#i know its hard to give advice on this when you're an outsider

[simplyreveries]

Can I request Lilia, Malleus, and Ortho (platonic for Ortho obviously) x a reader who puts on an act of being a “perfect girl” and always happy but in reality is quite depressed (in the sense where it feels like where their feelings should be is just an empty slot.)? Not forcing you to do this of course ^^

lilia vanrouge

he would lightly jest and tease you all the time— as he can see right through you and your attitude. lilia is definitely someone who you can easily allow yourself to let loose and be more of yourself around him. he always pops up randomly and finds you, usually its surprising and he’ll be doing it some strange way hanging from a ceiling giving you some mischievous smile aha and ask “what's with the sorrowful mood, dear?” despite not showing it, he just has that sense.

you can deny it with a smile all you want but it's nearly impossible to hide anything from this guy. he only shakes his head with a smile at your persistence. thinks your attempts are silly but he wont keep on pushing, he usually prompts to doing things that will make you more comfortable to drop the whole act— he does it in a fun but loving way. he will make it his ultimate goal to make it feel like you can at least tell him anything!

and the time you finally decide to feel more okay sharing how you really feel, he’ll smile slightly even, in a more comforting and sweet way that you're opening up to him. he’ll consider himself quite special. “oh love, that wasn't so difficult was it…?” he’ll let you let out your feelings and emotions however long you want (he’ll tell you he’ll spend the whole night by your side comforting you if he has to and honestly you have to shut that down because he wasn't joking.)

malleus draconia

whenever you and him had your nightly chats outside ramshackle during the cold nights he had always caught some glimpse of you getting tired and stressed with your current situation and letting your act slip— seeing more of what the real you is. he’ll tilt his head slightly, looking down at you and listening quite intently. he does try to give his own advice to help alleviate your troubles.

he would never point out how different you seem when talking to him at night in the privacy of the two of you— in comparison to the bright and confident person you seem to portray yourself as to always be when he sees during the day when you're out and with the others like ace and deuce. he just silently watches and continues to listen and talk to you. he doesn't fully understand you at first, but he wants you to be happy.

malleus is someone you really can lean on… like literally. you could be sitting or standing next to him and feel like its hard and want to lean against him and he will always welcome you to. he loves it if anything, he’ll place a hand on the small of your back or the side of your head in a comforting manner and remind you “youre okay, dearest”

ortho shroud

may have accidentally exposed you once when he was “scanning” once and reading your mood and he asked you why you were so upset? he seemed genuinely concerned though and listed off something you can do to “improve your mood easily!” he's just trying to look out for you haha. he doesn't fully understand yet that you're trying to pretend to be someone you're not.

ortho is used to having to push his brother a little when it comes to being less of a recluse and trying to help him out— he’ll help you too, if you’ll let him. I feel like because he doesn't fully see it it'd take him actually catching you letting yourself slip when no one is around. since then, he would go out of his way to see you daily at school during the day and try to at least cheer you up.

he does feel like someone you genuinely can talk to despite not necessarily being human himself he can be as understanding as he can be with the knowledge he knows. and like i said he’s used to idia’s withdrawn and depressed behavior at times as well. you'll just always seem to have him find you somewhere and his energy makes it hard to really seem sad. he care's a lot about his friends!

[whackk-kermitt]

Confessing Your Love

Genre: Headconons

Warnings: Cursing(Brok..)

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

“Hmm,” followed by a slow nod.

He wouldn't say anything immediately.

He will just kind of look at you, studying your eyes.

He doesn't want to take chances.

Man has trust issues!

Telling him you love him will make him so happy yet so scared.

You wouldn't be able to tell.

Eventually you'd hear, “I love you, as well.”

He'd immediately ask you to move your things to his home if you haven't already.

He loves you, so you need to stay close so he can protect and provide for you!

He'd start to find more excuses to touch you and you'd laugh telling him he doesn't need them.

Eventually, he will be comfortable enough to walk up to you just for an embrace or smooch.

Mimir

Before his head got..you know.. His first instinct you be to turn to you completely.

“Really, Las? An old man like me?” He'd laugh but he'd offer to do something romantic.

Smartest man alive, but he never saw that coming.

Either way he’d swear his loyalty and heart to you.

Anything you want, he's on it.

After his head…

He'd probably hesitate to return the sentiment, no matter how genuine it is.

“I- I can't offer you much, Las.” He’d frown.

He'd feel inadequate, and undeserving- he's just a head after all!

What could he give you in terms of love and affection?

After telling him his company is all you desire then he'd probably think you've gone mad.

But after a while of talking about it he'd smile and say it back.

You'd carry his head on your belt during travels throughout the realms after.

Giving him kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

It's simple and innocent devotion and its loves that he's enough for you.

Atreus

Telling Arteus you've got a crush on him would probably make him completely freeze and go red.

I'm talking his fathers tattoo red!

Lots of stuttering and blushing while you guys talked about it.

He wouldn't really know what to do or say afterwards.

But no doubt he'd eventually be able to get it out that he likes you too.

He's never done any of this before, so he'd probably go to Mimir or Freya for advice.

If and when you ever hold his hand or hug him his palms get sweaty and he gets nervous.

But he's happy to oblige!

He thinks your so cute.

Talks to his dad about it.

He's shy, but after a while of spending more time hanging out with you he’d get cocky and try to show off and impress you more.

Half of the time he’ll be trying so hard he just ends up looking silly or just straight up stupid.

But you laugh it off and tell him how cute and sweet he is.

He's whipped.

Freya

No matter how comfortable she is around you, no matter how safe you make her feel, she'll hesitate.

As soon as you tell her you're in love with her, she'll need room away from you.

In every relationship so far, she's been to much or not enough.

The woman is hurt and healing.

She's scared its not the truth, like with Odin.

Or if it is, and you truly love her, then what if she messes it up?

What is her love is to much for you and you leave her?

Or what if, out of fear of being too much, she’s not enough- and you leave her? 

Freya can't take another heartbreak.

But after seeing how understanding you are of her past, and reassuring her worries that you're not going anywhere she's willing to listen.

You'd tell her that it doesn't matter if she loves you the same way, or another, as long as your with her its enough for you.

And hearing that would be enough for her.

You'd have to take things slowand steady with her.

But she is so very much in love with you.

She will make sure you both set boundaries to keep her from going to far and pushing you away.

She doesn't wanna lose you too.

Brok

“Well it's about fucking time!”

He's so cool and sure of himself on the outside, so he'll play it off like he know you loved him.

But really he's surprised.

He's not the most romantic man, but he'll give it an honest try for your sake.

He’ll get flowers and sweets for his lady.

Most definitely start bringing about you to everyone he meets every chance he gets.

He's very standoffish when it comes to affection.

So any time you give it to him he'll stutter just slightly and awkwardly reciprocate it while he gets used to someone being infatuated with him.

Very defensive and protective is anyone makes comments about you two.

“Mind your business, you unfuckable drauger-looking bastard!” 

Very confident on the outside, very unsure on the inside.

He's worried he's not doing it right but all he needs is you smiling at him the way you do and he'll be just fine. 

Sindri

Congratulations, you broke him.

His initial reaction is giving O.O

Wide eyes, red cheeks, mouth open.

He'd stutter for a response and get frustrated with himself for losing his voice for a moment.

Give him some time and words will just start spilling out.

He loves you, that was no secret to anyone!

He’ll tell you all about it when the air come back into his lungs.

He’ll go on and on about how pretty you are, and amazing, and how much he likes your smile.

Lots of nervous chuckles and shy grins from this man.

He hates when people touch him, sorry to say you're no exception.

But you figured you wouldnt be; at least for now.

However he is willing to hook his pink finger to yours every now and then as a very small step in the direction of hugging you.

Having you love him really makes him frustrated with his thing with germs and dirt.

He’s never had a problem with it before.

But now he wants to hold you and be held by you and the thought of it makes him shiver in disgust.

It's a fear he's willing to conquer if it means one day he'll get to see the smile on your face when he holds you with out gagging for the first time.

You know better then to take offense; it's nothing personal.

He gags at everyone. 

Tyr

He didn't see it coming.

But he had hoped..

It was a happy surprise when you blurted it out while spending time with him while reading.

He gave you a soft smile after the shock settled and returned the sentiment .

Not much had to be said between you two after that.

The only thing that really changed in the relationship were beginning to sit closer together and a lot more gentle touches.

He'd rest against you while you braid his hair, and he'll braid yours.

His eyes have always laid on you softly, but there's something more in them when he looks at you now.

Contentment.

He’s happy to share any moment a with you that he can. 

Heimdal

He knew.

He knew you loved him for a while.

He knew you wanted to say it.

The cooky little shit just waited and waited until you did.

He wanted to hear it.

But when you approached him and said you loved him it felt different then he imagined it would.

He knew you, and he saw in your head that you truly meant it.

He knew you loved the good, the bad, and the ugly in him.

He knew that unlike the other people who have claimed to love him, you didn't think ‘i can change him.’

He saw the unsure insecurities in your head and body language that he wouldn't feel the same way.

After all, he reads minds, and he knew what you felt all this time and never addressed it so clearly he wasn't interested, right?

To be honest, up until that point he hadn't really considered your feelings despite knowing them.

You had told him you loved him, but you had only said it so he would tell you what you believed he would- that he doesn't care.

You had only said it so he could break your heart, and you could get closure, and hopefully move on.

It twisted his gut that you were walking into this fully believing you would be turned away.

He saw in your head that you had already been crying over it.

But that's not what he wanted, so instead being sarcastic or rude like he would be with literally anyone else he smiled at you.

“I know.” He said softly.

Thor

“Good for you.”

He's not really interested.

Plus he's still married.

So piss off.

Not proof read.

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[therobotmonster]

Chosen for What?

A short tale about chosen ones.

"There it is."

Johann's voice was barely a whisper but in the unnatural silence of the forest it might as well have been a shout. The knight took a step forward, oblivious to the crunch of his footsteps on the dry leaves or the sharp, almost metallic smell of the coming snow.

His focus was entirely upon the spear. It's shaft was made of white wood, polished so smooth he had mistaken it for marble, and the bronze spearhead was shaped like a elegantly stylized shark.

It was presently stuck within the ribcage of an obscenely oversized humanlike skeleton, which was itself entangled in the gnarled roots of a tree the size of a watchtower. The giant's bones were twice the size of a man's. More remarkably, they were made of pitted, rust-flecked iron.

Johann reached forward.

"HOLD!"

Johann froze. Even though the salvation of his people was mere inches away from his outstreched hand, he dared not ignore the voice behind him. He felt the wizard's hand grip him by the shoulder.

"You know it is not meant for you." Aldara said. She squeezed hard enough for Johann to feel it through his mail shirt. He remembered her saying that wizards aged only on the outside. He had no reason to doubt her on that point.

"And who is it for?" Johann hissed under his breath. "That scum?"

The scum in question was already walking toward the spear. Galen VonZent, the cutpurse and murderer. Galen VonZent, the spoiled, cruel son of a merchant house who killed his own father and nearly bought his way to freedom. Galen VonZent, who Alex 'sacrificed himself to save.'

"Galan, take the spear. You're ready." Aldara said, her voice heavy with the import of the moment. When Galan moved to obey, she slowly pulled Johann back away from the spear, step-by-step.

The tall, golden-haired man grabbed the spear with both hands, and began slowly pulling it free of the iron skeleton. To Johann's shock and disgust, the shark-shaped spearhead bent this way and that in a swaying motion, aiding in its release.

"The gods must be insane, or cruel beyond reasoning. If that beast is their chosen one."

"You aren't incorrect." The old woman chuckled. "But why say that now? Why not when we found him?"

"I had faith the gods had chosen well, that he'd grow into the role. But since we saved him from the gallows he has done nothing but confirm that he was right to be there. He has been cruel, selfish, cowardly, and petty at every turn." Johann's voice was a barely subdued growl. "And even if you do not believe me, he murdered Alex."

"I told you to give him a chance." Aldara said. Johann braced to be lectured about some hidden goodness or potential for redemption. "I'm glad you took my advice."

"What? You agree with me?" Johann gritted his teeth. "You should have let me at least try to pull the spear free. If he can do it, I certainly can!"

"Why is a prophecy like a worm on a line?"

"Again with your riddles! I don't know!" Johann barely managed to suppress a shout. "Is that why I am unworthy? A riddle?"

Aldara sighed. She smiled in that way that made Johann think of his grandmother, and his anger faltered. She spoke, clear and gentle. "Do you think the Gods would leave something this important up to chance?"

"Obviously not, that's why the prophecy-"

She squeezed again.

"Tell me, how do you ensure that a chosen hero isn't killed before they can save the world?"

Johann glanced back at Galan. The brute had managed to free the spear halfway, and was taking a self-congratulatory break. "Whisk him away as a child to be raised in safety? Assign a wizard to watch over him? Place other heroes along the path to help him?"

"So many moving parts." The wizard laughed. "The gods can try and play us like puppets, but free will is a wildcat in a burlap sack-"

"-you can take it wherever you want until the sack tears." Johann continued the adage. "And you'll get cut along the way regardless."

"The task gets no easier by adding more cats."

"Then how?" Johann asked, somewhere between sullen and frustrated.

"If you need to make sure only someone who is worthy can take the spear, you make the spear ensure that anyone who takes it-"

The wizard paused, a wide satisfied smile on her face. It was not the smile she had worn when they were joyously feasting with the elf-folk five days into the quest. It was the smile she had worn when she made Vorn the Destroyer's blood turn to water in his veins.

Johann's gaze was thusly occupied when the sound of Galan's sharp, anguished scream ripped through the air.

"-is worthy."

Johann turned slowly. As a knight he had heard enough death rattles and screams to know that he didn't want to witness the cause Galan's banshee-like shriek.

When he finally did turn fully, his gaze did not meet a horrifying eldritch mutilation as he expected. Instead, there stood Galan, holding the spear reverently with both hands.

Though nothing outward had changed, every aspect that Johann had found lacking was now plainly there in the lines of his face and posture of his body: compassion, thoughtfulness, maturity, competence, sincerity... even hope. Everything was there behind those eyes.

Everything except Galan VonZent.

[cynopcis]

when you open the door to your apartment you were really only expecting to see your two cats waiting for you patiently at the genkan. instead, you see two plastic bags of KFC on the coffee table along with 2 plates and 2 sets of chopsticks.

satoru hates kfc, you think to yourself, immediately erasing the fact that it could be him. you cautiously tread carefully not knowing who to expect since satoru was the only one you gave spare keys to.

