandchildren

He found it both delightful and strange to watch the scene unfold in front of his person.

He had only recently been brought back to life, pushed out of the halls of Mandos by their master himself. That only turned out to be the easy part, he still had to face his now ex-wife, Nerdanel, as well as his seven children who he was sure would have a lot to say to him.

Although there were also, and may the Valar save him by clemency, Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë.

It turned out to be a long period that he had to face, and yet he was, for the most part, excused. Although he understood if any member of his family refused to speak to him or even to be in the same room with him. However, he was now very selfishly enjoying the moment that was happening.

Erenion was chatting with young Elurin.

The platinum-haired younger twin was learning the art of public speaking and it was the son of Findekano and Maitamo who had offered to teach him if the prince agreed. The king of the Noldor in Middle-earth seemed to have a lot of patience, perhaps inherited from Ñolofinwë's side of the family or also from Nelyo himself, this while Elurín was trying to leave his nervousness behind, he would soon debut as spokesman of the recently constituted house of Fëanáro.

On the other side of the room, Eluréd was polishing his bow made of oak, Lindir was tuning his harp and for a moment he was able to see Makalaurë with Tyelkormo when they had barely left childhood many ages ago. Turcafinwë's protégé hummed the melody happily while Kano's offspring improvised a few sweet notes that caused an enjoyment in tune.

Crossing the threshold of the door, the first of his grandchildren entered with a pile of scrolls in his arms, Tyelperinquar had a smile on his face that he had struggled to recover after having fallen by the hand of Morgoth's stag. He looked jovial and innocent, beaming as he regained his joy, I was really happy for him.

"I'm of the opinion that you should sleep first before starting on your interesting projects."

Erestor's familiar voice manifested itself in the hall. Tyelpe laughed nervously under the gaze of the counselor who had his attention on the documents brought by his older cousin. He was surprised by the closeness of the young men's driving, Erestor seemed to bring Tyelpe back when the latter was closed in his projects, while the blacksmith pushed the younger one to have fun outside with him.

"Are you all right, Haru?”

At his side, Elrond questioned. He readily attended, took his grandson's hand and smiled. He had helped too many members of his family three times condemned, Maitamo and Makalaurë loved him, he himself loved him. The peredhel smiled back, he just held his hand.

"I'm home, that's all."

[princessaffirms]

hiii! ♡ im new to ur blog and i was wondering how did you start believing in loa and manifesting? was it easy for you to start believing in everything?

do you have advice for someone like me who wants to start affirming and manifesting, but doesn’t even know where to start… its a little hard for me since i struggle a bit with my adhd and lack of motivation. i will admit that i’m lazy when it comes to manifesting. sorry if you’ve answered something similar to this already!!

could i be (🍮🎀) or (🐰🎀) anon pls?

🎀✨ HOW TO manifest with ADHD ₊˚⊹♡

a collection of ADHD-friendly suggestions/tips for my neurodivergent angels <3 (from someone also diagnosed with it!)

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

BAEE omg fellow adhd-er!! <3 🥹 i’ve definitely had moments earlier in my journey where i’ve been skeptical and needed a break away from it all, only to come back to it later from a more grounded perspective!

now that u mention it, i’d love make this an official series focusing on bpd/adhd (as i’m diagnosed with both) friendly shifting/manifestation tips! 🤍✨ but for now, here are some suggestions that worked for me when i struggled with executive dysfunction due to adhd:

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

✨ ADHD-FRIENDLY manifestation SUGGESTIONS/TIPS:

💭 start SMALL → think or whisper affirmations in your head while doing simple tasks that don’t require much narrative thought (so maybe not studying/journalling). instead, try affirming while performing tasks that feel like muscle memory: walking, brushing teeth, scrolling, etc.

⏰ set TIMERS/ALARM reminders -> set alarms periodically throughout the day, especially during times you know tend to be more free (ex. after you wake up, before you go to bed) that gently remind you to affirm for X mins! start a timer and affirm for a set amount of time (ex. 5 mins) to saturate your mind with the affirmations and realign your internal narrative, then just go along with your day!!

