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kira-fluff · 26 days

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reaction to finding out you have a chronic disease | fem!reader x haikyuu!!

this idea popped into my head in the shower. shower thoughts are the best. as a chronically ill person such as myself (mentally and physically, LOL!) i felt maybe I was a little qualified to write this. these are all diseases i experience! i can def write some that i am not diagnosed with :) i'm a biology nerd, so i love learning new things, especially about diseases! some of these are more serious than others. i tried to keep the disease symptoms/descriptions general so it can appeal to more diagnoses (for example, nosebleeds are indicative of several different diseases) that way more people can feel represented by what i write!

‼️warnings: mentions of blood, nekoma team being dorks, seizures, WAY too many ellipses (sorry I just love them), pointless bantering (oikawa), dramatic af, osamu described as "caked-up" (sorry not sorry), railing on atsumu for shits and giggles, deep hatred of the word moist

want to see a different haikyuu character's reaction? request here! also, if you want to read a specific disease represented, i can see if i can put it in there too :)

✿ kuroo tetsuro "hey when do you want to- OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?!" blood dripped from your nose onto the gymnasium floor. "oh. another nosebleed. my bad, I'll clean that up..." you said apathetically. "hey, this is sort of a big deal, ya know? shit... yaku, I need a towel or something!" he shouted. they really weren't anything serious. ever since you were little, you had frequent nosebleeds. your mom wrote it all off as the cold weather (even in summer), so it wasn't really that big of a deal to you either (until a few doctor visits later). still, the apathy you felt toward your predicament remained. yamamoto had already rushed over at his captain's call. "does she need an ice pack, too? fuck, I don't know what to do...." "aren't you supposed to tilt your head up?" one member asked. "no, no i think you're supposed to tilt your head down...." another muttered. "GUYS, GUYS I GOT IT. GOOGLE SAYS TO 'sit down and tilt your head forward, pinching the top part of your nose above the nostrils for like, 10 to 15 minutes.'" lev sat back proudly, phone in hand. "can't believe you were smart enough to look that up..." kenma whispered under his breath. "hey, hey, look at me. you still with us?" kuroo said, a hand on either side of your face. despite the towel against your nose, you couldn't help but laugh. "oh my god, guys! it's not like I'm dying! this happens all the time." "but that's not...normal. did you ever get it checked out?" kuroo stared at you inquisitively, his brow raised. his fellow teammates nodded. you sighed. "look, unless there's a lot of excessive gushing or anything like that, they said i should be okay. yes there's a whole disease behind it all with a long-ass name that no one can pronounce and yes there are sometimes other symptoms that could result in death, but I'm totally fine, okay? I'm perfectly healthy!" "you poor, fragile angel..." lev said, a hand on his chest, distraught. "that... does NOT make me feel more relieved. at all. in fact, I'm more worried. should we go to the hospital? that one looked a little... gush-y...." kuroo said, pacing back and forth before setting his eyes back on you. removing the towel from your nose, you shook your head. "no. look, bleeding nose already gone, see? I'm not going to the hospital. I'm completely fine. relax, kuroo." kuroo stared at you for another moment, taking in your expression, searching for any signs of discomfort. at last, he sighed. "ok. fine. I concede. but if you ever feel the littlest bit unwell, tell me or one of us, okay?" after your agreement, and several more minutes of doting from both your boyfriend and all the other team members, you at last parted ways. as you got out of the shower that night, your phone lit up with a notification. tetsu 💕 [11:23pm]: I'm serious about what I said back there. please talk to me when you aren't feeling good. you mean so much to me that I can't imagine what life would be like without you. sleep well, babe. love you.