"toji?"

you blink in surprise as you take in the scene before you, your 6 foot tall and buffer than the average man, brother was wearing red pants and an ugly christmas sweater with ruldoph the reindeer's face.

"how the heck did you get inside?"

he promptly points to the open glass door leading up to your balcony.

"you have to work on your security around here," he rolls up his sleeves as he peeled some of the apples he brought with him, "also saw your grey cat outside, what's her name? miso?"

"miso's a he"

"oh yeah."

you take time to process the sight of your brother in your kitchen 47 minutes before christmas wearing a festive outfit while peeling apples (and shaping them into bunnies.)

you put your bag down, enter your room, only to find a somewhat matching sweater to his. "is this mine?" you call out.

you hear a faint "yeah" before pulling the sweater over your turtleneck.

you walk back to the living room, sit down, and set your legs underneath the kotatsu. "so... what's up?"

toji walks over to you, sets down a plate filled with fruits, and sits across you. "that gojo kid said you might want some company."

you scoff, "i call bullshit." you know he'd never do anything satoru would advice or tell him to do.

toji shrugs and start serving himself fried chicken.

"really, why are you here? i thought naoya set up a christmas dinner in the family estate."

"he's trying real hard to impress that old man"

you study the expression on his face as he eats, you nibble on the apple your holding trying to think of reasons as to why your self-proclaimed mysterious and nonchalant brother would be in your apartment having kentucky friend chicken.

"i hear the kids are having fun at disney land"

his eyebrow twitches at the mention of his kids.

"satoru is doing a really good job so far, i think it was a good decision on your part you know? to give him custody."

his only response is a gruff yes.

"do you miss them?"

he doesn't answer even while you're burning holes through his skin with your staring. he feels uncomfortable with the topic you brought up. he can't be mad, he really can't.

you took a piece of chicken from the bucket and ate it silently, even though you already had your fill at the company dinner you still ate for toji. "i know you feel lonely."

"no you don't" he finally answers

"i know," you point to your temple, "its a sibling thing, i can sense it."

toji rolls his eyes and did a circling motion with his index finger.

"it's okay nii-san, we can be lonely together."

he pushes his share of mashed potatoes to you. he thinks you like potatoes the most.

[whats-a-human]

Advice on deconverting:

The anger is REAL. If you aren't pissed off already, then you'll probably be eventually with the shit they taught you/what happened to you. And you're ALLOWED to feel that way, but PLEASE PRIORITIZE YOUR SAFETY. Try not to get into arguments. The anger will dimish with time, especially if you focus on good, healing things. Don't downplay or run away from your anger, but shift your focus from bad people to yourself and your allies.

THE FEAR IS ALSO REAL. It's a normal reaction to show up during confrontations and sermons, so notice it but don't let it control your decisions. Especially when you go through a difficult situation... going back to god may be tempting, but eventually you'll never even remember him during hard times lol

BUILD A SAFETY NET!!! Irl friends, online spaces, everything you can find to help you!!!

You'll have to learn to leave so many things and people behind. It hurts, but I promise it'll get better beyond the wall. And refrain from "saving" others: they'll never deconvert against their will.

Even if you still believe in the supernatural, give it a break and learn to accept a non-magical reality. I'm not saying you should be an atheist but it's so important to be at peace with the idea of permanent death, human-made morality, an indifferent universe and such. These ideas were extremely liberating for me, but I know they're worrisome for some. You gotta build your new worldview based on objectivity first

So, it's so important not to overwhelm yourself. Your journey is like a tower, built one brick at a time.

Knowledge is your friend, and especially the same type you may have avoided before. I'm talking of evolution, debunking theist arguments, the history of christianity, other religions, demonology, etc. I like the YT channels of Genetically Modified Skeptic, Forrest Valkai, Professor Dave Explains, Religion for Breakfast, Esoterica, and Aron Ra's series on Noah's Ark. Aaand you'll find more good ones along the way!

Healing from religious trauma is like any other kind of trauma: lots of ups and downs, you may relapse, have breakdowns, and you're bound to make mistakes too. In my case, I was already pretty far in my recovery from mental illnesses before deconverting, and so I employed tactics like the safety net in this situation and although I made mistakes too, I mostly felt at ease. I also recognized and dealt with religious trauma still inside the religion, but I only notice now that I could only FULLY heal from its effects outside the church.

Wish you the best

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 7

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

SEVEN: Can't Let Go

SIMON GHOST RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: A week has passed since the argument in the alley, and Reader's hurt has been replaced with a seething anger that leads her to make a spur-of-the-moment decision out of spite. However, her poor choices lead to a potentially dangerous situation.

(PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. This chapter could be triggering for some readers.)

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Coping Mechanisms, Allusions to sex, Threat of dub/non-con sexual situation, Brief Violence - Reader's a scrapper, Threat of violence though not acted upon... yet, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Ngl, this was a bitch to write. I had no less than three other alternative versions of this chapter, before choosing this one, but thankfully had some help along the way. Massive props to @glitterypirateduck for the much-needed advice and input. I ended up leaving the badger out, babe, but I hope you like the chapter, regardless. 😉👍)

[Image via TENOR]

Word Count: 5020

Chapter 7

-

...I ain't tryna find fate, it's too late to save face I can't get away, maybe there's no mistakes

You break me, then I break my rules Last time was the last time too It's fucked up, I know, but I'm still

Outside of the party, smokin' in the car with you Seven Nation Army, fightin' at the bar with you Tell you that I'm sorry, tell me what I gotta do 'Cause I can't let go...

—Post Malone, 'Chemical'

-

The walk to work is nice.

Blue skies and tattered clouds arch overhead, the remnants of puddles from an early morning shower reflecting the first sun you've seen in days. The world smells fresh and green and new, the signs of spring brightening your mood. It makes you feel light, the first time in a week you've felt like lifting your head to look around.

The first time since your fight with Riley.

You push the thought away. You're not going there today. Not again. You worked through the worst of the hurt and disappointment, and now you've settled into a comfortable, quiet fury that you keep wrapped around you like a warm blanket when the chill of loneliness creeps into your bed at night. You don't miss him, you don't want him, and you sure as hell don't need him. He's just one more bitter lesson you've had to learn the hard way. You won't make the same mistake, again.

Well... not again, anyway.

A car beeps its horn behind you, and you glance back to see Jerry Finch, the lorry driver who delivers the kegs to the pub, waving at you from a black sports car. You give a half-hearted smile and wave back, your steps slowing when he steers his car to the curb.

His window rolls down, rap music thumping before he turns it down. Leaning on his arm in the open window, Jerry tips his chin down to look over his aviator sunglasses at you, a smooth half-smile on his lips. "How ya doin', Dee? Headin' to work?"

You nod, stepping closer to his car, trying to ignore the way he looks you up and down before meeting your gaze. He gives you an appreciative smile and ticks his eyebrows up, ever the flirt. You sniff in amusement and squint against the sun to see him better. "Morning, Jer." You nod at his car. "No lorry today. This your day off?"

He gives you a charming, almost boyish smile and nods. "Yeah. Had some business here in the village, though." He glances down towards the pub, then slants his gaze back to you, thumbing at his bottom lip. "I can give ya a lift, if ya like. Goin' that way, anyhow."

You hesitate but then nod in acceptance. It's just an acquaintance from work offering you a ride, nothing wrong with that. He smiles and motions for you to get in, once more letting his eyes wander over your figure while you settle yourself into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing up at him, then away. Jerry's never been one to hide his interest, taking every opportunity to flirt with you when given half a chance. Of course, it makes you feel good to have a handsome man flirt with you, but it also makes you a little leery, too. You try to be nice, but you don't want to encourage him, something that Fiona fusses about every chance she gets.

"Bloody hell, Dee, give the bloke a chance. He's got a good job, he's good lookin', fit as fuck, an' he's gaggin' t'get with ya. What can it hurt?"

Rationally, you know Fi is right, but you can't help yourself. There's just something about him. You can't put your finger on it but being near him just feels... off. You clear your throat and look out the window, your eyes catching on a dark gray Gladiator parked in front of the Tea Room.

Riley.

You can see him standing inside through the tall Georgian windows, chatting with Margie, the owner. She's handing him a bag and a to-go cup that you know will be filled with English breakfast tea brewed strong, with a splash of milk and two sugars, the way he likes. Your heart squeezes in your chest as you watch him exit the building and get in his truck.

Riley's been avoiding the pub when you're on shift. Fiona says he's been showing up in the evening, sitting in his usual spot while nursing his Dewar's. She also doesn't fail to mention Tessa Harker has been chatting him up quite a bit lately, too. It hurts to hear it, but you only give a tight smile and mutter, "Good for him," much to your friend's irritation.

Fiona and Ollie have both noticed the way you and Riley have been avoiding each other, but apparently Riley has kept mum about the argument, as have you. You had wondered if he would spread word about your other job at the Grind out of spite, but no one has mentioned it so far, and for that you're relieved, but you're still wary of what he might do with the information.

"So, what time ya gettin' off work?"

The question draws your attention back to the big man sitting beside you. Did he notice you staring, you wonder. "Um, I get off work at five."

"Then what?" he persists, and you know where this is going.

You shrug, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. "Then back home, I suppose."

"Come out with me, instead," he suggests, shooting another one of his charming smiles your way. "There's a nice Italian bistro in Blackheath. I deliver to 'em. Nice place, good food."

"Oh, um, well..."

He chuckles and reaches over to pat your knee. "No rush, sweetheart. Got all day t'think it over, yeah?"

Again, the feeling that something is off with him comes to the fore of your brain, but you smile, regardless. "Yeah, sure. I'll... think about it," you reply, knowing your mind is already made up. You just have to think of a nice way to let him down. Again.

Jerry gives your knee another pat, which turns into a sly caress that has you flinching away. He huffs a laugh at your reaction, giving you a playful 'just-kidding' grin, before he lifts his hand and places it back on the wheel. He has big, beefy hands, thick fingers with blunt tips, a working man's hands. You usually find that attractive, have often admired Riley's large hands and long, supple fingers, but for some reason, the sight of Jerry's ham fists curled around the steering wheel makes you feel uncomfortable.

The car comes to a stop in front of the pub, and you're quick to unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. "Thanks for the ride, Jer," you say, one foot already resting on the pavement.

"Think nothin' of it, love. Glad t'give you a ride anytime," he murmurs, suggestion heavy in his tone. He flashes another smile at you, winking again. He does that a lot, and you find it annoying. "I'll stop by later, see if ya want to go out for dinner, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, sure. Okay."

You get out of his car and sketch a little wave as he pulls away, then turn to head inside the pub, only to come up short. Riley's standing right in front of the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes fixed on Jerry's car, which is now rounding the green.

"Friend o' yers?"

It's the first words he's said to you since last Sunday in the alley, and the way he says it instantly gets your hackles up. You square off with him, casting a disparaging look over him. The proper thing would have been to offer you an apology, but you know better than to expect anything like that from him. Instead, he leads with a question that sounds both accusatory and insulting, all at the same time.

Typical.

"Shouldn't you already know? That's what you're good at, isn't it? Keeping tabs on me?" you snap, glaring at him.

You make a point to bump his shoulder as you pass by him and enter the pub. He's on your heels in an instant, following you through the door, obviously irritated by your response. You ignore him as you round the bar, pulling the strap of your bag over your head before placing it on top of the bar to take out your phone and a paperback.

"Wot? Ya got nothin' else t'say, doll? Tha's not like ya."

Your eyes snap up to glare at him. "Thought we said all that needed to be said last Sunday," you hissed at him, trying to keep your voice down, knowing Ollie would be back in his office.

Simon plants both hands on the bar and leans in, his dark eyes scathing as they pin you to the spot. "I wasn't finished talkin'. It was you that fuckin' ran off," he growls in return, but manages to keep his voice to a low rumble.

Your brows shoot up in mock surprise. "Oh! How terribly rude of me. I suppose I should have stood there until you were finished insulting me." Your eyes narrowed as you sneered at him. "Fuck you for that, by the way."

He's wearing his black surgical mask today, so his angry scowl is more evident than usual. He shoves off the bar in a fit of temper, hand coming up to jab a finger at you. "Like I told ya last Sunday, me an' you need t'talk, an' this time yer goin' t'bloody listen to wha—"

Your snort cuts him off. "We have nothing left to discuss. You made your opinion of me quite clear. But hey! At least I know where I stand with you now. Don't worry, though. I'll keep my distance. Wouldn't want to embarrass you by being seen associating with a slag, right?"

"Dammit t'hell, Dee! I never fuckin' called ya that. I never thought that. Would ya just bloody lis—"

"Riley, lad!"

You both turn to see Ollie heading your way, a pleased smile on his face. Shooting Riley one last venomous glare, you turn your back on him and make for the swinging door leading into the kitchen, his frustrated growl giving you a sense of grim satisfaction as you slip through the door. Fuck him. You hope he stays pissed off for the rest of the day.

You can hear the two men talking as you go back to hang up your jacket, eyes wandering over the unused kitchen as you pass through. What you wouldn't give for a kitchen this size, and here this one sits, unused and abandoned. You had mentioned a time or two that adding a small menu would bring in more business, but since the last cook quit, Ollie hasn't been too keen to fire up the kitchen again. It's a pity, really.

"Dee, love."

You glance over your shoulder to see Ollie standing at the service window. "What'cha need, Ol?"

Mind makin' me an' Riley a cuppa an' bringin' 'em to the office?"

You frown, wondering what happened to the tea you had seen Riley with before. You shrug it off and nod. "Sure thing, Ol. Be right out with 'em."

"Thanks, love," he says, rapping his knuckles before disappearing from sight.

You rinse out the electric kettle and fill it with water, then plug it in and switch it on before grabbing three mugs and the tea tin. You consider making Riley's tea wrong, just for spite, but that would be petty, even for you, or as Riley would call it, bratty. You sniff. He's a fuckin' brat. A bratty arsehole.

You scoop instant coffee into your own mug then add the tea bags to the other two cups, before going to the fridge to take out the milk. It's become routine for you to make both men's tea, your hands going through the motions while your thoughts wander back to Jerry and his dinner invitation.