🌷 focus on 1-3 DESIRES at a time -> pick 1-3 desires to specifically affirm for instead of overwhelming yourself with 28848383 things!!

☂️ use UMBRELLA AFFIRMATIONS -> use affirmations that encompass all the things you want to manifest right now (ex. general beauty affirmations that imply you have glowy skin, long lashes, and your desired appearance instead of affirming for each thing separately!) your subconscious will understand your desires, even if you don’t explicitly affirm for every specific aspect!

☁️ READ a written script of affirmations -> try this instead of manually recalling affirmations from your memory every time!! write out your affirmations with different sections to keep it organized, then just read from them! takes a lot of mental/cognitive load off your shoulders!

🎧 listen to AFFIRMATION TAPES/SUBLIMINALS while multitasking -> normalize your desires to your conscious mind (affirmation tapes) + reprogram your subconscious (subliminals) <3

📝 stick to 1 AFFIRMATION -> pick 1 affirmation you really like and just repeat that one whenever you remember!

🌙 LOOP affirmations while you SLEEP -> there are 8hr ones with nature sounds on youtube (SAMMA SUBS is my fave channel for this) + you can make your own!)

📱 put AFFIRMATIONS in your LOCKSCREEN or device WIDGETS -> so even just checking your phone reinforces your beliefs!!

🎶 ANCHOR your desires to MUSIC -> pick a song that makes you feel powerful and mentally associate it w/ your desires!

🤖 try “ROBOTIC AFFIRMING” → just repeat it monotone and tired if that’s all you can do in the moment. loop it over and over until it’s almost background noise, until it’s NORMAL.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

you’re not lazy. your nervous system just has different needs, and that’s perfectly valid. your dream life is still fully yours. 🥹🫶

love and light always 🎀✨ - princess

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

[fantasyforbeginners]

What does it mean for something to be structurally well written but bad character-wise, plot-wise, or in execution? In theory, it seems similar to the “there’s no bad ideas, just bad execution” thing, but people seem to use it in a different way. In particular, I’m not sure how the execution can be different from how good the characters or plot is-it sounds like an umbrella term to me, but I think I maybe be missing a little bit of context.

I think it varies so much because they are all different things but can so closely overlap (I remember in one of my narrative theory courses we talked about the difference between events, sequence, and plot like ad nauseam... and all of it has basically left my brain). A lot of it also comes down to what is considered 'good' for each of them, which can vary wildly and be very subjective. So this is, at least, how I think about them!

» Structure: the overall themes and messaging of the story, usage of foils and parallels, for ex. This is like, Concepts rather than execution. The ability to decipher the intention of a thing (i.e. this character arc is about learning to trust) even if it's not well executed, etc.

» Plot: the events of the story. Character A went to Place B, etc. Ideally, the plot will help enhance the structure (a character who learns to trust will have to confront a person who betrayed them at Place B, etc) and stakes/execution etc.

» Characters: the personal manifestations used to tell the story. They can be used as tools (pieces of theme) which can be separate entirely from their characterization (personality, interiority; which can take precedence over their tool-ness). They are typically vessels of likability or intrigue to make us want to care about the other shit (worldbuilding, plot, etc) if the story is character driven > premise or plot driven.

» Execution: how all of these things, arguably, are brought together and/or disparate from one another. For example, while Sleeping Beauty and Snow White have structure and plot similarities — a beautiful sleeping maiden is awoken from her cursed 'death' with a kiss from a prince — but how they get there is wildly different; Snow White's curse is very sudden, Aurora faces a slow build of dread because you always know it's coming, even if she doesn't. Snow White is accordingly simpler as a story, whereas Sleeping Beauty engages (lightly at least) with fate as a theme.

For a story of how all these elements can merge (nor merge) together, I'm going to talk about Frozen because I think it's a specifically really good example to use to break down all of the above:

Structurally:

Frozen is about sisters, and specifically the reconciliation of the sisters. There are themes of family and the importance of being open with others in your life; Hans provides a subtheme of why you shouldn't rush in to just trusting anybody. (We'll get to him later, believe me.) For Anna, she's rewarded for her determination and love, and doesn't really change as a person throughout the movie; Elsa, comparatively, does, learning to let go of her fear surrounding her powers and how to embrace them (scaffolded under learning to let herself be loved). This provides a subtheme of people doing bad/dangerous things out of fear.