✿ osamu miya "damn are you o-- OKAY, YEAH, NO. SHE'S NOT OKAY." it was your average day as a supportive, amazing, fantastic girlfriend watching your iconic, sexy, hot, caked-up boyfriend play volleyball with his piss-haired twin and the rest of the team of inarizaki. unfortunately for you (and the entire volleyball team), inarizaki had a recent issue with their air conditioning units. even more unfortunate was the fact that the fans in the gymnasium were practically there for decoration, that's how useless they were. despite it being late march (still quite cool outside), the players and spectators were drenched in sweat. still, you weren't about to let a little (lot) bit of sweat deter you from cheering for your mans! so, you remained in the stands, cheering as loudly as you could (except for the times when you couldn't because atsumu was once again on his I'm About To Serve Power Trip). it was finally nearing the end of the game, and thank GOD it was because you were starting to feel reaaalllly light-headed. at the final score of the match, you stood up, but oh, was that a mistake. suddenly, you legs started shaking. the lights suddenly seemed to dim down and black spots were popping up in your vision. maaaaybe you should sit back down. wait. where is "back down"? it suddenly occurred to you that at this point, you couldn't see anything. beginning to panic, you started reaching out to find something to hold onto, thankfully finding the stair railing of the bleachers in your grasp. slowly, you blindly fumbled your way down the steps of what you hoped were the bleachers steps. you heard someone shout something along the lines of, "you good?" you were far too panicked and far too focused to give a reply. don't fall down. don't fall down. don't faint. don't pass out. you chanted in your head like a mantra. you heard the squeak of shoes against the ground and voices talking back and forth around you when suddenly a steady hand grabbed ahold of you just above your elbow. guess that was all you needed before your consciousness flickered, then extinguished.

"....cold like ice...." "...pale as hell...." you could only hear snippets of sentences, and your eyelids felt heavy. "....have something....with sugar, preferably...." when you finally opened your eyes, you were no longer in the gym, but in inarizaki's nurse's office. "hey..." you turned, now noticing the other occupant of the otherwise empty room. "'samu... did I faint again?" his eyebrows rose. "again? like, you've done this before?" "yeah. happens a lot. 's fine though. was a little scary back there for a minute, though." "damn, I'll say. I've never seen someone so pale. and sweaty. and that's saying something, cuz post-practice 'tsumu is disgustingly moist." "'samu, I love you, but never say that fucking word again." "what, moist?" you cringed, grabbing at your ears, "ugh, yes! I'm already dying here and now you're nailing the final mark in the coffin." osamu gave his signature half-smile. "I thought you said you were fine?" you scoffed, "that was just to make you feel better. I'm gonna need lots of cuddles tonight to wave off my near-death experience." he let out a light-hearted laugh. "okay. plenty of that for you regardless of whether you're on death's door or not." he said, giving you a small peck. you pursed your lips. "I need you right now, though." his face split in a full grin as he slid next to you on the small bed. "anything for you darlin'."

✿ oikawa toru "please... please be okay..." you had been enjoying your regular weekday study session. it always went as follows: meet up after class, head off to aoba johsai's library, study (and perhaps get slightly off-topic over some vending machine snacks and drinks), and at last, go to volleyball practice (perks of being a manager!). "ok, ok, we should probably finally look at what we're supposed to know for our next english exam," oikawa said, still in between chuckles. "but toru... i can't go on without a drink..." you clutched your throat dramatically. "must... have.... beverage.... dying of.... thirst!" oikawa laughed again, "geez, fine!" he said, attempting to sound annoyed by your request (and failing miserably). "I'll go grab us something to drink. on me." he winked. "wow. what a gentleman. you really spare no expense, spoiling me with luxurious drinks from the beverage box of wonders! oh how lucky I am to have such a supportive boyfriend..." you leaned back on your chair, drying a fake tear of gratitude, while simultaneously stifling a giggle. "damn, ok. fork out the yen, then, babe." "nooooo~~~ I was kidding! I'm sorry you're the best ever in the whole wide world~~~ my little piglet oinkawa~" "ok now you're paying for my drink too." "I'm sorry!!!! I won't call you oinkawa ever again." "thank you-" "to your face." after at least 15 minutes of more bickering (and no studying) oikawa was off to the so-called beverage box of wonders, also known as a shitty-ass vending machine that was probably last refurbished in the '90s. oikawa was still laughing to himself as he rounded the corner to the library, drinks in his arms. "hey babe, are you finally studying?" he smirked, finally nearing your small alcoved study area.