Your first instinct is to turn him down, as you have all his other invitations, but the memory of how pissed Riley looked as he watched the other man drive away gives you pause. He always did eye Jerry with open suspicion, his instant dislike of the other man never something he tried to hide. He's never said why he doesn't like Jerry, but it didn't change the fact that it would probably piss Riley off to learn you were going out to dinner with him.

Maybe you are petty after all, because now your mind has changed. You are going on a dinner date this evening after work.

Setting your mug of coffee in the window to retrieve later, you take the other two mugs with you out of the kitchen. Rounding the bar, you head towards the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Ollie's office, walking slower to not spill any of their tea. You can hear their voices through the door as you stop to announce your presence. It's Riley who opens the door for you, not bothering to move out of your way as you slide past him with an irritated expression.

"Move, ya big lump," you grumble lowly, which gets a soft sniff of amusement from him. Arsehole.

"Ah, thanks, love," Ollie says, reaching out to take his mug. You set Riley's on the edge of his desk near the old club chair where he always sits. "Mind closin' the door on yer way out?" Ollie asks.

You give a nod, turning around to see that Riley is still standing in your way. You go to step around him, and he steps in your way again. You blow out an aggravated breath and raise your eyes to his, the urge to shove him again making your hands twitch. When he quirks a brow up at you, you grit your teeth and glare at him. Then an idea sparks in your brain. You look back over your shoulder at your boss.

"Say, Ol. Ya mind if I cut out a little early this evening? I've got a dinner date with Jerry the lorry driver."

Ollie nearly chokes on his tea before he manages to get his cup set down on his desk. His sharp eyes dart between you and Riley, an odd expression on his face as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He finally clears his throat and gives a curt nod. "Yeah. Sure, love. No problem."

You give him a sweet smile that turns spiteful when you turn your head back to the man in front of you. "Thanks, Ol," you reply, meeting Riley's furious glare. "Excuse me. Need to get back to work."

You can see his hands balling into fists, and it sends a thrill of sadistic glee through you. You'd rather die than look away from him right now, a smirk appearing when he has to hold his tongue and step aside for you. By the time you reach the hallway and close the door behind you, you're damn near giddy. The smirk on your face grows to a full-on wicked grin by the time you reach the bar again.

Satisfied with the good, hard poke you've just given the proverbial bear, you begin your prep work, humming a catchy pop song under your breath.

-

You manage to avoid any more close interactions with Riley, though he hangs around the bar your entire shift, giving you a baleful glare every time you draw near. You make it a point to ignore him, chatting with the other customers, talking and laughing like you weren't bothered at all by his brooding presence. You see him visibly stiffen when Jerry comes swaggering in, his signature charming smile already in place.

Before he can speak, you step to the bar and offer him a sweet smile. "Hi, Jer. Ollie said I can leave early, so we can go whenever you like."

Jerry can't hide the surprise on his face, but he swiftly recovers as he leans an elbow on the bar to bring his eyes level with yours. "Good. Been thinkin' 'bout it all day," he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You stiffen, discomfited by the look in his eye, but try to hide it by ducking to grab your bag from beneath the bar. When you raise up again, a pleasant smile is plastered on your face. "I just need to grab my jacket and tell Ollie I'm leaving, then we can go."

"'Course, sweetheart," Jer replies, watching you as you round the bar and head for the hallway. He catches Riley staring at him and lifts his brows, giving him a smug little smirk, which you honestly think is stupid of him. Despite Jerry's size, you have no doubt Riley would mop the fucking floor with him. You roll your eyes. Men and their stupid bloody posturing.

The sooner you get this over with, the better. This game is quickly losing its appeal.

-

Jerry offers to take you home to change if you want, but you decline, honestly not comfortable with the idea of bringing him up to your flat. He seems a little perturbed when you turn down his offer but then shrugs and drives to Blackheath, instead.

As he said, the little bistro is nice, the food delicious. The conversation is lackluster, though, but you weren't really expecting much. Beyond talking about himself, Jerry doesn't seem to hold much interest in other topics. Big surprise.

Once you're back in the car, he drapes his arm over your seat and leans in, a sexy smirk on his face. "So, where to next, sweetheart? Your place or mine?"

Your brows shoot up in mild surprise. "I thought this was just dinner," you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. "Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

He tips his chin down, giving you a knowing look. "C'mon, Dee. We're both adults here. I've seen how you an' that other barmaid check me out. Not that I'm complainin'." He gives you one of his smarmy winks, and you fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in disdain.

You sniff and give your head a small shake. The audacity of this bloke. Did he honestly think you were just going to drop your knickers because he bought you dinner? "Yeah, I think I'd rather go home by myself. I have work in the morning."

Jerry draws back, blinking. "Are you serious?" When you roll your eyes, he scoffs and tilts his nose up, as if he can't believe you are turning him down. "Whatever. Your loss, sweetheart," he mutters with a slight sneer and starts the car.

The drive back to Banfield is tense and awkward, but you honestly prefer the silence. When Jer finally speaks up, you startle out of your thoughts. "Mind if I take a shortcut?" he asks, his tone off-hand.

You shrug. "Fine with me." If it gets you home quicker, you're all for it.

Yet when he veers off the main road onto a country lane, you frown. You aren't familiar with this particular backroad, but from the direction you're going it doesn't look like you're heading towards home.

"Are you sure this goes to Banfield?"

Jer slants a condescending look at you, a shitty little smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth. "I drive for a livin', sweetheart. Ya really think I'm goin' t'get lost on the way to bloody Banfield?"

Your eyes roll up, but you hold your tongue, yet after another five minutes with nothing even closely resembling civilization in sight, you can't keep quiet. "We should be in Banfield by now. It's just a ten-minute drive from Blackheath. Are you sure you took the right road?" You glance around at the dark, unfamiliar landscape. "I don't even know where the hell we are right now."

"I took the scenic route," Jer drawls, waving a hand. He then drops it on your knee and gives it a squeeze. "Chill out, sweetheart. We'll get there. Eventually."

Apprehension creeps up your spine like the drag of an icy finger. You don't like this. This man, who you really know nothing about, you now realize, is driving you out to the middle of nowhere. "Maybe you should turn around."

Jerry glances over at you again, and this time the look in his eye makes the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Maybe you should try to relax." His hand slides up your leg to grip your thigh. "I'd be happy t'pull over an' help ya with that, sweetheart."

And there it is. The reason for getting you out here alone. You aren't even really surprised, always knowing in the back of your mind that there was something off with him, though you chose to ignore it this time, just to spite Riley.

Hindsight really is a bitch sometimes.

"Jer, I told you I wanted to go home," you murmur, trying to keep your voice low and even.

He huffs, a smug expression on his face. "C'mon, Dee. Stop playin' hard t'get. It's jus' me an' you now. Your boyfriend doesn't have t'know. I can keep my mouth shut. It'll be our little secret, yeah?"

"My boyfriend?" you blurt out, confused.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Your friend," he sneers and then scoffs. "Don't act like ya don't know who I'm talkin' 'bout. That scarred up freak with the mask who's always up yer arse."

"What the fuck did you just say?" you choke out, fury strangling your voice. You're ready to claw out his eyes for what he said about Riley.

Jerry waves a dismissive hand at you. "Enough with the games, Dee. I know ya only went out with me t'make him jealous, an' I'm fine with that, really, but don't ya think I deserve some sort of... ya know, compensation for playin' along?"

Rage consumes you, hot and prickling beneath your skin. "Take me home. Now!"

The cold, flat look in his eye chills you to the bone. "Not 'til I get what ya owe me, sweetheart. Don't look so offended. I doubt this is the first time you've paid up for somethin' by lyin' on your back."

The hard slap you deliver to his smug face has him swerving across the narrow road before he slams on the brakes, sluing the car around in the loose gravel. You only manage to free your seatbelt before he grabs you.

"Are ya fuckin' crazy, ya bitch?" he yells in your face, shaking you hard as he shoves you back against your door. "Ya could'a killed us!"

You jab your thumb in his eye for his trouble. He bellows in pain, releasing you to clutch at his face, freeing you to reach behind your back to paw at the latch. The door flies open under your weight and dumps you out backwards onto the gravel. When his hand seizes your ankle in a crushing grip, you frantically kick out with your other foot. Though you're unable to see from your position on the ground, you revel in a brief moment of satisfaction when you feel it make solid contact with his head, and he yells in pain again. Yanking your legs free of the car, you scramble to your feet, snatching your bag from the ground as you sprint for the woods.

Too terrified to look back, you run headlong into the tree line. You stumble through the undergrowth, feeling the spindly branches and thorns tear at your clothes and snag in your hair as it rakes bloody scratches into your exposed skin. You trip over tree roots and stub your toes on stones hidden beneath the moldering ground cover of dead leaves. All the while, Jerry is bellowing like an enraged bull as he thrashes through the foliage somewhere behind you, shouting threats and curses at you the whole time.

When you inevitably fall flat on your face, you skid across the forest floor to hitch up at the base of a huge oak. You have just enough time to crawl behind its massive trunk before Jerry comes crashing through. When you hear him approach, you clap your hand over your nose and mouth to muffle the sound of your gasping breaths, terrified he will hear you. Your eyes go wide when you see him pass by your hiding spot close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you wanted. Scared beyond reason, you press your back against the rough bark of the oak and pray he doesn't see you when he pans the flashlight on his cell phone around.

A strangled noise issues from his throat before he growls out a frustrated, "Fuuuck!" You can see him pacing back and forth as he rakes his hands through his hair. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was panicking. "Crazy fuckin' bitch," you hear him seethe under his heaving breath, growling again. "Fine, ya stupid cunt!" he shouts at the dark woods, throwing his arms up in the air. "Find yer own way home, then!" He then turns around and stomps back the way he came, still uttering curses.

You don't dare move, not even when the sound of his heavy footfalls fades away. You don't dare move, not even when the only thing you can hear is the wind rattling the tree branches overhead. You don't dare move, not until you at last hear the distant sound of a car motor rev to life, the sound gradually diminishing until you can't hear it any longer. It is only then that you are brave enough to slowly stand up on your shaking legs, only to lean once more on the trunk for support as a sob finally tears free from your chest.

You remain that way for several minutes, trying desperately to regain your composure, even as your brain keeps circling around the notion that Jerry's departure is some sort of ruse to lure you back out into the open. It's the idea of spending a cold night alone in the woods that finally has you lifting your head to take in your surroundings and evaluate your situation.

At first glance, it seems pretty dire. You have no idea where you are, you're too scared to venture back onto road for fear of Jerry lying in wait somewhere, and it's pitch dark out tonight, not even the wan light of the moon visible in the overcast sky to help guide you through the woods.

Your only real option is to call for help.

Reaching into your bag, you take out your phone, cursing under your breath when you drop it due to your trembling hands. The glow of the screen is a small comfort as you unlock your phone and open your contacts list. You stare at the emergency number, finger hovering.

If you call the police, there will have to be a report filed, and then there will be an inquiry to investigate your claims. You already know it will be your word against Jerry's. His solicitors will no doubt drag your name through the mud to discredit you, and he will probably still get off with nothing more than a light slap on the wrist, if he even gets that, because he actually didn't do anything to you, at least not physically. Hell, you had done more damage to him than he had to you. He could claim you attacked him, and he wouldn't even be lying.

You look back down at your phone, one name standing out like a beacon in the dark. When you see that name, you think of home, of safety, the two things you want most right now. You select it and hit the call button, holding the phone up to your ear and praying there will be an answer. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the line connect.

"Whad'ya want, Dee?" a gravelly, annoyed voice growls into your ear, and a sob escapes your throat, you are so relieved to hear him.

"Ruh... Riley? P-Please, Ri... please. I n-need you..."

-

No one in the White Dog knew what to think when the usually quiet giant that sat at the end of the bar suddenly erupted out of his seat, the bar chair toppling over. "Doll! What's wrong? Where are ya?" he barks into his phone.

He apparently doesn't like what he hears.

"He fuckin' did what?! " he growls, a look of pure murderous rage igniting in his dark eyes. As he listens to you, however, his rage is tempered by his troubled concern. "Are ya hurt, love? I swear t'God if he―" His hand clenches into a trembling fist, even though his voice is now a low rumble. "Please don't cry, love. I know, I know, but I'll find ya. Ya know I will. I'm on my way right now. Just... keep yer phone on for me, yeah?"

He's already making for the entrance as he says this, the murderous look returning as he mutters, "I'll kill that bastard," before he barges through the door. He hits it with such force, it slams into the outside wall hard enough to shatter the frosted safety glass. He doesn't even acknowledge it as he runs to his truck and tears off down the street with a bark of tires the next instant, leaving a silent pub full of stunned onlookers in his wake.

-

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[delopsia]

Tied To Your Body | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex, mentions of Rhett having a popcorn fixation (in other words ~mentions of food~), sex in a truck, a little bit of running from Maria, and mentions of Rhett recently losing his virginity to the reader ❤

They never talk about the beginning of the rodeo season.

No, no, they always talk about the end of it. 

When the stakes are at their highest, one wrong move can cost you everything you've been working towards. A bracing breeze half-heartedly nipping at your skin, crisp with everything Autumn. Leaves painted in their favorite warm tones, yellow, red, and orange, when the local farmers are harvesting their corn and soybeans, and the days become shorter and shorter.

They never talk about how the season starts in the Spring. The air always deceptively cold. One week, there's snow on the ground, and you're shivering up in the stands; the next, it feels like a hot summer day, and you're sweating through your clothes. When unexpected showers can come at any time, without warning, and when the pollen gives your allergies a run for their money, reminding you of your own mortality. 

The weatherman said it would be quite warm tonight; the temperature appropriate for a t-shirt and shorts. But here you are, freezing your ass off because you took his advice and wore a short skirt.

Talk about the mistake of your life.

Pacing next to the fence line, jumping up and down, daydreaming about snuggling up next to a nice, cozy fire, nothing is working. In fact, it only serves to make you even colder, and when you step away from your spot along the fence for the briefest of seconds, your spot is taken. Some large, older man who scowls at you when you so much as breathe in his direction.

From across the rodeo grounds, hidden behind the elderly asshole who just spit tobacco on the ground next to your feet, you're staring daggers into the side of Rhett Abbott's skull. How has this unsocialized, pale cowboy dragged you all the way out to a rodeo three hours outside of Wabang? Where in your life did you make the turn that led you down this old dirt path? 

A blaring horn has you turning your gaze back to the left, just in time to catch glimpse of a black and white bull as it bursts out into the ring, his unfortunate rider already soaring through the open air. Your eyes flick back to where Rhett was once standing, waiting on his final ride of the night.