Plot:

Sisters fight. Elsa runs away to avoid (not feel/deal) with her problems and creates winter out of fear. Anna pursues her, is injured, comes back, is betrayed by Hans. Elsa is likewise dragged back to their kingdom. Hans almost kills both of them, Anna saves her sister even if that means sacrificing herself, and that ends up saving her. Elsa gains a better understanding of her powers out of it and ends the winter. Happy ending.

Characters:

If the plot demands for Anna to go after her sister into the cold, then Anna must be a determined character. If Elsa's plotline requires her to try and hide her powers, then she must be a more secretive character. The add ons to make them endearing, tbh, is that Anna is plucky and out of her element (highlighting her determination and love), and Elsa is anxious (whereas another character could've been secretive and resentful) because she doesn't want to hurt anyone, which keeps her sympathetic even as the harm of her powers escalate.

Execution:

So now that we have all these factors understood, how does the movie actually apply all of them? Frozen is very much a movie that checks off all its structural boxes — the story is indeed about trust and love and fear (themes), and the sisters do reconcile after a magically created divide — but the execution falters routinely when it comes to Character Agency and Consistency, particularly for Elsa and Hans, respectively. This also hampers its themes and overall story execution.

For example, the true monarch fleeing the kingdom out of fear, leaving it in disarray, initially ignoring the person who came to bring them back and fix the problem, only to eventually make things right and reclaim the throne is also the Plot Structure of The Lion King. However, whereas Simba makes the choice go home and face Scar — even when he still believes himself responsible for his father's death, even when he doesn't know if things are going to work out — Elsa is dragged back against her will. She then escapes and attempts to leave, placing even Anna's care in Hans' hands. Elsa has effectively no agency post-Let It Go, and the story never seems super bothered by this, or the way she only unlearns her primary character flaw (avoidance and running away) after everything else has already been comparatively fixed (Anna has saved her and has thawed). And because her agency is nuked, her character arc also feels really underdeveloped. She has basically 3 stages (childhood powers are good, childhood powers are bad for 90% of the movie (minus let it go), childhood powers are good again) with very little in between the last two stages, which is what should arguably get the most focus.

Hans is also a character who gets a major short end of the stick (and takes both the girls down with him) because of his lack of character consistency. It's more than "oh he's a twist villain, so you can't see it coming"—it's that his actions at the Ice Palace make zero sense if he wants the throne.

The Duke has one of his guys lined up to take the shot and kill Elsa, which Hans already defaults to being necessary to end the winter like 10 minutes later; he's already in charge of Arendelle with Anna MIA and he was planning on staging an accident for Elsa after the wedding to Anna, anyway; and here, he can have someone else kill the queen with witnesses and zero involvement for him. He has multiple reasons to want her dead, and none to actually want her alive, but he... spares her anyway, for some reason? Because the plot needs her alive, so they have him shot the arrow upwards toward the chandelier to Maybe take her out (and him checking it out is animated) which is also dumb, because if it was on purpose that'd make him more responsible for her death (which he seemingly wanted anyway in that scene!!) than just letting the guy take the shot.

So Hans doesn't really make sense as a twist villain, and I'd also argue him being one completely negates a lot of Anna's agency as well. Rather than realizing for herself which man suits her better or who she trusts more, she's hung utterly out to dry and then has Olaf point it out to her. Even though your partner doesn't actually have to be Evil to be Not Right for you, and that's a message I wish we saw a lot more in kids media.

However, Frozen is also an exceedingly easy move to fix in a variety of ways.

When writing a story, we all have various options to get us to the same outcome — say, a character needs to realize they have courage, and we know we want a haunted castle involved — so these are the Frozen Fix-It situations, I think.

Elsa escapes the prison, but decides to stay in Arendelle to try and find Anna in the storm and solve their problems together, rather than attempting to actively flee again. This is the simplest fix and gives her more agency (though it doesn't really fix Hans and Anna's situation: maybe Elsa redirects the arrow herself at the Ice Palace, and he doesn't really do anything).