- thud, thud. the long-forgotten drinks fell to the floor as oikawa rushed over to you. there you convulsed on the ground, your eyes white and pupil-less, and your mouth foaming, turning a slight twinge of pink. you let out small grunts, completely unresponsive. "oh my god, oh my god, hey, hey listen to me." oikawa was already in full-fledged panic mode, tapping your face with his hand. "oh my god, SOME PLEASE HELP HER!" the few left in the library looked over at oikawa, then at you, before beginning to run about. one was on their phone speaking to a 911 operator, another rushed out of the room. one kneeled alongside oikawa, checking helplessly for a pulse. "protect her head." a girl read out from her phone. oikawa immediately shed his jacket, placing it under your head which was hitting the ground rapidly to the incongruent rhythm of your convulsions. "check her bag, does she have any meds?" "SHE'S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND I THINK I'D KNOW IF SHE HAD MEDS!" oikawa shouted. he didn't mean to snap, but he felt so useless. were you hiding this from him? how did he not know you had seizures? were they always this bad? despite what he'd told the unnamed student, oikawa, jumped up, grabbing your bag and nearly ripping the zipper with the force he'd opened it with. no medication. "no meds." he said, quieter this time. a hand rested on his shoulder. "it's gonna be okay, man. look, she stopped." oikawa whipped his head over to you, chastising himself for removing his eyes from you for even a second. you were still breathing, but it was like you were in a deep slumber. by the time the EMTs arrived, however, you'd begun blinking your eyes lazily at your surroundings.

- "hey oikawa." you said, smiling. oikawa said nothing in return, his head in his hands. you sat there for a moment, taking in your surroundings. "wait a minute, where am i?" you felt a tickling inside your nose. at the touch of your hand, you realized you had a breathing tube hooked up you. another glance around the sterile hospital room showed your heart rate monitor and other cords wrapped up around the hospital bed. you laughed, "...and what's all this stuff on me?" "you had a seizure." oikawa said sharply, though not unkind. you stared at him once more in disbelief. "...really?" "yeah. I came back from getting our drinks when...when I found you lying on the ground, shaking. the doctor says you bit your tongue, which explains why the foam that was coming out of your mouth was pink. they want to do an MRI on you." "oh." you gazed down, then met his eyes again. "you... had to deal with that all by yourself?" "other people in the library helped me... though I don't think I was the nicest guy to be around. its sort of all of a blur." you smiled, "for me, too. I can barely remember what we were talking about before I woke up." oikawa's eyes widened, "really?" "yeah... but I think I'll be okay, as long as you're here." "this hasn't happened before, has it?" "no, not really. I mean, I've always gotten light-headed easily, which is sort of how I felt before I, ya know... went down... but never like that. I don't think. then again, if I wasn't here in a hospital bed, I think I would've just thought I fell asleep or something. it just feels like I took a long nap. still kind of tired, honestly." oikawa shook his head. "I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again." "oikawa, seriously. it's gonna be okay. I'm fine. nothing bad happened, right? I didn't die." "BUT YOU COULD'VE!" he shouted. "...you could've.." he said again in a whisper. suddenly, he got up. leaning over the hospital bed, he pressed his lips to your temple, leaving a soft kiss in its wake. "I just... I don't want to see you suffering. I don't want you to get hurt." "but you were there." "but what if I wasn't?" "but you were." you slid your hand over his own. "oikawa, it's gonna be okay, I promise. I'm a little scared, too, but... I know we'll figure something out, okay?" he let out a mix between a sigh and a laugh, "why does it feel like I was the one who had the seizure? some boyfriend I am, making you feel worse." "oikawa shush." you placed you index finger over his lips. "you're not allowed to talk about yourself in that way in my presence." he rolled his eyes, but his dimples popped out in a wary smile. "you're amazing, you know that?" you imitated deep-thought, your finger on your chin. "hmm... no, doesn't ring a bell." a full grin bloomed across his face now. "then I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you."

a/n: romanticize the source of your medical bills girlies 💕 it works wonders

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autisticredhood · 1 year

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In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado page 5 / Batman #614 / Detective Comics #790 / In The Dream House / Detective Comics #790 / Batman #614 / In The Dream House / Batman #410 / Batman #428 / In The Dream house / Batman #617 / Detective Comics #790 / In The Dream House / Detective Comics #790 / Batman #618 / In The Dream House / Detective Comics #790 / Batman #614

ID under

[ID: Several photos weaving together text and comic panels.

First image is of text that reads “The memoir is, at its core, an act of resurrection.”

Second image is a panel of Jason’s face on the ground in watercolor art style from Batman: Hush. He is wearing the Robin domino mask and his mouth is parted open. He is splattered with blood. A blue caption reads “Jason.”. The panel is overlaid in red.