But he's not there.

What's worse is that you can't figure out where he could have made off to. Leading you to stand on your tiptoes and glance around in hopes of catching glimpse of that not-so-unique cowboy hat. So many brown hats in this crowded place. None of them attached to Rhett Abbott.

God, you hope he's not off buying popcorn. 

It's hard to recall how it came about. It may have gotten its start when he bought a Christmas popcorn tin because there was an adorable litter of golden retriever puppies on it, didn't know there was popcorn inside until later. Or, it could have been that time you took him to a proper movie theater, introduced him to the concept of sneaking snacks in via your purse and the wonders of theater popcorn.

Maybe it's both, but whatever the case, you can't seem to get the fool away from it. Every event ends with a surprise appearance of popcorn. 

"Ya look cold." 

It takes you a moment to realize that the voice is coming from your right, concealed by an unfamiliar group of people shuffling past. But you'd recognize that old denim jacket from anywhere, the dark blue one with the flannel lining inside, just barely peeking out. No popcorn in hand. 

"Because I am," you grit, barely concealing the chattering of your teeth, "what gives it away?"

Rhett hums, like he's deep in thought, "everythin'."

Maybe you would have a witty comeback to grill him about his lack of descriptors, but the beginnings of it are snuffed out as he settles next to you. Opening up big, inviting arms,  encouraging you to snuggle into him, and you do just that. Stepping closer, you tuck yourself right into his side, head resting against his shoulder, where you can hear his heartbeat the slightest bit.

It may be cold outside, but Rhett's a goddamn heater. Warm enough to melt the invisible frost from your poor skin, your own little bundle of fire to keep you from getting frostbite. 

"Shame we're in public," he muses as he presses his astoundingly frigid nose into your temple, "can think of much better ways to warm ya up."

You've created a monster.

You knew that being his first would unleash something, but good lord, you did not expect him to become a downright addict. Ready to drop to his knees at the drop of his own hat, the slightest notion of sex has him 

Rolling your eyes as if you're not squeezing your legs just a little tighter, "you need to go to a rehab."

For no reason in particular.

Yeah.

No reason at all.

"Not sure how you expect me t'go 'bout that, doll," a scruffy chin scratches your cheek as he presses a kiss there, "'please help me, doc, I can't take my mind off my girlfriend's tight lil' pussy'."

"Rhett!" 

This place is far too loud for anyone to have heard him, but you still catch yourself glancing around, fully expecting to catch sight of the horrified eyes of an eavesdropper. You find none. 

A second kiss is pressed to your jaw. Then a third, right where your neck meets with your jaw bone, trailing sloppily toward the soft spot beneath your ear. His favorite spot to nibble on, threatening to leave a mark but never quite following through with it. That poor heart of his can't handle the embarrassment of his momma noticing and putting two and two together. 

"Y'smell nice," He murmurs against your skin, "much better than 'em ol' bulls."

You'll take his word for it; he reeks of the very bulls he speaks of, "gee, thanks," squirming, unable to escape the cowboy-shaped glue trap you've mistakenly snuggled up into, "your compliments are impeccable."

The world tilts. Something hard hits your ass.

Just a second ago, you were face-to-face with Rhett. Now you're at eye level with a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. An ache already blossoming in your right shoulder. 

Rhett's yelling something, but you don't know what or at who. What you do know is that there are hands appearing in front of you, big, familiar, encompassing yours as they warily slide into his grasp. 

"Y'alright?" There's a stiffness to his concern; you don't know what for.

You're still processing what just happened, but you're nodding, "yeah." Your ass hurts. 

It's hard to focus on, though, because Rhett's gingerly releasing your hands, hovering, as if you'll fall again if he moves too quick. You don't see it until he turns; just a few feet away stands a familiar, broody old man rubbing his shoulder like he's smacked it on something. 

"Don't you think you owe somebody an apology?" 

Oh.

The guy is too far away for you to hear what he says, but it doesn't look like any apology you've ever seen. What you do see, though, is a right hand reaching for something on his hip. 

"Rhett," your hand is shooting up on its own accord, catching him by the shoulder; it's not a firm grip by any means, but he stops regardless. 

You want to say something more; not here, not now, not when you've still got your final ride coming up, but Rhett's already backing off. Odd to think that this has happened so many times that you've practically got him trained.

"Prick just knocked you clean off your feet," he hisses, hands coming down to cradle your hips, loose, as if they're made of glass, "y'gotta let me make 'n example outta somebody, one of these days."

"I will," you probably won't, "but right now, you've already got two jobs on your plate."

Like a puppy, his head tilts to the side, the sweetest of subconscious habits, "whaddaya mean?"

"Keeping me warm," leaning upward as you speak, brushing the tips of your noses together, "and winning this rodeo, so we can have something to celebrate tonight."

His left eye twitches. What blue was left in those already dark irises is gone in an instant, as black as the night sky. "Celebrate, huh?"

It's probably just a coincidence.

There's absolutely no way that your little pre-ride remark triggered Rhett to jump from position number nine to number one. But he's spinning around in the ring, searching for your face, grinning from ear to ear when he spots you. Proud. 

Those eyes are still black when he disappears behind the chutes, easily becoming lost in that endless sea of bull riders. Whether or not one of those riders will beat his score before the night is over is anyone's guess, but to you, he's already won. The show's over, ready to be packed up and for everyone to hit the road.

All you can think of right now is your warm bed. How cozy it'll be when you cuddle up in it together, freshly showered. You can already feel his chin hooking over your shoulder, arms loosely draped around your waist, watching what videos play on your phone, curious. So eager to learn what the hell a Tumblr is because his phone is so ancient that he can't download apps anymore. 

Just the thought of it has you yawning; this concrete sidewalk might as well be a bed because you're considering taking a nap right here and now. 

A heavy chest bumps into your back, hard enough to startle your yawn. There is only one man who kisses up your neck like that, starting with the skin peeking out from your shirt collar. All the while, the edge of his hat bumps into you. "Was I good 'nough for ya, doll?" 

One of these days, he'll figure out that the answer is always going to be yes. 

Teeth nibble on the shell of your ear, toying with it like a teething puppy. In this chilly Spring air, his breath tickling your skin feels like fire, burning everything it touches in the most delicious of ways. But it's nowhere near as hot as the palms that are sliding beneath your shirt, pressing firm against your soft belly. 

"Well, hello to you too," your words are meant to be louder, but they're lost to the wind the moment his tongue darts out to soothe over his little bites. 

On their own, your hips wander backward, finding a familiar tent in his old jeans. The ones that are a size too small, leftover from his high school days, worn with the intent of ripping them up during a ride, but the material too stubborn to actually do so. Horrible for him but wonderful for you to watch him jump until it squeezes over his ass. 

"So goddamn p'rty when you're standin' over 'ere," voice a few octaves deeper than usual, rough, gravelly, like how it sounds when he's just woken up, "y'got a dozen riders makin' heart eyes back there."

You just can't help the question boiling on your tongue. "Are you one of them?" 

"Always," and that is definitely his dick pressing into the curve of your ass. Riled up, and all you've done is stand here and shiver. 

Tied to your body, this one is. 

Leaning into him, you tilt your head to the side, your nose bumping into his as you do so, too close for your own good. Pearly white teeth sink into his thin bottom lip, dragging it into his mouth as if reigning himself in from acting out in public. But oh, those bitten lips look so kissable. One little kiss couldn't...hurt...

"Rhett!" That's not your voice, and it's certainly not Rhett's. 

If he hears it, he doesn't react, too focused on closing the gap between your mouths to do much else. One brush, and already you can taste the buttered popcorn he's splurged on. You're sure you'll find a fresh bag in his—

"Rhett!" There it is again. On your left. Closer this time. 

This time, he draws away, narrow eyes darting across the rodeo grounds. It's not confusion that contorts his face; it's recognition. A visible, 'aha!' moment, concealed in the widening of his eyes. 

"Rhett!"

"Shit." 

It's not until the third step that you realize you're moving, escorted away by the thick forearms that secure you into his side. There's a temptation to stop, dig your heels into the ground until he explains what the hell's going on, but you doubt he'd even feel your resistance. Built like those bulls that he rides for fun. 

"Who was that?" You squeak, stumbling along in tandem with his step. Asking where you're going is pointless when he's already got you directed toward the parking lot.

Rhett's head swivels, peering over his shoulder. Whatever he sees has him moving a little quicker. "Maria." 

Now that's a name you haven't heard in a minute. You forget her last name, but you can recall enough to know that he had quite the crush on her back in high school. His momma never quite shuts up about it, convinced that since her first love worked out, Rhett's will, too, even if he's moved on. 

That being said, you don't know how many people quite literally run from their so-called first love. 

"And we're fleeing the vicinity because...?" Voice bouncing as you speak, your skirt catching in the wind and smacking against your thighs with every step.

"Once she starts a-talkin'," steering you left; his truck sits on the very end, sticking out like a sore thumb compared to all the pavement princesses in this town, "she'll never stop."

And here, Cecelia wonders why the topic of Maria never bugs you.

Unlike these other vehicles, Rhett's farm truck doesn't come with the luxury of a key fob. Too old for such technology, doesn't even possess powered windows. Instead of carting you towards the passenger door, he stops on the driver's side, jamming his key into the tiny lock. He's got no choice but to open it manually, and yet, you still find your heart fluttering in your chest when he opens it for you.

"Up, up, up," by the time you register his voice, you're already squeezing past the steering wheel. Spurs jingle behind you, the truck shaking as Rhett all but throws himself into the vehicle. 

There's a large bag of popcorn in your seat. A bag that certainly was not there a little bit ago.

He sees it. 

You see it. 

He sees you see it. 

Kisses pepper along your cheek. One after another, insistent, doing their absolute best to distract you from the snack he's become so horribly obsessed with.

"Rhett," you warn,  scooting away, but he follows. They tickle, his breath disturbing all those sensitive spots along your cold skin, forcing the corners of your lips to turn upward. "What're you doing?"

"Nothin'," but you can feel his smile as he continues to drown you with them, slowly but surely making his way to your lips. Pausing just before your mouths meet, darkened eyes flitting up to meet with yours, unsure, searching. 

Nothing, your ass.

It's hard to tease him over his eating habits when you've got him looking at you the way he does. Awestruck that you're real, sitting right here in the middle of his beat-up farm truck. All those kisses he's given you, and yet, he waits for you to seal the gap. 

One kiss couldn't hurt, right?

He knows it's coming, and yet, he has the audacity to give you that little, surprised inhale when your mouth meets with his. Always so shocked by your kisses, like he's never had them before a day in his life. Lips feather-light as they mold to slot with yours, have never known a kiss other than yours.

Only one kiss. Only one. You know what more can lead to, and a rodeo parking lot isn't the time nor the place for that. Tentative lips snatch a second kiss away from you, a mere peck, something meant to be fleeting, but it's all you can even think about. 

Maybe...maybe a few more couldn't hurt. 

The brim of his hat bumps into your head as you come back for more; if your eyes were open, you're sure you'd laugh over how it's barely hanging on, but you couldn't open them even if you wanted to. Fingertips graze the side of your neck, drawing up to curl around your jaw, anchoring you there. 

It was you who didn't want to kiss him more than once, and yet; it's you who greedily leans into him, chasing his touch. But is it chasing if he's meeting you halfway? Always on the same page, tilting his head whenever you do, matching your angle, following your quickening pace. 

A big hand takes hold of your waist, pushing, urging you to lie back against the seat. These cloth seats are anything but high quality, but after sitting on bleachers until your ass went numb, they feel like they've been hand-crafted by the gods above. 

Your head hits something soft, crunching under your weight. "Is that what I think it is?" 

Rhett's ears flush red, as vibrant as the car parked next to you. Without a word, he reaches behind your head, sliding the bag of popcorn out and setting it on the floorboard. You'd tease him if it weren't for the crippling realization that he's slid between your legs. Tattered jeans rough against your bare thighs, legs split wide to fit around his hips. 

Curious, they tilt forward, clothed bulge rubbing over your thin panties. You have to fight the urge to push yourself up against him; it feels so right, but you're in public.

"Ain't nobody fixin' to come lookin' for us," and the uncouth bastard does it again, dragging his clothed hard-on right where you want him. Still stretched from your rendezvous in the shower this morning, then again when you had a few extra minutes after you visited him on the ranch. 

"That's not what I'm worried about," you don't think Maria would follow you all the way out here anyway, "I'm worried about the potential public indecency charges."

Calloused hands run up your inner thighs, and those worries downright evaporate from your brain altogether. They drag back up, then back down, continuing even when you unintentionally squeeze your legs together, heat blossoming there. 

"Ain't this the kind of thing you read 'bout in those...smuck stories you like?" His eyebrows furrow; knows that's not the right word, but he can't quit pin it.

He might as well be illiterate, but he's pretty damn good at remembering what you read. 

"Have you been taking notes?"

"Just a few." His head drops, hair falling out from behind his ear, barely concealing those bashful eyes as he tries to look anywhere but at you. Unable to meet your eye after such a confession. Sometimes you forget that just a few weeks ago, he'd never done anything like this before. 

As you reach up to curl your hands around his cheeks, scruffy but remarkably squishy beneath your palms, you recognize that you're creating a monster. Once you start doing something, it's hard for either of you to stop. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. However, if he keeps looking at you like that, all soft and shit, you're not going to be responsible for what happens next.

"Those notes had better be good, cowboy," and then you're drawing him down to steal a kiss off those swollen lips of his. Lingering, not quite ready to let go now that you've closed that gap. 

This close, you can feel his mouth turn upward, contorting against yours, unable to hide it in the slightest. "Only one way to find out," another peck, "right?"

Perfectly mirroring the ones he peppered up the back of your neck, he leaves open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Pays special attention to the sensitive collarbones that lie just below, peeking out from your top. Teeth nibbling on the bones, enough to elicit a gasp from you, then soothing over his marks with a warm tongue. 

A tongue that you have become far too familiar with as of late. 

Hands creep up your shirt, his nails dragging up the sides of your waist, stopping just below your ribcage. It tickles, sends your back arching under his touch, unsure if you want more or to get away from it. 

If you were anywhere else, he'd work you out of every article of clothing that clings to your body; but you're still somewhat in public. Instead, he settles for pushing your shirt upward, showering your belly with the same love and affection he blessed your neck with. 