My personal favourite: Hans is the antagonist, but he's not a Villain. He genuinely cares about Anna and thinks he's in love with her; he kisses her and it doesn't work. He thinks that in order to save Anna and the kingdom, he has to kill Elsa, and goes to do so with immense regret/remorse. Anna is pissed at him post her de-thawing, but Elsa steps in, and reminds her that people do terrible things when they're scared (stronger theming). Elsa forgives/pardons Hans, but it's clear she's forgiving herself too (agency). Hans and Anna realize that while they care about each other, they're not that well suited, and she picks (rather than being handed) Kristoff.

Option 2 the one that keeps the most of the movie's plot structure while also changing the most, comparatively, and while I'd still have gripes with it (looking at the trolls; looking at Elsa's agency, etc) it's kind of the movie I'll always wish Frozen would've been if they'd just let it be a bit more complex and consistent.

So Frozen, as is, is a movie with a decent plot and good characters, but weaker theming and poorer execution: it's a fun movie, but a structurally broken one, to me. Conversely, there can be stories like The Lion King that have a much stronger structure, but maybe the characters aren't as compelling or some feel underdeveloped, etc. The overall shape of the story is strong, but the ins and outs and scene by scene execution is iffier.

Hope this helps and if you have any more questions or specific examples you'd like to send in, absolutely feel free!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Mystery of love

Previously / Next chapter

a/n: couldn’t stay away from these two…

warning: anxiety attacks, smoking, toxic exs.

summary: when two lost souls meet at their mutual friend’s party sparks fly, the question is if whatever they feel can actually bloom into something more? But that’s the mystery of love.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had gotten better. It was better for a while before it all tumbled down. Noah didn’t know what exactly started it. And even more so his sleepless nights made him feel stupid. He had gotten the hang of controlling his thoughts and now it seemed that everything was for nothing. He woke with a flinch ready to face the odd hours of night only to be met with the rays of sunshine peeping through the blinds. Noah’s heart was hammering, cutting off any other sound. One thing he was sure of, though. He wasn’t in his room. And it wasn’t his drenched sheets that he gripped as he woke. No, it was you. His hands had gripped onto your body.

And now your worried sleepy eyes were looking at him. Noah quickly pushed back. Pulling his body from beneath you. Mind going two hundred miles per hour. “Noah”, your voice pierced the static but he simply shook his head moving to stand up. You watched him moving towards the bathroom ,the doors clicking shut. The bigger part of you, the one that always fixed things, screamed for you to go after him. Make sure he is okay, and do something to help. But you knew how vulnerable breaking down was. How getting smothered only made it worse. So you let him do his thing, trusting him to pull himself out. Even if no one deserved to hurt alone.

When Noah finally slipped out of the bathroom face still damp from the cold water he had drowsed himself in. He was ready to be met with questions but instead, he found you humming as you waited for the water to boil, two cups waiting to be filled in front of you. It made him feel this weird sense of domestic security. It was easy and calm and when you turned to him, a slight smile on your face he felt strangely seen but for the first time not made a spectacle of.

“Camomile and mint”, you mussed, “And waffles are warming up”, “I’ll be in a huge depth to you if you keep this up”, Noah muttered, voice horse from sleep still. His mind pulled him back to the fact that he had slept through the whole night, only in the morning did his brain catch up with him. “Don’t mention it”, you waved it off, “I’m off work today, you got any plans?”, you looked over your shoulder as you buttered the waffles. “Should go to the studio but I don’t know if I can”, the words slipped out of Noah’s mouth before he could even register them.

“Do you want to come?”, he quickly added, “I know you don’t like…”,’ “If I can read while you do your thing, I’m in”, you cut his rant off, trying to defuse the rising tension in his body. “You would come?”, he asked slightly surprised. “There are too many comes in your sentences for eight am, I will join you if you want the company”, you shrugged, Noah snickered slightly, “I’m trying to manifest future events”, he smirked making you glare at him, “Every time I begin to think you can make it without… eh doesn’t matter”, you shake your head. Security feeling a sense of ease that he had jumped back into a somewhat his usual self.