Third image is a cropped panel of Bruce and Cass in front of Jason’s grave. Bruce is saying “He would have been eighteen today.”

Fourth image is of text that reads “Memoirists re-create the past, reconstruct dialogue.”

Fifth image is of Bruce and Cass surrounded by graves as Bruce is saying “But he was brash. Impulsive. Headstrong. Never looking before he leapt…I knew that, but I didn’t stop him because he wanted it so badly. He wanted too much to prove something.”

Sixth and seventh images are cropped panels from Batman: Hush with Batman in watercolor art style. The sixth image has blue captions that reads “No matter what differences we’ve had through the years, I’ve always known that Dick had a gift. Jason only had…rage.” In the seventh image the captions are “Jason never had the skills that Dick had. I should never have let him put on that costume.”

The eighth image is text that reads “They summon meaning from events that have long been dormant.”

The ninth image is of two panels from Jason’s post-crisis Robin run in the 80s. The first panel is of Bruce’s face with the Batman cowl pulled down. He’s saying, “Hardly, the other Robin would’ve done the same thing…You two really are two of a kind.” The accompanying panel is an up close shot of Jason’s grinning face in the Robin suit. He’s saying, “Thank You, Mister Wayne. Mind if I stay up awhile and do some homework?”

The tenth image is of two panels from Death In The Family of Bruce cradling Jason’s dying mother, Sheila. In the first panel Shiela is saying with many ellipses between her words, “He turned out to be such a good kid all his problems and he still turned out good.” In the second panel she is saying, “He threw himself in front of me. He took the main brunt of the blast.”

The eleventh image is text that reads “They braid the clays of memory and essay and fact and perception together, smash them into a ball, roll them flat.”

The twelfth image is a panel from Batman: Hush that is cropped to only show a caption that reads “Jason saw being Robin as a game. It’s probably what got him killed.”

The thirteenth image are of two panels from Bruce and Cass at Jason’s grave. The first panel is a cropped shot of Bruce saying “Yes. Maybe if I’d put an end to his attempts, he’d be getting ready to go off to college…” The following panel is of Bruce and Cass standing as dark silhouettes against a red sky with the angel statue of Jason’s grave looming over them. Bruce is finishing his thought from the last panel and saying, “Or just having a normal life…”

The fourteenth image is text that reads “They manipulate time; resuscitate the dead.”

The fifteenth image is of two panels from two different comics. The first is from Batman: Hush in modern comics art style and not watercolor. It’s a cropped panel of Tim Drake in the Robin suit yelling, “No matter what he says, Jason’s death still haunts him. Why else would he keep Jason’s costume so prominently in the cave?” The second panel is a cropped image of Barbara Gordon on the BatComputer screen from the same issue of Bruce and Cass visiting Jason’s grave. She’s contacting Bruce before he goes to the graveyard, saying, “Maybe you’re busy...Look Batgirl just came by. She seemed…upset. I don’t know what happened, but…if this is about what today is, then…Just Know I’m here if you need…”

The sixteenth image is of text that reads “They put themselves, and others, into necessary context.”

The seventeenth image is a panel of Bruce and Cass in the graveyard. Bruce is saying, “But he’ll never have that. Maybe it’s not too late for Stephanie.”

The eighteenth and final image is an edited panel from Batman: Hush in watercolor style again. It is a close up of the R symbol of the Robin suit with blood stains on it. The panel is overlaid in red again. The edit is a blue caption from the same issue that is added to above the R symbol. It reads Batman’s inner monologue of “For these reasons, I’ve carried the burden of responsibility for Jason’s death.”

End ID.]

#um. SCREAM. coping w stress by sexualizing alfred & weaving bruce grief #jason todd #bruce & jason #bruce grief #you know!! you know?? do you get it. bruce's speaking of jason is a memoir & he changes the story of jasons life in context of making him a #cautionary tale in #relation to stephanie & in context of alleviating the heavy burden of his guilt he blames himself which is unbearable so he tries to rewrite #it as jason being a bad robin so that he can pretend for a few moments that it isnt his fault as he believes #took great satisfaction doing the hush panels where hes slandering jason as not being like deck then putting in the panel where he tells #dick*#robin jason he did what dick would have and they are two of a kind :] heehee #and him being like jason had problems!!!!!!! @ cass followed by sheila saying all his problems and he turned out to be such a good kid #he rewrites it that jason got himself killed or that bruce could have stopped him (ignoring the fact that stopping him from being robin LED #JASON TO HIS DEATH) and he'd be alive and in college #anyway you know!!!#my very correct opinions