"So pretty," his words punctuated by kisses, "can't believe you're real, sometimes." 

Boots bump against the door; he's gone as far back as he physically can. His face falls, looking backward to try and find more space, but he has none. Still unfamiliar with the logistics of jamming two bodies into the front seat of this old GMC. 

Gingerly, he pulls your panties to the side, but he doesn't touch you like you expect him to, "can y'check if you need prep, doll?" 

Certainly not what you'd expected him to say in the slightest. "Did you break your fingers while you were out there?" But your dominant hand is already rising to his mouth, two fingers nudging at his lips. 

"Nah," tongue rolling out like a welcome mat, he welcomes them inside, carefully wetting them, "but they're too dirty for me to be touchin' ya here." 

One of his hands rises, revealing the dirt that's collected beneath his nails and in the wrinkles of his fingers. You don't want to know what you could catch from that. 

Pleasantly, you're surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press your wet fingers inside. You'd been expecting more, something that required a little effort to take care of, but then again, you've had little time to recover from the last round. "I think I'm good." 

Magic is the only way you can explain how easily he undoes that buckle of his, clasped one second, unclasped the next. You could spend an hour practicing and still never get that same result, but Rhett makes it look so easy that it's almost infuriating. 

He's the one to pull his zipper down, but it's you who reaches past the confines of those jeans and fishes him out of his boxers. Heavy in your palm, twitching the moment you've got him within your grasp. Not quite as scary as it looks when it's fighting against the material of his too-small pants.

"Hands always so goddamn soft," he breathes, bracing a hand against the seat.

It's too easy to guide him down, tapping that plush head against your entrance for the third time today. And yet, still, that forward tilt of his hips has you gasping, like it's been weeks since the last time you felt this.

"Shit," you can't help but swear, you're going to be so sore come tomorrow morning, "Rhett."

It's hard to understand why you're saying his name in the first place. So taken aback by the drag of his blunt head against your walls that you can't focus on what's coming out of your mouth. Rhett drops back down, forearms bracing on either side of your head as he presses your noses together. 

His cockhead bumps against that sensitive bundle of nerves, and your thighs clamp down around his hips. It's annoying how slow he is with you, how gentle, even when he's aware that you can take him without batting an eye at this point. Stops midway to see if you give him any indications to stop.

"Rhett, if you don't get your dick all the way in me, I swear to—"

His hips quirk upward, and all of a sudden, he's bottoming out. Punching the air from your lungs, stars sparkling behind your eyelids. You've gotta start watching what you wish for.

"What was that?" Smug, grinning against your cheekbone. "Hm?"

Like you said, you're creating a monster. 

But now that you've shattered that initial slowness, he's completely abandoned it. Hips drawing back, then pushing right back in, a short stroke, but offers you no opportunity to gather your bearings. Gives you no chance to prepare yourself for the obscene squelch that he works out of you.

"Asshole," your voice is strained, barely there. 

Again, he repeats it, recreating the same deliberate motion that has you reaching up to grasp his bicep. Need something to hold onto because that sound coming from between your legs is going to send you straight to hell. Over and over, until you're contemplating starting the truck just to blast the radio, drown out that awfully wet noise altogether. 

Teeth nip at your jaw, "touch yourself for me, doll."

He doesn't need to tell you twice. 

Your hand bumps into his belly on its way down, not enough space between your bodies for it to fit. But then he's leaning up a bit, unintentionally changing the angle of his hips and—

"Fuck," you just about jump out the goddamn window. One little alteration, and he's kissing that abused, oversensitive spot again. 

"There she is," he hisses directly into your ear, "this where you wanted me, hm?"

You almost don't think you need to press your fingertips to your exhausted clit, but they do so anyway. Spiraling in tandem with his motions, a slight tremor hidden in your hand. Now that Rhett's found it, he's not letting up on it. Even as his pace gradually quickens, thrusts becoming harder as he gains his confidence, it's never left alone. That fat head bumps into it on every fucking drag. 

"And to think you couldn't," hiccuping, "couldn't find it a few weeks ago."

You're powerless to stop him from massaging that gooey spot. With every stroke, you find yourself clamping down around him a little tighter, a fluttering vice around his cock. Milking those deep, guttural sounds right out of him, sweet noises gracing your ears like tiny blessings. Makes your hand tremble even more, unable to keep your fingers on your swollen clit.

The motions of his hips are starting to lose their rhythm, cock jerkily plunging into your wet heat with reckless abandon. "But now y'can't get 'nough of me," his words are so jumbled together that he sounds drunk, "lyin' back 'n lettin' me take care of ya." 

If his crumbling rhythm isn't enough of a hint, those breathy grunts are. Never seeming to fall from his tongue until he's teetering over the edges of bliss; one of these days, you'll get him to sing you a melody the whole way through. Your fingers barely have the capacity to swirl around your clit, knocked away by your mutual deterioration. 

"Y'gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, toying with your earlobe, "hm?"

Distantly, you're aware of the truck shaking, rocking back and forth with his motions, like you're laying out in the open sea. Heat tightens in your belly, and in tandem, your thighs clench around his hips, giving him no room to pull away. 

"Rhett," you warn, but it's pointless. Already there. Warning a few seconds too late. 

Your head feels like it's been filled with sand, unable to comprehend much more than the wave of heat that washes over you. Fluttering around air, distantly aware of a sudden wetness at your entrance that you can't quite place. Can vaguely hear the pitchy gasps that tickle down your neck as he cums, such wonderful noises that drag you back down to Earth. 

It's dark.

Even as you realize that your eyes have closed and find the strength to open them, you can still hardly see a thing. Rhett's silhouette is the only thing you can see in this dark truck, hovering above you, curls bouncing as he fumbles through the glove box. Was it this dark the whole time?

A light flickers outside, the streetlamp kicking back on.

Oh.

Rhett's softening cockhead bumps against your swollen cunt, only serves to spread the thick, white cum he's left along your puffy entrance and clit. You're not sure where you'd rather him cum, but you still weren't expecting him to pull out. 

"How's a bath and a movie sound, hm?" He muses, plucking a napkin from his hellishly organized compartment. It's rough, and you're pretty sure that it's from Mcdonald's, but it's better than nothing.

On its own accord, your hand reaches up, pushing loose hair back behind his ear. "Can't handle a shower?" 

"Can you?" 

You hate that he's got a point. But, you've been graced with a three-hour drive home to recover. Plenty of time for you to gather your bearings, convince yourself you can do it, and then give up halfway through and ask him to carry you.  

"Is the popcorn going to be a part of the movie?" Your legs ache as you sit up, exhausted from being split apart so often. 

He hums, long and dramatic, like your question requires more than a half second of thought, "maybe." Then he's leaning over, the tip of his nose bumping into yours, "but it'll cost you a kiss."

One kiss couldn't hurt. Right?

You're grinning too much for it to be a proper one, but still, your lips meet for the briefest smooch of the night. A kiss is a kiss. 

There's movement behind his head. The head of a dark-haired woman stepping past, opening up the door to the red truck parked just beside you. 

Maria.

Rhett sees her.

You see her.

He sees you see her. 

Keys jingle, and with a rather unhappy grumble, Rhett's truck roars to life. 

"Are we still running from her?" You find yourself asking, halfway between buckling yourself in. 

The answer comes in the form of the truck lurching forward, angry, ready to get on the highway and embark on that ridiculously long drive home. 

"Yes, ma'am," Rhett still finds the opportunity to reach over and squeeze your knee, always has to be touching you, "and this time we're running all the way back home and never coming back out."

Here you go again.

[dreamlifebunny]

hi~ i just wanted to know your thoughts or opinions on tarot readings? i got into reading tarot about a year ago and it turns out i am pretty good at it ! i get so inspired and really feel like im helping people when i give them readings. im not really sure if it's on brand for neville's teachings though. I've been a bit torn cause I really do fully believe in the virtues of both NG and divination, but it's kind of hard cause law of assumption is all about finding answers from the inner man, not from external sources (like tarot cards...) so i just wanted to know if you have any advise on keeping a balance of these things or maybe i should walk away from tarot practices altogether? yeah im not really sure, but any thoughts you have would be much appreciated 🫶🏻

OMG ANON, this is my favourite question EVER!! I completely understand what you mean, it's hard to "believe" in or use tarot when you know that you create your own reality and answers. However, I think that tarot is a super great tool for us to get to know our limiting beliefs and help us along our manifesting journeys!

Before I begin, I wanted to say that I think you are very wise to be questioning two seemingly "opposing" beliefs (tarot as an external source, law of assumption as an internal source). Spirituality and truth come from asking questions and getting to the very core of our beliefs, and I think you're doing good work here by trying to figure this out and asking these questions! ❤️

At its core, tarot is a collection of universal symbols that humanity has repeatedly identified with and recognized over time. It's very easy for us to look at a card's imagery and see how it reflects our own lived experiences. With this in mind, tarot is actually a really great way for us to better understand ourselves and our beliefs and solidify our manifesting practice!

I'll give you a couple examples. Let's say that I know for a fact that all of my desires have already been said "yes" to and that all I need to do is relax and be excited and fulfilled. If I asked, "where am I blocked in my manifestation?" and I pulled the Four of Cups, the card could be telling me that I am being handed my desire but I keep saying "no" to it by not believing that it is already mine!

Another example could be that I know that all I need to do is go within myself and fulfill the inner man. If I ask the question "where am I blocked in my manifestation?" and pull the Five of Pentacles, it could be saying that I am ignoring the warmth and abundance that is inside myself and instead am choosing to wander around the outside world looking for confirmation!

As you can see, I am not relying on the tarot to tell me whether or not my desire is coming, because the truth of the Law of Assumption has already given me that answer; a resounding yes! Instead, I am using the tarot to show me where I am straying from the truth, and getting advice on where I can reclaim my power as I Am.

In a way, we can use tarot similarly to how Neville used the bible; he analyzed the bible and re-framed the content to better understand and reflect the truths of the Law of Assumption, and we can do the same using tarot! The Law is the truth, and the tarot helps us return to that truth when used in a helpful way.

Additionally, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using tarot even though you know the truth of the Law of Assumption. For example, we know that we can lose weight without working out simply by assuming we have lost weight, but some people absolutely love going to the gym and have fun working out, so they should absolutely keep doing that! Same with tarot; we know that we can find all of the answers we need inside of ourselves, but we are also humans who struggle with human problems and tarot can be a really comforting and fun thing. Plus, if you get super inspired doing tarot and it brings joy to your life, then you ABSOLUTELY should continue doing it! 💗 Manifesting and Neville's teachings come from a place of wanting to feel the absolute most lovely feelings and give yourself the best life possible, and if tarot gives you lots of happy feelings then that is the best thing ever! 🥰

And really when you think of it, tarot may seem like "external" source, but where do you get all of the answers from when you pull a card? Yourself! You go within your mind and your own experience and intuition and you give yourself and others wonderful answers through the cards. In this way, tarot is actually a great way for us to externalize what we already know internally. It's kinda like when you feel sad or angry so you choose to journal all of the feelings out; as soon as you get it out, you get answers to your questions and you feel relief for having externalized it all.

Finally, the way that I learned tarot is to use it to tell a story; who are the characters? How does their story progress in the pictures of the cards we pull? Self / I Am / God wanted to live an infinite number of lives to experience its wonderful limitlessness, just like how human beings want to create beautiful stories and art. Tarot helps us understand our own human story, and that is a lot of fun and a huge comfort, even when we already know the truth!

(Also keep in mind, not a lot of people know or believe in the Law, which makes reading tarot for others such a beautiful way to give them positive news and make them feel good about themselves! And what a beautiful and lovely thing that is ❤️)

Hopefully this answers your question anon, I really appreciate such a thoughtful question and I hope you continue to pursue whatever makes you happiest and always returning to your belief in the law! 🥰 Also, pleaseeeee DM me if you ever wanna talk more about tarot and the law!!! Hehe.

Finally: I truly encourage everyone to look at any spiritual belief that you have or that you used to have and turn it over in your minds until you get to the core truth. Learn new things, test them out, and expand your mind and your beliefs against the things that you already know! I'll make a post on this later, because it is a really beautiful thing to explore :) Big hugs! ❤️

[rin-and-jade]

To the hosts out there reading, this post is for you!

You're doing god's work (for your sys) and i applaud you for that as this role takes a lot of responsibility and out-time longer than any other parts in the system. I do admit it's hard to be one, and i do understand your inner struggles.. which is why i'm going to talk about this topic: deeply rooted sense of denial.

Yes, there's a lot of validating posts out there which is why i decided to join in and give my own pov in purpose of covering more stuffs than other people had done. Those things won’t be repeated here, fyi.

Q: Why do hosts tend to have more denial than others?

A: Actually, its not the type of role that guarantees you into having more denial compared to different parts, everyone can have it, in varying degrees. This is more about HOW hosts can have higher amounts of denial.

Q: But what's making them having denial, what's your "how"?

A: They're the one being outside most of the time and usually busy functioning in real life which leaves little to no room for attention to notice other parts roaming around or see the innerworld. They may subconsciously feel they are more "real" than other parts as the rest don't get the same chance to be out like hosts.

It can also stem from self doubt or imposter syndrome,, but generally from the discovery of being a system after a long time of living without knowing it, sometimes accepting a change or realization is already hard by itself. Lack of proof to validate the condition also works, because hosts usually got hidden away from traumatic memories which creates an assumption of not being “too bad” to have one.

Q: If someone feels the denial/doubt, what should be done?

A: Only being told “that’s denial” won’t actually solve the problem, other than proofs of not being aware of time gaps and ‘less bad’ memories it still feels a pretty weak answer. So, some questions that will work better are:

“Why do you think you can’t be a system?”

”Are you aware of any hazy or blurry memories of your life? What is the reason for it to happen?”

”In denial, have you ever thought of trying to find some clues and take account and think of it rather dismissing it right away?”

”how do you currently feel when you’re questioning the existence of other parts?” (This is for self awareness and managing panic before it spirals)

“Is there any other way to describe your situation?”

“Do you think the experiences you’ve seen in yourself is equivalent what a system looks like? (using other’s experiences can work)”

I have made a dedicated post on handling this so if you’d like to educate yourselves or see the solutions, click here. Another thing that i want to say is to be transparent with each other and communicate in a 2-way,, nothing will get solved if things are always kept away from each other.