But that shattered the moment you two sat in the car, you could tell from the way his jaw was set that his mind was already in his studio. And whatever that was waiting for him there was eating at him. “Who does the food shop in the house?”, you pulled the question right out of your ass, needing about anything to distract him. “Ah, well we just do it at random”, Noah shrugged. “And when was the last time?”, you glanced at him, watching him concentrate as he reversed out of his parking spot. “Why don’t we stop by”, you suggested, “We can grab little things, I think Emmy is coming over tonight so you all might want some nibble bits”, it felt slightly too pushy in a way. It was their routine you were messing with it, but for some reason, you were sure that looking at cheese was better than going to the demon that seemed to be Noah’s studio. “Sure, you can lead the way, 'cause I never know what to buy for shit like that”, Noah grunted, making you smile.

He was mindlessly walking next to you, carrying the bag, after you two bickered about that for ten minutes. And while you had called him sexist he simply said that it doesn’t mean that you have to do everything yourself. Now you were happily looking through different crackers. Ones that looked the same to Noah but apparently were extremely different and didn’t go well with everything. And while Noah hated food shopping, it was nice watching you find joy in such a simple task.

That was until you had halted mid-reach, before turning to face him. Your face had gone pale and Noah couldn’t help but frown slightly but before he could ask you what was going on your hands had reached out to him, pushing him backward, “Fuck, fuck, shit”, you muttered beneath your breath.

“Y/n?”, Noah watched as your whole face scrunched up almost in pain at your name being called from behind you. Noah’s eyes darted past your shoulder, at the guy standing there. He was close to both of your age at least that’s how it looked. He was the definition of office plankton. So put together with his white pressed shirt that Noah had to make an effort to not roll his eyes.

“Dan”, you turned to face him, a smile so fake it had to hurt your cheeks. “Grocery store out of all the places, and in a shit cracker section”, Dan mussed stepping closer and making you step back ever so slightly, causing you to press against Noah’s chest. A surge of protectiveness flooded him. It was the way the guy looked at you as if you were nothing but dirty beneath his shoes that made Noah press his palm against your back.

“What a funny coincidence, still doing your morning juice runs I see”, you muttered, trying to keep your head up. Dan chuckled, “Still so hung up on us that you remember my routine, I’m flattered”. On us, all sorts of alarm bells ran out and Noah instantly reached out, putting his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. That was enough to make the asshole pull his gaze from you to Noah instead.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you do”, you mussed, making Noah smirk ever so slightly. Dan hummed bitterly eyes still on Noah, “Enjoying my leftovers, man?” Noah’s fingers tightened around the handle of the bag in his hand, “What the fuck did you just say?”, as he grunted through gritted teeth. Your palm instantly pushed against his chest, “Don’t, it’s not worth it”. But it’s as if you weren’t there cause he still stepped forward. “Warm her up from me before I come for a round two”, Dan chuckled, Noah’s hands shot out before his last breath was even taken but you clasped your wrist around them, stepping between them.

“Fuck you”, you spat at Dan as he walked backward laughing, eyes stinging with the promise of tears and an insane amount of embarrassment. “You never step in front of me like that, do you hear me”, Noah grunted, turning you around by your upper arm, “I could have fucking hit you”. “Well, I’m not letting you get on tomorrow’s headlines because of me”, you hissed, turned away from him once more as the first tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it off as fast as you could.

You heard him sigh before his fingers reached out for you once more, “Come here”, Noah muttered. “Don’t touch me”, you bit back, pulling his hand away but he didn’t let go, “I wasn’t asking”, and within a heartbeat his hand was cupping your cheek as he pulled you closer to his chest. Only then did you realize that you were trembling. Only when you gripped his hoodie did you realize that his heart was beating way slower than yours.