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 1 month

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🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in March 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Shift: A Memoir of Identity and Other Illusions - Penny Guisinger 🧡 Tempting Olivia - Clare Ashton 💛 Monilinia - Free Mints 💚 Guillaume - Aurora Dimitre 💙 The Marble Queen - Anna Kopp & Gabrielle Kari 💜 The Baker & the Bard - Fern Haught ❤️ Rainbow! - Sunny & Gloom 🧡 The Safe Zone - Amy Marsden 💛 The Weavers of Alamaxa - Hadeer Elsbai 💙 The No-Girlfriend Rule - Christen Randall 💜 A Different Kind of Brave by Lee Wind 🌈 Cirque du Slay - Rob Osler ❤️ Wizard’s Debt - Niranjan 🧡 One Last Breath - Ginny Myers Sain 💛 Nothing Special - Katie Cook 💚 I Feel Awful, Thanks - Lara Pickle 💙 The Tower - Flora Carr 💜 Be the Sea - Clara Ward ❤️ What Grows in the Dark - Jaq Evans 🧡 Heirs of Bone and Sea - Kay Adams 💛 The Haunting of Velkwood - Gwendolyn Kiste 💙 Thunder Song - Sasha taqwšəblu LaPointe 💜 Mona of the Manor - Armistead Maupin 🌈 Like Happiness - Ursula Villarreal-Moura

❤️ Ellipses - Vanessa Lawrence 🧡 Saint, Sorrow, Sinner - Freydís Moon 💛 Blood & Brujas - Mikayla D. Hornedo 💚 Infinity Kings - Adam Silvera 💙 Really Cute People - Markus Harwood-Jones 💜 How You Were Born - Kate Cayley ❤️ These Bodies Between Us - Sarah Van Name 🧡 Icarus - K. Ancrum 💛 The Emperor and the Endless Palace - Justinian Huang 💙 How Not to Date an Angel - Lana Kole 💜 Enemy Colours - R.M. Olson 🌈 Broken Parts Included - Alyson Root

❤️ Who's Afraid of Gender? - Judith Butler 🧡 The Duke’s Cowboy - Andrew Grey 💛 The Secret Something - Emily Wright 💚 Colstead & Andie - Olivia Janae 💙 Play It Again, Ma’am - Sienna Waters 💜 Love Is…? - K.J. Wrights ❤️ Welcome to Forever - Nathan Tavares 🧡 Just Another Epic Love Poem - Parisa Akhbari 💛 The Phoenix Bride - Natasha Siegel 💙 These Letters End in Tears - Musih Tedji Xaviere 💜 Truly Home - J.J. Hale 🌈 Monster Mixer - Robin Jo Margaret

❤️ The House of Hidden Meanings - RuPaul 🧡 Promised to the Queen - Barbara Winkes 💛 A Conclave of Crimson - Nicole Eigener & Beverley Lee 💚 A Hunt of Blood and Iron - Cara Nox 💙 The Fealty of Monsters - Ladz 💜 Ariel Crashes a Train - Olivia A. Cole ❤️ Those Beyond the Wall - Micaiah Johnson 🧡 Dancing Toward Stardust - Julia Underwood 💛 Heir to Dreams & Darkness - Ben Alderson 💙 Comet Cruise - Niska Morrow 💜 Dead Girls Walking - Sami Ellis 🌈 Blackout - Carlos E. Rivera

❤️ Monster Crush - Erin Ellie Franey 🧡 Blessed Water - Margot Douaihy 💛 These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart - Izzy Wasserstein 💚 Kiss of Seduction - Rawnie Sabor 💙 Sunbringer - Hannah Kaner 💜 Evacuation to Love - C.A. Popovich ❤️ Sin - Brooke Matthews 🧡 Falls from Grace - Ruby Landers 💛 Lean in to Love - Catherine Lane 💙 A Small Apocalypse - Laura Chow Reeve 💜 Cascade Failure - L.M. Sagas 🌈 The Mars House - Natasha Pulley