One last thing i’d want to tell to all the hosts out there is that they deserve a break, a time out from the world. Nothing will go wrong,, no, your other parts are capable and responsible enough to cover for you when you’re resting. I really advice to anyone reading this that being burnt out and pushing against it is never good,, what do you get out of it? Just extra debt of depleted energy and even more problems be it cognitively or emotionally, only you know.

so please take care of yourselves, you’re the most important role when it comes to creating a functional life outside for your system, so you should take proper breaks keep your best condition to work too <3

- j

[saradika]

— WASTELAND, BABY

ii. the stench of the sea, and the absence of green

[masterlist] | [part i]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 3.2k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, canon-typical violence & death, mentions and use of guns/weapons, corpse-looting

a/n: thank you so much for all the kindness on part i! It is so appreciated! 💖

As your first real taste of life outside the vault comes to an end, you find out just who your savior is.

The figure leaves you retching into the wasteland - empty stomach heaving as he moves to look through the doorway of the farmhouse.

An ache thudding in your hip, the back of your head where it had collided against the wooden steps on the way down. Fingers pressing into the packed earth as you try to look anywhere except the steaming, oozing pile of ash.

You can hear him returning - the hiss of the hydraulics, the weight of his steps. The dark shadow falling across where your eyes are cast downward. Waiting - but for what, you do not know.

"This where you live, girl?" The voice crackles again, the creak as his helmet tips down towards you.

You don't know how to answer.

Not knowing what he wants - not wanting to reveal where your family is sleeping. Not necessarily wanting to stay here either, not with the ground littered with charred corpses.

The lack of a response is an answer within itself, silence filling the space until he speaks again.

"There's a settlement, a few hours from here. I could take you there."

At this offer, you finally look up. Traveling up the miles of forest-green armor, meeting the dark shine of his visor.

And slowly, you nod.

Pushing yourself to shaky feet, your hand touching gingerly at your head - checking for bleeding. Your voice is no more than a rough rasp when you finally try to speak, weak after not talking for so long.

"My stuff is inside. Can I get it?"

There's another moment of silence, and then you see his helmet dip again in a nod. You give the bodies a wide berth as you take the steps back inside.

You'd have to go with him.

Most of your jars of food were shattered in the firefight, only two remain on the broken counter.

Belatedly realizing you should have kept everything together in your pack, but it was hard to forget the old habits. Your things were tucked around the home as if you actually lived there.

They are quickly packed up. The remaining jars, each of your precious books. A spare vault suit, your few small trinkets from your home - the blanket that stopped smelling like the vault days ago.

He's still waiting outside as you approach him. A shift in the broad, armored shoulders as he gives you a once-over.

He's bigger than you thought, now that you're close. Your head barely level with his wide chestplate, his metal boots twice as wide and long as yours. There's a jerk of his arm, the point of a glove in your direction.

"This all you have?”

Your fingers twist together. What else are you supposed to be carrying with you? The pack on your back carried as much as you dared - not wanting to take too many supplies in case someone else had woken.

There's a hum that sounds like a sigh, before he's gesturing at the figures on the ground, "You're going to need more protection than that on our journey. Take his coat, and his weapons."

His words travel through one ear, and then out the other side. Unable to help the look of confusion and disgust you throw his way.

He wants you to what?

Touch a dead body?

Loot a corpse for your own gain?

You can't wrap your head around how he says it so easily, even with those old public service announcements playing in the back of your mind.

There may be times when you must engage in questionable activities.

In the wasteland, essential supplies will be scarce. When an item of value is found, keep it close, and away from bullies.

You hadn't thought that advice was real - hadn't taken it seriously. Childish propaganda, with its blaring music, the radio-voice overlay.

"I can't. I'm not a-," You protest, search for a word that conveys your intense distaste. "A scavenger.”

The barrel of his rifle swings in his grip as he shifts, moving a few steps close to you.

"No, you're not. You really are from the vaults, aren't you?” His voice a low rumble from beneath his helmet - curiosity tinging his words. "I thought you had stripped that suit off someone else."

You shoot him a wild look, worry souring your stomach. At the thought of your vault - and then at the idea of such a deception.

“I don’t want-” You start, shaking your head, but he cuts you off, his words clipped and firm.

"There could be worse things than Raiders on our journey. I can't protect someone who won't protect themself."

His words cut into you. You know he’s right - that things has not gone well for you earlier.

That you had only survived because of him.

That you should probably listen.

Slowly, you approach the body on the steps. It’s hard to look at him, the crumpled form - the charred blast in his chest.

You hesitate, fingers reaching out towards the tattered jacket he wears - long enough to twist around his knees, the sleeves hacked off at the shoulders. Stopping, as you glance back towards him.

"You won't get anything off the other one." He comments darkly, and you resist the urge to look at the pile of ash, starting to scatter in the wind.

You still can’t bring yourself to do it.

He sighs, slow steps taking him over to your side. Making quick work of things - stripping the jacket from the body, scooping up a pistol from where it lays in the dirt.

Pressing them both into your hands, the grip heavy in your fingers.

“I don’t know how to use this.” You admit, holding the gun gingerly, slipping the jacket on. It covers a good portion of your suit, even with the tears and holes that rip through the back.

He makes a low sound, and you think his patience must be wearing thin, “Keep it. If you stick close, perhaps you won’t need to use it.”

At that, he turns - leaving the choice up to you as he sets off, away from the farmhouse. You give the body one last look - seeing the tire iron hanging from the holster around his waist.

The jingle plays in your mind, again.

There are other situations where you may find yourself in close proximity to unfriendly neighbors. For such cases, you must learn to defend yourself using your natural strength.

Use anything sharp, or sturdy enough to swing. Get creative with your implement, but stay reasonable, and look for anything that can further enhance your innate vigor.

You take it - the metal cool in your grip, much more comforting than a gun. The holster fitting around your waist, the gun tucking neatly into it.

When you look up again, your savior has started to look small against the horizon, moving down the path that continued past the Farmhouse.

"Wait," You call, jogging after him. "What is your name?"

The sun glints off the painted metal as his head turns fractionally to the side. Slowing, allowing you to catch up with him.

"My name is Boba Fett."

Your neck cranes up - despite everything, you want him to know. Eyes sweeping across the dark visor as you tell him, "Thank you, Boba Fett."

He nods - and then you find yourself following him into the wasteland.

You stick to the wake of his shadow, tripping after him across the open plane. Silent except for the rhythmic hiss of his steps - you take three for each one of his - and the high whistle of the wind.

Beneath crumbling overpasses that tower above you, around piles of abandoned cars - the glass blown out, rusted beyond belief. You're unable to help thinking about how they've been there since the blast, unmoved for centuries.

The worst is the scattering of houses - strewn out every couple miles you pass. Boba's steps slowing, the unspoken command to stick close as he stands still.

The clicking of his helmet as he watches for movements, checking for heat signatures. Only moving on when there's nothing.

You wonder if everyone in this world are like the men - the Raiders, as he called them. If the massive loss and sorrow had twisted everyone beyond repair, had created a life where only cruelty kept you alive.

But then - you wonder why Boba helped you. Had disintegrated a man that was about to kill you.

Now that you've had time to think about it, it had been very impressive. How he had arrived, just in the nick of time.

How he'd walked away with barely more than a scorch blast on his armor.

How he had offered to take you to the settlement.

The settlement.

Your thoughts loop back to before.

Wondering if he was taking you somewhere worse. Wondering - if he was - if you'd have any chance of escaping. Not with the open fields, you think. Not with his long steps, the rifle now slung across his back.

Eventually, you're unable to help asking. Wanting to know what's in store instead of waiting. You've been doing enough of that, lately.

"What is the settlement like?" Your voice breaks the silence, though he does not slow, "Are the people like... like them?"

Boba makes a low sound of contempt, "Mos Espa has all kinds of types. Bounty Hunters, smugglers, and mercenaries. But none of them are like the Raiders. Lawless sacks of bantha fodder."

A beat, as your legs slow to a stop. His head turns.

"They won't hurt you there, girl."

You're not so sure, but it's a relief that he seems to understand your worry. The journey begins again in silence - through a section of bare trees, the grass rustling beneath your feet.

Finally plucking up the courage to ask, "Can you tell me about it? I don't - I don't know what settlements are like, now."

After a long moment, he does.

Telling you, under the heat of the sun, about the city. An old town, built from brick and stone. Sections that have crumbled - some rebuilt, others laying in waste. The marketplace that curls throughout the circular town square, centered around the old capitol building.

It sounds beautiful, in a way. That the city had been rebuilt. Hasn’t sat empty - filled with the skeletons of before.

You’ve seen a lot of those, lately.

“You seem to know a lot about it.” You comment, your boot catching on a rock - sending it skittering across the packed earth.

“I do.”

A new worry fills you, worming it’s way into your thoughts. Your words quiet over the hiss of his steps, each one hesitant, “Do you think they'll let me stay?”

He doesn’t slow, his answer seeming to come without thought.

“Aye, girl. They will.”

You can’t help but wonder how he can be so certain.

Finally, after hours had passed - the sun creeping across the gold-tinged sky - you see it. The cluster of buildings on the horizon, starting small until they begin to loom like a cracked range of mountains.

Finally back on a road, a real one. The asphalt cracked and crumbling, but it’s mostly flat under your feet - far more easy than some of the terrain you had crossed.

Because the journey hadn’t been all easy.

A crash-course in wandering the wasteland.

Beginning with a shimmer on the horizon, his steps slowing until you almost crashed into him. The rifle on his back swung around, peering down the sight so he could see what was approaching.

“Tuskens,” he had said.

As if you knew who or what that was - but the low edge to his voice had you sticking close again, as his did a slow sweep. Waiting for them to come to you, the figures slowly growing.

People clothed in wraps and robes, their faces covered. Traveling together, the first riding a large, ox-like beast with a thick pelt and curling horns.

Banthas, you found out later. Mutated by the radiation from the fallout, like the Brahmin at the Farmhouse.

His voice, as it broke through your careful watch, “Might not want to meet them alone, but you’ll be fine with me.”

They had halted, when they saw your small party. The rifle slung back over his back, as they signed back in forth - Boba’s slow and exaggerated, with the weight of his armor. The gestures punctuated with calls, carrying with the wind.

You understood none of it - feeling on edge, with their numbers. A little over a half-dozen, armed with carved, tall spears.

“I warned them about the Raiders,” He told you, when your paths finally diverged. “They might use what was left behind. And we’ll need to take a different way back.”

“Why is that?” You asked, though you didn’t have another choice - already throwing a leg over the low fence that he cleared with a step.

The noise he makes buzzed in his helmet. Was he laughing at you?

“You not ready for super mutants, little one.” A sigh, as he added, “They shouldn’t wander this close, I will come back for them later.”

Leaving you to wonder what they were - and certainly not going to push sticking to the path if Boba seemed uncertain - as you followed him over the rough terrain.

Not wanting to think about the bodies being picked over - but you think you understood. That supplies could be scarce, better to take it for yourself than for someone to use it against you.

“Did you know them?” You has asked, once the figures were out of sight again.

“Some.” He has replied.

He told you a little a bit about them. That they lived in nomadic tribes, that he had stayed with one, some years ago. A weight his words that told you that he carried something - regret, grief - that you don’t ask about.

The story interrupted by the sound of scrabbling - the ground shifting beneath your feet. Creatures climbing out of holes - large mole rats with pink, mottled skin and biting teeth.

Another pair of those large roaches, like you had seen after you first left.

Your breath in your throat, they clicked and lunged, the tire iron cool in your fumbling, heated grasp.

A metal hand closing around your wrist as he tugged you behind him. The other reaching for a pistol at his own waist - a kindness, in the way he had fired first.

Even if his words made heat bloom in your chest, embarrassment rising at being so utterly unprepared again.

Definitely not ready.

The rest of the journey, made in silence.

But now - the city looms. You’re grateful to see it, your feet and aching from the hours of walking.

Passing the broken street signs on the side of the old highway. Some things starting to make sense - the edges of them torn off, peppered with bullet holes.

You hadn’t remembered a Mos Espa when you lived here. But there it was now - something new born in the remains of before.

The old name transforming, becoming something else as the sign decayed, letters faded and lost over time.

It’s a skeleton of a town, padded and expanded with hand-made additions. Layers of wood and metal, stacked together with webs of scaffolding connecting them together.

Miles of high fences surrounding the buildings like an embrace, keeping everyone tucked safely inside.

It was impressive. It was a community, and for the first time - there's a relief easing the weight in your chest.

He leads you to the center of the town. A tall rotunda with a dark brick dome, a flight of cracked stone steps cut into the hill to meet it. You wonder where he's taking you - confused by the way people in the streets call to him.

When he had talked before, he had made it seem like he would be passing by. But, he knows people, here.

There's a way that they speak to him that you pick up on, as you still follow close at his heels.

A sort of respect, a reverance.

The wide double doors open for him, bringing you both inside of the old capitol. Inside, it almost feels familiar. Like a moment from your life, before.

Neat floors that are swept clean. A string of actual lights, flickering with electricity. Framing a raised platform that sits between the branches of the ornate, bifurcated staircase. A large seat sits in the middle, pieced together with carved bits of stone and concrete.

A woman lounges on it, lifting up as the doors close behind you. Hair pulled back in a complicated braid, above sharp eyes and an even sharper smile.

"You're back," She calls - as Boba moves to a bright yellow rack, set into the wall of the stairs. "I was thinking about sending Djarin out to look for you."

"Funny." He answers dryly, lining himself up between the metal arms.

And then, there's a hiss. The suit opens.

You watch a man step out, clothed in a dark flight suit. Older than you, powerfully built with a broad chest and broader shoulders. The skin you could see was scarred, but it didn't take away from the depth in his pretty, brown eyes - his handsome face.

A part of you had known, had remembered the power armor advertisements and propaganda from before the Great War. Giant suits of metal, created to carry soldiers.

But you had met him in it - and it had felt like they were one. You hadn't really thought too much about who was beneath.

"I had to track the Raiders further than I anticipated," He comments as he stretches, rolling his shoulders.

Stepping over to an armor stand right next to the rack. Carefully slipping on pieces of a smaller, more compact set - still painted that pretty, dark green, "Ran into a little more than I bargained for."

"I see that." The woman glances you way, where you were left to hover in the doorway, "Who are you, little bluebird?"