“I’m sorry”, you muttered shaking your head. “The only one who should be sorry is that piece of shit” Noah grunted, his fingers running up and down the back of your neck. “Can we not talk about him or this or… Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”, as much as Noah wanted to argue about it he owned you one for this morning. You had let him do his thing without prodding and pushing. He should let you do the same but his gut was telling him there was so much more here. So many things that might even put you in danger. The thought alone of you running into that dick alone left a sour taste in his mouth. “Let’s pay up and go”, he muttered, eyes still fixed in front of you as if magically Dan would appear and Noah would have a chance to land that right hook right at his perfect nose.

You were thankful for the silence as you drove to his house. Thankful that he lit your cigarette at the red light because your hands were trembling too much. All you had told him in that 25-minute drive was “I don’t smoke, I just need this now, okay?” He didn’t say anything. His eyes were on the road. He didn’t say anything s he opened your side of the door, motioning for you to go ahead. He didn’t even try to match your fake smile as you greeted the two guys, Jolly and Nicholas, who kindly reintroduced themselves to you. You could see them watching Noah though and they could read his mood. Making the whole small talk ten times more awkward.

You felt concrete heavy as you two finally went down to the basement where the at-home studio was located. Noah pulled his hoodie off with one hand so effortlessly that if you weren’t so deep in your head you were convinced you would have crumpled. “And who’s worried about how much you will wound me”, he threw your own words at you, “It’s because of him isn’t it?”. You knew the questions would come. You were just naive enough to believe that he had forgotten it all. “Don’t dissect, Noah, I don’t need you rummaging through my life”, you grunted, throwing your hands up.

“I’m not asking you for details, it’s a yes or no question, love”, he said clearly still annoyed. You watched him. The guy who just randomly fell into your life. One that made you wish for a different life. “Yeah, mostly”, you admitted with a shrug, “Does this change anything?”. He simply nods, “Does Emmy know how he treats you?”, his words made a shiver run down your back as the very last months of your relationship with Dan play out in your mind.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have pushed”, Noah runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry”. You just shake your head, “I would have the same question if I was in your position so… I get it”, you run your fingers over the leather sofa absentmindedly. “I slept through the night for the first time last night”, Noah muttered, making you snap your head back at him. “I was gonna say that for someone who claims he struggles with sleep, you slept like a baby”, you point out, “What keeps you up most nights?” You know that he threw this out as a lifeline. An equalizer. He got a glimpse of your ugly past now he was handing an ugly piece of his own to you.

“Music is fragile”, he plops onto the sofa, “What if one morning I wake up and everyone has moved on from our music?” You step closer, sitting down next to him, “See, I should tell you that that’s a pretty irrational fear but I understand”, you watch him shrug before he turns to face you, “That’s why I can’t seem to make that call about canceling the tour”. You frown slightly, “People won’t forget you just because you’re taking a break for your health”. He lets out a deep sigh, “Tell that to my brain”, he taps a finger against his temple. “Brain, fans won’t forget about Noah”, you say firmly. For a moment he just watches you before letting out a slight chuckle, “I don’t think my brain heard you”. You raise an eyebrow at him, “Well then”, you muse, cupping his face and leaning closer to him, “No one could forget about you”, you whisper against his air. Noah’s hands instantly reach out, wrapping around your waist as he brings you closer to him. And when you pull back both of your faces are inches apart. You can feel his breath on your face, and can still smell the hints of his cologne. “Noah…”, his name is barely whispered on your lips but it seems to snap him out of his daze, his lips press against your forehead instead, and then he pulls you into his embrace and you find yourself ever so slightly disappointed and wondering how his lips would feel against yours.

••••••••••

@broken0mens

[urrmomzfavorite]

Your Ex is Crashing Out – And Here’s Why It’s Their Loss

*inspired by the recent bieber/seleneeeerr incident*

*also inspired by several celebrity drama, please fandom stay away from me*

Pile One: Justin Dead Prestine: The Unraveling of a Fallen Star

They seemed to have moved on, got a new gf and everything—probably posted some pictures to spite you and boost their fragile ego. I’m sure you spent a lot of time looking at the crafted image of him and his new victim posted on social media to look like the perfect picture, but you knew deep down it was all a show. I mean, he’s always been all about his image, the way people perceived him…

And the day finally came—the day the scales balanced, the day karma knocked their door down—and all it took, baby, all it took to cause this storm of theirs was you. You weren’t aware of all the fights they were having about you, all the times his new partner cried because they compared themselves to you and knew they couldn’t measure up. They knew the way he looked at you was different, the way he longed for you was still present in his eyes, his body. You were engraved in his soul—this forbidden fruit his thoughts would always come back to, this beautiful quiet disaster he’d spend his perfect time building fantasies around.

Ohhh, baby, if only you knew the amount of times your name was screamed, echoed, envied, whispered—it was a source of joy and a wave of pain. If only you knew, you would’ve never cared as much as you did. But now you do, so do what you will with that information.

The day you get a new boo? It’s over. The day you get engaged? That’s the day they crash out. Because deep down, even if they’ve built this seemingly good life for themselves, they wished somehow they’d find themselves in your arms again. And that ring? It’s the physical manifestation of all those stupid illusions they’ve fed themselves over the years finally crashing down.

I’m hearing the lyrics of Breakeven: “Her best days will be some of my worst.” This is going to be day one, and they’ll have many more days in store. Lol. But you shouldn’t care—and please, don’t let their immaturity steal your spotlight. After all, they made their bed; let them lie in it.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two: The Narcissist’s Ways of Ye: Ego, Chaos & Calculated Cuntroversy

OH MY FUCKING GOD, this motherfucker can’t leave you aloneee. This is actually crazy. You regret dating someone so controlling—I know. You didn’t expect things to go this far. They’ve manifested you. Lol. Which, in their language, means obsessively stalking, liking, and touching themselves while looking at your social media. I’m sorry, I know it’s gross, but let’s keep it a hundie, please.

They have a shit ton of personal power and drive, and this was really attractive to you. They’d succeed when it came to getting what they wanted, and you weren’t the exception. They showered you with gifts, but it came at the cost of later telling you to change your clothes, refusing to let you go out with friends, and texting you vile things while you were out anyway. Crazzyyyyy.

Good thing you got out—but did you? Even outside the relationship, it still feels like they’re here. You can hear their voice in your head, criticizing you—the way you act, your laugh, how "fake" you are, why are you eating this? They only care about your weight for your sake—they want you to be healthy. Whatever excuse they need to gaslight you into falling in line.

They haunt you, and it took time to finally shake them off. They became your sleep paralysis demon, haunting you in the daytime too. That’s unhinged—but you got out. And the second you did, they knew. They started blowing up your phone, demanding to know what you were doing, sending you your own posts from unknown numbers just to put you down. They’re obsessed, attaching their spirit to you, trying to suck all the light emanating from you. You need an exorcism to really get this one out of your life.

This person is deeply toxic, Pile Two. Do whatever you have to to cut them off. Their ego is too fragile to handle rejection, especially after this long. The day you even start talking to someone else, they’ll lose it. Be careful, please. I don’t even have the words to describe this type of crash-out—just be careful. Their energy is giving me goosebumps.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three: Offset Is Upset – Do We Give a Fuck Tho?

Cheater, liar, pants on fire—omg, they deserve an Oscar because those tears? Let’s call RAYE to collect. I fucking hate manipulators. They want you because you’re the shit, but they feel insecure because they know you’re too good for them.

And the worst part? You’re losing yourself doing even more for them, expecting them to finally see you—no, babe, convincing yourself that maybe if you do this one thing, they’ll understand how much you love them and change. Unfortunately, my love, that’s not how this works. Every time you do, they hate you more because now you’ve just raised the bar. Now they feel less worthy—they have more proof they’re a piece of shit.

But they’re not governed by their heart or morals, love. They feed this huge ego of theirs, and the only thing that soothes their deep insecurity is the love and attention of several people. It doesn’t even matter who—what they look like, nothing—as long as they’re fawning over them, that’s all they need. As long as they’re feeding their ego with surface-level praise and unquestioned devotion, they feel fed—their demons are reassured. And all it took was five bitches and your self-esteem in the gutter when you found the messages the next day.