You blink at that, glancing down at the bright blue of your Vault suit, before you answer - giving her your name. She smiles, stepping down elegantly from the seat, taking your hand in hers.

Fennec Shand.

She carries herself like a queen - beautifully intimidating, a fighter and a survivor in this new world. You don't know what you could offer her, but you tell yourself to be brave, to try.

"I don't have much, but I will work hard. Would there be room for me to stay?" You ask, hands clasped in front of you.

Terrified this woman will tell you to go - to turn you out after you had come all this way.

Fennec grins, her arms folding over her chest, "Boba Fett is the Daimyo here, sweet girl. Not me. Didn’t he tell you?"

Daimyo.

You remember the word from history classes. Ruler.

Not a mercenary, not an ordinary man. You'd been traveling with the lord of this settlement. All the lands around it - his.

You gape at Boba and he smiles - with a sly curve of his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement. The rasp of his voice - clearer without the helmet, but still deep and smooth.

"Welcome to Mos Espa, sen'ika"

sen'ika - little bird

thank you for reading! 💚 part iii will be out thursday, the 15th! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

(0-pressure tags 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights, @wingofshadow, @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay, @floral-force, @valentine-tx, @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved, @dukeoftheblackstar, @writeforfandoms, @winchestershiresauce, @monada43, @rescuethewretched, @thegalaxys-edge, @honeydjarin, @ri-a-rose )

[alexthesillybilly]

Lil different from what I usually write, this ones like a springtrap and reader thing but it can just be platonic instead of only romantic too 🤷‍♀️ this one's more fun just bc I wanted to write something lmao

Holy shit.

That was all you could think as the inhumanly tall figure stumbled into your office, looming over you.

You'd been working this security job a few nights now, and you kept seeing this thing, whatever it was, roaming the halls. Your boss had told you it was just a SpringBonnie suit.

Yeah, right. That was a little hard to believe when you could see its human organs and corpse VERY clearly. A little too clearly, you decided. You quickly tried to dodge its path and leave the office.

The thing decided against that.

It didn't exactly stop you from leaving, but your natural response to fear was to freeze up, so when it reached its hand to your arm, you stopped.

"Dude, what the fuck ARE you?" You laughed, losing your common sense that told you to get out of there as fast as you could.

It looked a little taken aback, possibly even offended if it could even feel that. If there were human organs in there, it probably could, assuming this was some kind of fucked up ghost story you were now a part of. It had stepped away from you now.

If it wasn't going to talk, you'd have to talk your way out of this yourself.

"Seriously, man. You look like shit."

It opened its mouth a bit and narrowed its eyes. You stared right back.

"I know." It responded. "You're supposed to be scared."

"Well, I'm not." You definitely had been, but not so much anymore.

"Why?"

"Because look at yourself. You look like someone tried waaayy too hard to make a horror character. Be a little more realistic, then I'll consider a better review." You joked, hoping this was convincing it to not murder you.

"...I will consider your advice." It said, giving a sort of noise. (Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh? Was it joking?) "I was going to kill you, if that adds to the horror factor at all."

You stare at it. "I got that part... I think. Wait, are you still going to?"

Maybe you weren't the smartest for asking a murderer for clarification on if it was going to kill you. Instead of, y'know, running.

It shook its head.

"Why not?" You asked. WHY did you say that? You didn't know. Nerves, probably.

"Company." It said.

"Uh... Okay. Thanks, I guess."

It nodded, as if not killing you was a huge favor it was doing you.

Your phone buzzed. 6am. Your shift was over.

"I'm leaving now. Uh, bye."

It looked disappointed. "Already?"

"I've been here for 6 hours, buddy. You're the one who didn't come in." You point out.

"You kept playing sounds." It argued.

"You kept falling for them."

It grunted. "Suit's fault. Not mine. Will you be back?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow at midnight again."

It nodded. "See you then."

"Bye." You grabbed your stuff and left the office. From the window outside, you could see it do some sort of movement. From what you could tell, it looked like a fairly happy movement.

Well.

That was surely an interesting night.

[simplyreveries]

love langauges; heartslabyul

just what my opinion!! i think ill do this for the other dorms as well :)

riddle rosehearts

receiving: quality time

riddle as we know is pretty inexperienced with love and relationships in general. he struggles with wanting to do things almost by the book all the time since that's all he knows. hence why in the beginning of your relationship you may see him planning out in detail how a lot of things are going to go. you remind him these things happen more so naturally!!

he loves to see you whenever you just decide to pop by his dorm, but he feels unprepared-- he'll ask trey to make you some treats or brew some tea, ask cater to set up a nice small table outside to enjoy. you're going to have to gently remind him that it's okay haha.

whenever he's around you he gets such a sense of peace that he really needs for himself. riddle can easily get lost in track of time around you.

he can grow more seemingly impatient and hotheaded towards others in his dorm when hes being strict about rules when hes had less time with you if you've been busy and such. everyone notices his more negative energy; he can't help but feel so much better around you.

giving: gifts

okay i think he would reeally love to give little gifts to a lot. since hes no good at really expressing himself, he gets flustered easily, so he prompts to giving you things like flowers ("roses for my rose" as he'd say), with those flowers you'll sometimes receive a fancy looking letter from him.

riddle is very keen and observant on things you like or mention wanting like maybe a new book you wanted or paints. he loves to watch your face light up whenever he gifts you anything. he feels so proud of himself to because he feels like he's doing something right when figuring out relationships.

if you ask him why he randomly gifts pretty and nice things randomly he'll be confused and tell you something like: "why? well it's been exactly 100 days we've been together." he celebrates REALLY specific dates and milestones. he thinks its a no-brainer that hes doing all this.

trey clover

receiving: quality time

trey is much like riddle he's very content and happen when he's just with you. especially when you come over and chat his ear off about random and mundane things while he tries to bake. if you like to bake, he'd enjoy doing it with you but if not he's just as fine with you sitting up on the counter and being his taste-tester.

he also likes it when he gets to show you what he's done with the science club with the plants he's grown. he gladly tells you all about it as you stroll around nrcs botanical gardens.

though he's no avid planner like riddle is, he still will make some of an effort to make sure you enjoy yourself around him with something to do, that includes mostly baking or even coming along with him as he prepares for yet another unbirthday party for heartslabyul.

giving: words of affirmation

he can be pretty cheeky jerk when it comes to you and will take a lot of opportunities to make you all nervous around him with compliments or praise. he always says it in such a casual way with a smile whenever he does it.

but he really does genuinely lift you up all the time, he always gently and affirmingly reminds you in some way of something he loves about you, basically every day. he also gives some real good advice and can be someone to talk to, trey just has this really big comforting aura that surrounds him. it's easy to be persuaded by those calm and sweet words into taking it easy when feeling upset or frustrated.

like its hard to stay in a bad mood around him because his energy is just so kind?? and inviting?? he has such a way with words and talking to you.

cater diamond

receiving: words of affirmation

he genuinely does hold onto ever compliment or praise you give him; it may be hard to tell from your end because he would answer it with a "aw thanks~♫" but trust me he'll think about it throughout the day. you make him feel a little more seen when complimenting stuff he's actually interested in and good at.

cater loves it when you play with his hair and put it up in different cute styles or put clips and bands in it- then tell him he looks pretty boy does he love that.

when his club isnt eating and hanging out he really likes it when you come and watch him play!! he'll shamelessly ask for compliments like "i was soo good wasn't i?" trying to be lighthearted about it but hes desperate for any sweet words from you.

giving: physical affection

he can't help but be affectionate. i mean even with friends he is, so with his you?? cater is all over you. he always is holding onto you or touching you on the arm or something whenever you're getting a picture taken with him, he loves practically smushing you up against him.

cater likes to pinch your cheeks playfully, he'll coo and give a cheeky grin telling you you're cute, he'll laugh and lay on your shoulder if he's tired in class, he'll poke your side to try to get you to laugh, he'll play with your hair, he adores affection.

clearly, he isn't afraid of pda, i mean everyone and their mother knows you're together, its painfully obvious by the way he acts around and with you.

like you could be doing literally nothing and he's scrolling on magicam on his phone, and he'll still have his hand on you in some sort of way.

ace trappola

receiving: physical touch

when he started to catch feelings for you was when he realized just how much he was a sucker for any affection. whenever you'd laugh and put a hand on his shoulder or even playfully punched his arm. so, once you to officially got together he just wanted more. even though he's not like the most- gooey over the top with public affection, he loves it when you do something small and playful like swing his arm when you're holding hands.

whenever he gets tired and wants to doze off in class and lays on the table in front of him and you rub his back, he loves a lot from you. or when you're bored with him and take his hand in yours and drawing random doodles on it. he does the same thing to yours as well.

he likes hugs, they're short sometimes but he squeezes you a bit and rocks you side to side in a playful manner. he also subconsciously stands closer to you; he likes it when you're near him where your arms are lightly touching and brushing against his.

giving: gifts

okay hear me out on the gifts, but i think he'd unintentionally and intentionally gift you little things all the time. i mean he's not exactly rich level status like idia or kalim but if he's getting a s snack or drink from the vending machine, he'll get something you like too (im sorry but he sometimes will quicky say "catch!" and then proceed to chuck a chocolate bar at you) you'll end up hearing a whine and complaint from grim though because he wants something too.

if he ever goes out somewhere and visits another place, he'll get you some sort of trinket like a keychain from there. he never tries to make it seem like he went out of his way to do something like that, he'll just be like "ehh thought this was cool but i don't really want it, you can have it." that said item is something that you would totally want.

he does like to win you those prizes whenever you guys are out at an amusement park or fair. though he seems confident about it and claims those games are too easy, after his 50th try he gets the plushie for you. he's too stubborn to quit those anyway.

deuce spade

receiving: words of affirmation

he loves it when you acknowledge and tell him he's good at something or looks good today. he pretty much hangs off of every word you say, so it's important to him. he doesn't ask for it like cater or anything, but he really wants them from you.

like whenever he gets awarded for his efforts on the track team and you tell him something as simple as a "nice job!" can mean a lot to him he really does want to make you proud of him and his accomplishments especially since he's trying to do and be better at school even though its challenging. now despite him favoring this whenever he does get complimented, he always gets all bashful, its sweet though.

he tends to feel elated for the whole day after something small youve said to him. he gets a sense of pride in himself and feels proud as he goes about his day. he can't even be upset about painting the roses for the next unbirthday party or studying extra hard for a test because he knows you'll tell him he did well.

giving: acts of service

he wants to be the best boyfriend for you because you deserve the best. so, he's always trying to go out of his way to do things for you and be of some help. he not only likes but wants to be someone you think about first when needing help with anything.

even just small things throughout the day like carrying your bags if you got something from sam's shop, opening doors for you, fixing things, and even though he isn't the most academically inclined he'll attempt and try his absolute best to help you with homework you're struggling with even if it ends with both of you confused. he just actively goes out his way to do things for you.

ace always teases him for what he does for you all the time, but he doesn't even really feel like what he's doing is enough. ace only laughs at him and tells him he stupid and overthinks it completely. but deuce just aspires to always be better, so he has trouble not.

he has definitely at some point called his mom and asked her what to do when it comes to what your partners want and would like and just mentally took notes of what she said and does it x10.

[polyamorousmood]

How do people handle when a partner says something along the lines of...oh, what, I'm not enough? I don't feel like the notion of polyamory is about anybody not being enough. But not quite sure how to articulate that in a helpful way to reassure another person. Thoughts?

There is no in-the-moment fix to this that I've found.

That is a big concern that requires a lot of work to address. Your partner has to have an open mind, and you have a lot of explaining to do. It's a process, and you'll probably have to explain it several different ways, several different times for it to sink in.

I would caution against directly saying "you are enough" because... your partner alone won't satiate you, in one way or another. If they could, you likely wouldn't be trying/doing/asking for poly stuff (in such a mono-centric world as we live in). But I'd also be likely to bet no ONE person would satisfy you either.

Here's as good a place as any to put the very necessary read-more. There's specifics and stuff below the cut

Okay, I'm having a hard time organizing what I'm trying to get across as flowing prose so we're just doing bullet points of general advice. You know your life better than I do though so these are not hard-and-fast rules so much as consider-this-es.

🔍Find the specific worries your partner has. Without judgement work with your partner to get to the heart(s) of the issue. Are there any precise worries your partner has? When you go out to eat, your partner isn't scared their cooking isn't to your standards. So what ways are they actually worried about being "not enough for you." Sexually inadequate is a common fear, but so is the fear that they're not providing enough for you emotionally or materially, they might worry you're discontent because your hobbies don't overlap enough, or a thousand other things. There's likely general anxiety there as well, but know as much as you can about what worries your partner has.

👇Be specific with your reassurance. As discussed, saying "you are enough" is too easy to ✌️"disprove"✌️ (these are air quotes). But that's in part because its too broad. Any one thing you prefer to do with someone else can serve as "proof" the partner in question "isn't enough." So focus on what you value about your partner, what you get out of that specific relationship, what is special and un-replicatable that you enjoy. "I will always want to do [activity] with you" and "I love your way of seeing the world. When we were talking about [subject] you mentioned [interesting point]. I never would have considered that. I want to keep hearing your insight" and "I NEVER thought I'd like [whatever], but the way you love it makes me love it". You should also (if applicable, do not lie) probably assure your partner you are still committed to a long term relationship with them, including working through problems together.

🤝Help your partner build security in the relationship. Have dedicated time that's just for them Even if you're living together so everything you do is "together", make quality time. Those specific reassurances? Write them down on fancy paper and give them to your partner, so they can refer back to it when they need to. Thank your partner for coming to you with concerns, even when you're not sure what the fix is. In your daily routine you should be telling your partner things you're grateful for about them.

🧍Help your partner feel confident as an individual. The worst way to transition a relationship to polyamory is to go straight from spending every minute together to seeing other people. Perhaps counter-intuitively, you need to have separate lives, preferably before you add other people to the mix. You should spend at least a couple hours a week with friends or on hobbies away from your partner and vice versa. If you're everything to your partner, the fear of not keeping you is the fear of losing EVERYTHING, so your partner needs to see they have value outside of the relationship. And that WILL make a good relationship STRONGER, and less dependent.

⏲️Take time to work through problems.Don't let stuff fester. If you notice your partner is feeling off, say so in as many words. If they aren't ready to talk, its still helpful for them to know you notice and care about their feelings. If they do want to talk, talk. Even if you don't know how to proceed, take real time to sit together and brainstorm. If you don't reach a possible solution, establish a time to revisit it. Don't. let stuff. fester.