And this person? They crash out—when you find out the truth, when you call them out on their bullshit, when you break up with them, on your way out, when they come to your house later begging for forgiveness with flowers. Ohhh, yes—they crash out so many times. They shed so many tears, they beg so hard—all just to do it again in a few weeks when that deep-seated feeling of unworthiness crawls back up.

Don’t ever blame yourself, love. It was never about you—it was always about them needing therapy and chasing validation instead. They’ll always take shortcuts because that’s just who they are. It has NOTHING to do with you. Please remember this, heal yourself, and move on—because whatever they won’t do, I swear 10 other people will. I mean… you should know that lol. They kinda proved it.

The universe has great plans—a great love—for you. Don’t let this blind idiot waste your time. And remember: It’s not that they don’t know your worth. It’s that they know they can’t measure up, so they’d rather bring you down with them.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

[sugarydeceit]

agoraphobia ableism

small rant. like. heavily.

The only reason I'm answering this is because I think it's genuinely harmful and stereotypical to think agoraphobia means you can't leave your house.

Agoraphobia at its basis is paranoia about not having familiarity around you and the intense anxiety that something bad will happen to you that you can't escape from if you're not somewhere that you're familiar and comfortable with.

My job included being around people I always knew, having my phone on me at all times (my familiarity and safety from danger) and was in areas with constant surveillance because we did our events outside of established public businesses. Because of the trauma of my abusive ex and the additional trauma of the car crash I had in September as the passenger, I find genuine anxiety and severely deep fear going somewhere I'm not familiar with or have people I know. I can never leave my house without my phone even to go and get the mail, because the idea of something bad happening to me outside of my own home even just on the sidewalk is enough to paralyze me if I don't have enough charge in my phone.

Agoraphobia is an intense and genuinely debilitating disorder. I don't like that I'm inside all the time but I also know that at the end of the day I prefer the safety. In very extreme cases of agoraphobia the only safety someone feels they have is their own home.

For me, it's if people that I don't have around me aren't near me, or if I don't have communication with something that can get me an emergency service. I was trapped In held hostage in an apartment for a week while being assaulted daily, at times multiple times a day. And at one point I was trapped in a car with him without any help and at one point he had threatened to lock me in the car while we were in the middle of New Orleans where I had no idea where we were while he had control of my phone.

The doctors explained that I was a conditioned over that course of time as little as it was to fear my environment around me to an extreme degree unless I feel there are safety nets around me.

For the first two to three months I was so paranoid about leaving my house because my friends told me they're not sure what he's capable of. Even to this day the police telling never go outside by myself at night because of all of the anonymous messages I've gotten.

It's extremely stereotypical and even ableist to say that agoraphobia means that because you leave your house means you're not agoraphobic, or because you do things that aren't near your house all the time. I'm gonna just assume that you're not educated on the subject enough because even I wasn't educated enough to understand it until I was diagnosed. I refuse to sit in a car unless it's locked.

And especially after the car crash I refuse to get in a car for longer than a very short amount of time unless it's with someone I very explicitly trust, because I was the passenger in the car crash. Even when with someone I trust if we suddenly pause the car abruptly or hit a red light or a stop sign or something I get an immediate panic attack. Agoraphobia comes in many forms.

There's no denying that there's extreme cases where you can never leave your house because of how strong your agoraphobia is But that isn't the only thing that it manifests as or shows itself as as far as symptoms. So long as I feel like I have my phone or someone near me that's familiar then I feel safe, and even then sometimes it gets so bad that day that I don't feel comfortable enough leaving my home. It depends on how I'm feeling that day with my anxiety and paranoia.

I've genuinely turned down social gatherings and meeting up with friends and doing things this year because of how bad it's been. I would make excuses because I just feel like safer in my own home sleeping or watching a movie or being with my partner and friends online or just drawing on my tablet that night, because there's a voice in the back of my brain saying maybe something bad could happen to you that you can't control. Maybe someone could hurt you. And the reason that brain goes there is because there's people in that event I haven't met. And I was very violently harassed online that day abt people finding my address. Or that week. You don't know what people are going through and how it affects them. Please don't assume a mental health disorder so bad as agoraphobia that you know what it actually is.