💭Know what you mean. "I don't feel like the notion of polyamory is about anybody not being enough" okay, what is it about? What's the draw for you? For me, whose very kitchen table, its about freedom and trust, sure, but its also very much about exploring new things and sharing that experience with my partner. I feel our love is stronger when it is not bogged down by petty mortal notions of exclusivity.

📘📗📙📕Explain your needs multiple different ways. Find several metaphors that describe how you feel. "My favorite meal cannot be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner." "It doesn't feel different to me than friends. You're my best friend but I wouldn't say no to hanging out with a work friend for my best friend's sake." "The sun is beautiful, I cannot live without it, but its also really important I get to see the stars". "I can't do monogamy. I tried really hard in the past, but it felt like cutting off a limb. I wasn't wholly myself, I could still feel phantom sensations of what wasn't. It drove me mad" Whatever you feel suits the situation. Be prepared to go into detail, be prepared to explain the shortcomings of your metaphor, and be aware of what negative associations your metaphors my have (for example, the food metaphor listed here may be misinterpreted as "so you're sick of me"). Make it personal.

🙋Its not you, its me. but like fr. DO NOT use that wording, but emphasize that your wants and feelings and needs are not caused by your partner. They are yours (and you're asking your partner to help you meet those wants/feelings/needs by allowing you some poly freedom).

📑Further reading. I talk about how to communicate effectively here. Here's a little workbook about "jealousy" but I think it also applies to in/security so it may be helpful for your partner to do independently or with you. Some explanations as to how your partner might be hurt by you having other partners. And lastly, I haven't read Polysecure (yet!) but uhhh, gonna go out on a limb here and say might be applicable (my library has a copy! so you might check yours if you don't want to purchase). And last but certainly not least, though again, nominally about jealousy, I think this article really suits your situation and offers some reframings your partner may find helpful.

As a final word of advice: hear your partner out. Your goal, ultimately is not to change your partner's mind, but to reach an understanding. You both will have to work toward understanding each other for there to be any hope of success.

[melodygatesauthor]

i have absolutely no idea if its ok to ask for advice but ive been trying to learn to write better smut scenes and i have trouble describing body parts because ive heard so much discourse on the internet about what words to use and what not; especially when describing orgasming- do you have any favorite words or things you prefer to use ?

from the very shy person who admires you and all of your work very much

Hi Nonnie! (so funny that you asked about this, I literally just started putting together a list of my favorite terms/words to use)

Firstly, thank you so much for being a supporter. It means so much to me! (Always ok to ask me for advice btw I love helping other writers).

Secondly, I'm going to give you the words I like to use for body parts e.t.c., but I want to preface it all by saying (and I'm sure my fellow writers will agree) if there's a word you want to use, use it. No matter what you write, someone will love it and someone will hate it. I sometimes use the word member instead of cock, and I know there are plenty of people who don't like the word and some may shy away from reading my work because of it. (Someone else out there doesn't like the word cock and only likes the word member, know what I mean?)

Even @welcometostayingawake sees words I use and she doesn't like them and I literally (and affectionately) tell her to piss off cause I like the word and I'm gonna use it lol. Write what feels right for you, and don't worry about what other people think.

That being said, expanding your vocab is SO IMPORTANT and I think having a repertoire of words to choose from can be helpful. I usually have some that I cycle through. (below the cut)

Words:

Vagina (inside): Cunt, channel, walls, pussy, heat, core, sex (These words can be prefaced with some words like: wet, soaking, slick, slippery, velvet, soft, puffy, swollen, e.t.c.)

Vagina (outside): Folds, crevices, slit, entrance, hole, mound (pubis), (can also be prefaced with the words above)

Clit: Clit, nub, bundle of nerves (can be prefaced with burning, swollen, sensitive, greedy, hungry, desperate e.tc.)

Butthole: Rim, ring of muscle, lesser used hole (prefaced with tight, clenching, slick (if using lube/spit/e.t.c.)

Penis: Cock, length (when talking about depth), girth (when talking about stretching/width/thickness), member, shaft, sex, erection, bulge (when in pants) (prefaced with thick, long, strong, aching, hard, slick - with spit e.t.c. - throbbing, pulsating)

Hips/motions: Rock, churn, thrust, buck, grind, stutter, push, snap

Cocks During Sex: Plunging, stuffing, fucking, pushing, filling, stretching, thrusting, twitch, crush

Vaginas During Sex: Flutter, clench, squeeze, quiver, contract, gush, grip, drip, swallow (a cock)

Coming (cocks): Throbbing, filling, pulsating, shooting, squirting (I don't use that one but you can if you want)

Cum (cock): ropes (of), spurts (of), shots (of), covering you in (prefaced with hot white, sticky, delicious (if consuming), sweet (consumption))

Voice (the WAY it sounds): Wrecked, rough, gravely, dark, deep, husky

Moaning: breathy rasp, moaning, groaning, breathing heavily, panting, whimpering, whining, crying (cries), breath punching, huffing, choked sound (usually I use this during orgasm).

When a reader/love interest is about to come: "approaching an orgasm" - "reaching your climax" - "as your orgasm/climax approached"

Additional thoughts:

Personally I use "come" and "cum" for two different things (not in my older fics because I didn't think of it this way but to me it makes sense now) - "Come" is when you're talking about the verb so "come" - "coming" - "come for me baby" or "he was coming" - versus - "he coated your walls in hot cum" or "cum trickled out of your hole."

An additional note on the "girth" versus "length" comment. When I'm using the word "girth" to replace "cock" I usually use it like this: "he stretched you with his girth" or "his girth filled your mouth". When using the word "length" it's like so - "He was fucking you deep with his length" or "you felt his length grazing the threshold of your throat."

Using descriptors in front of your words is a nice touch (imo). So if you're using "cunt" or "channel" you can say "wet cunt" or "soaking channel". Same can be said for "cock" or "shaft" - "thick cock" or "hard shaft."

If anyone else has any thoughts or words they'd like to add, please feel free! I'm always coming up with new phrases/finding new phrases that I like to use in my writing.

My biggest advice is that if you see a word that you like, write it down in a note on your phone or in google docs and use it. It can make writing more fun and exciting!

I'm always happy to give advice or talk about my process if anyone wants to know so please don't hesitate to ask. My inbox and dms are always open! <3

[violottie]

I cant stress enough how much bi lesbians and bi lesbian discourse flared up my SO-ocd, I was fine for a few months and then I returned to this side of tumblr and I get reminded of them. One of my worst fears is that I am somehow a “bi lesbian” or if after all these years of questioning and finally coming to the conclusion that I’m a lesbian I’ll turn out to be straight in the end. Idk if I should have stayed on the art side of tumblr but where else do I find other lesbians??? I wish I could go back to when I didn’t know “bi lesbians” existed it was easier back then. Apparently the only thing to make intrusive thoughts subside is to be like “so what if I’m not a lesbian, who cares” but I cant do that. I wanna go back to when I didn’t know there were people who deliberately fake being gay because that’s also one of my fears,, even though when I realized I was a lesbian it felt like I REALIZED it rather than chose it

(this is gonna be long but it's very important to talk about so just a heads up on that)

i am so so sorry to hear this, and im infuriated that these fucking creeps in the "community" have caused not only so much blatant lesbophobia to spread but also have caused so much harm to lesbians.

i am right with you because ive been through, and still go through sometimes, what you're experiencing. its terrifying that all this bullshit can snowball and make any doubts we lesbians already have from living in this heterosexual patriarchal society double and multiply even more viciously.

my internalised lesbophobia has worsened also. i doubt myself alot and more often thanks to all this bs. its... i dont even have words to express how damaging lesbophobia, especially from within the "community", is.

it causes harm and trauma and pain and suffering for lesbians, but all these stupid juvenile shits just think it doesnt matter because "uwu theyre so kweer and cool now"

it sucks... but i need you to know it is not your fault that you feel this way.

no matter what anyone inside or outside the community says, and no matter what your spiralling thoughts might make you believe as a result of lesbophobia inside and outside the community, you are not straight, you are not a "bi lesbian", you are not bisexual. you are a lesbian.

i know it is so so hard to just say but i promise you, nothing they say will ever ever change the reality of your lesbianism. i promise you.

it hurts, and its beyond infuriating to have to share space with these disrespectful bastards who coopt our lived experience for a moment of attempted self-actualisation, and that pain deserves to be acknowledged and soothed, not pushed away.

i wish i could give you a hug rn honestly because this shit just fucking sucks. i too wish i could go back to the time when these idiots werent even a concept in my mind or memory, but if there is any advice i can give you to help ease the torment of this constant barrage, it is this:

❤️🧡🤍🩷💖

1) know, for a fact, that nothing anyone, and i mean ANYONE says and no matter how loud they say it, will ever change the lived and exact reality of your innate sexuality.

nothing will ever magic away your lesbianism. it is wired into you, it IS you, a very central part of your personhood. that is not something that any words, especially words shat out of the asshole of a dickhead child on the internet, can ever change.

im not disregarding the hurt, im just reminding you that who you are, who you truly are, cannot change because of the words that hurt. especially because you know deep down that those words are not true.

because being a lesbian is who you are. it is not a quota to reach, or what you do, it is who we are. innately. you know where your natural attactions lie, what genders draw your attraction exclusively and without effort. you know that deep down. we are literally born this way. words cannot change that.

❤️🧡🤍🩷💖

2) the best thing to do whenever you accidentally glimpse said bullshit is to block them and focus on uplifting the actual lesbian community.

lesbians community is such an integral lifeline, i cannot emphasise the sheer importance of enough.

these idiots are, after all, idiots and do not deserve your energy, your time or your pain. they will never matter, and the truth is, they only exist on the internet among weirdos who have no sense of self so seek it by stealing bits and pieces from other peoples personal experience and identity.

they are and always will be inauthentic, unlike you.

❤️🧡🤍🩷💖

3) find and focus on the joy of your lesbianism individually and in lesbian community with other lesbians.

We lesbians are blessed to experience the best kind of human life possible: lesbianism.

our sexuality is bold and strong and proud and beautiful and brilliant and effervescent. it is perfect and brave and worthy of honor and praise and celebration and respect.

our community of lesbians is just as exquisite as we are individually. we are diverse and divine. every butch, femme, stud, stone, masc and feminine lesbian; every trans woman, transmasc, transfem and nonbinary lesbian; every black and brown and lesbian of color; every aromantic, asexual, aroace, non-partnering and polyamourous lesbian; every lesbian of every age and race is so overflown with wisdom and joy and love and brilliance. there is nothing more empowering as a lesbian and nothing that strengthens lesbian pride more than being in a community of lesbians and finding joy in ourselves through each other.

and im not just saying this to be mushy. i mean it. lesbians are divine, and thus, you are also divine.

you are perfect as a lesbian because you ARE a lesbian. you are incredible and intelligent and brilliant and brave.

nothing will change the brilliance of who you are, and in everything you are as a lesbian, you have a universe of lesbians who have been, who are and who will be, all of whom have not only been through the same and similar demeaning bs from the same kind of lesbophobic idiots, but they fought it back and survived and lived and thrived as lesbians.

you are just as strong as every lesbian who has been and is. and you are not alone. i promise you.

i am slowly rebuilding the community of lesbians on this blog that i had on my old one, but i promise you, on my blog you are safe. i swear, i will always always put lesbians first here, and that includes you. i will always defend and support and celebrate lesbians first here, and here you will find many other lesbians who will do the same.

❤️🧡🤍🩷💖

i know this was long, im sorry about that but i just need you to know that i see and feel your pain with you, and i need you to know that you arent going through it alone, and you are not alone.

we lesbians have always stuck together to defend and fight for one another, we have always survived, we have always been here, and we always will be.

i hope this reassures you in some way, and know you're always welcome and safe here ❤️🧡🤍🩷💖

[bonefall]

who’re all the cats that give leafstar her lives? what lives do they give her?

Rough draft of her names so far;

Cloudstar: Endurance The strength to last through hard times, to keep in mind a large rock that breaks the wind can have pride in itself and in the lives that shelter behind it. Strength is a beautiful tool, prized both for its beauty on its own and in its application. (This slot may be swapped to a more recent SkyClan ancestor)

Flystar: Tradition To look to the wisdom of your ancestors, and remember they weren't so different that their advice is obsolete. Remember that you too will be an ancestor someday; and consider what you want your children to inherit.

Spiderstar: Innovation Consider solutions outside of the box, and don't let obsessive commitment to the past prevent you from moving forward. Important because Spiderstar kept SkyClan alive by making them scatter, so the rats couldn't attack them. (also the contrast of Fly's commitment to the past and Spider's to the future... effervescent)

Skywatcher: Faith Even when life is bleak, even when people disappoint you, trust that it can always get better. Every sunset is for a new sunrise, but you'll never see it if you don't believe in the dawn.

Rainbloom: Agility. No, it's Humor. "With this life I give you the agility to dodge rat bites." They stare for a moment, then both burst out laughing. When they're just snickering, Rainbloom puts his paws on her shoulders. "Leaf, I loved being part of SkyClan. I loved being your friend, I loved watching everyone start to rely on each other like one big family. It hurts so much that I can't be there with my kids-- but with this life, I give you humor. If you're not laughing you're crying, and I want to see your beaming smile outshine the stars." (Rainbloom was previously named Rainfur; conflict name change because of ThunderClan's Rainfur)

(Placeholder for another SkyClan founder who dies, weird that it was only Rainfur and Skywatcher)

Leafstar's Mother: Judgement There will be people in your future not worth trusting, and many more who first need to be trusted. The road ahead is long and full of many choices, with this life she bestows the discernment of a long and lonely life, knowing that Leafstar's kind heart will balance out her cynicism. (I'm thinking of making her the grandchild of Pricklenose, Skywatcher's mentor)

Brokenstar: Love He's shocked when he's told to step forward. He didn't have time to think about this, he's supposed to be resting in the oak, but when asked if he doesn't know what kind of life to give he looks determined. "With this life, I give you love. The kind of love that aches, because without it, something's wrong. Love that can make you ferocious, love that lasts beyond generations, love that can even change your path if you realize you're on the wrong course."

In short; the ancient leaders are not here to apologize because they do not think they have done anything wrong. SkyClan, and Leafstar herself, do not need them. They are their own Clan, doing this for their own reasons.