❤️ All This Time - Sage Donnell 🧡 The Romance Lovers Book Club - MA Binfield 💛 View from the Top - Morgan Adams 💚 Number Call - Nagisa Furuya 💙 Crossing Bridges - Chelsey Lynford 💜 The Boyfriend Subscription - Steven Salvatore ❤️ Love the World or Get Killed Trying - Alvina Chamberland 🧡 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💛 The Prince & His Stolen Groom - J.E. Ridge 💙 Chrysalis and Requiem - Quinton Li 💜 Where Sleeping Girls Lie - Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé 🌈 A Botanical Daughter - Noah Medlock

❤️ Wednesday Nights - by Donna Jay 🧡 The Woods All Black - Lee Mandelo 💛 Song of the Huntress - Lucy Holland 💚 Rainbow Black - Maggie Thrash 💙 Spirits & Sunflowers - A.D. Armistead & Austin Daniel 💜 Floating Hotel - Grace Curtis ❤️ Far From Camelot - Rylee Hale 🧡 This Way to Change - Jezz Chung 💛 Mexican Bird - Luis Lopez-Maldonado 💙 Android Affection: Unveiling - Beau Van Dalen 💜 Welcome to the Damned - Astraea Long 🌈 She Came for Blood - Darva Green

❤️ Cover Story - Rachel Lacey 🧡 The Poisons We Drink - Bethany Baptiste 💛 The Perfect Guy Doesn't Exist - Sophie Gonzales 💚 In Walked Trouble - Dana Hawkins 💙 Never Leave, Never Lie - Thea Verdone 💜 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Priest ❤️ All the World Beside - Garrard Conley 🧡 Rainbows, Unicorns, and Triangles - Jessica Kingsley Publishers 💛 The Feast Makers - H.A. Clarke 💙 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💜 All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny 🌈 A Hard Sell - Jennifer Moffatt

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deadboyfriendd · 1 year

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Cochise l: Nellie

Summary: A dark stranger blows into town, bringing Hell with him. Little did he know, Hell was already here, in the form of you. The air here is stale and the residents stagnant. This town was as wild as the west was able, and you are the most wild thing about it.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, wet dream, smut included, feminine rage embodied and I gave her a gun

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading!

Find the series masterlist here!

When the dust blew in from the East, Hell came with it.

And Hell hath no fury like a woman’s reproach.

1890. From the ashes of the Civil War rose a phoenix of economic expansion and spurs the great migration west. Farmers, ranchers, prospectors, killers and thieves seek their fortunes. Cattle drovers turned cow towns into armed camps with murder-rates higher than those of modern-day New York or Los Angeles. Silver is discovered in Arizona, and the prospectors dragged their young wives and their Parisian fashions with them. Siphoned together out of greed, hundreds of Texas outlaws banded together to forge a new way forward, resulting in the birth of early organized crime.

Out of this chaos came the great legendary lawmen, and none as mean as you.

The air was stale this time of year, heavy enough to flatten a lizard, when the turn of the season brought the green back to the ironwoods and the snakes back from their hides. When it brought the heat back with a haughty laughter and a heart full of vengeance. The sun cast down a glare that warped the mirage of the desert backdrop of Cochise County, turning from a comforting radiation to a wasp sting when the night turned. The cereus blossom fragrant with rot that filled the stagnant night air and its timely beauty– and ultimate untimely death.

He reaped a certain morosity with him, spurs scraping across the floor like a toll, steps sure as snow in the northern country– as they dragged the dust from his heels eastward. His skin was of alabaster, and his clothes of obsidian. He was not from here, and it drew a shudder from the mesquite doors upon their sun-dried hinges. The dirty faces of prospectors, drunks, and cattle drovers turning to peer at him under sweat-laden brows.

The Whispering Sands was not the ritzy bar, no, that was the bar located in the lobby of the Grand Hotel up the holler. No, Your dealer was as straight as a Christmastime wreath, your doors hung as crooked as your dealer, and if you didn’t carry when you walked through, you had spares. There would be no clean men and women with their Parisian dresses and costly hat pins occupying this place. This was the lowest of the low.

He peers at you from under the brim of a coal-stained, honest-to-God gunslinger wool Stetson, lined with the hammered silver and turquoise-inlaid band. It laid flat across the top and around the brim. You hadn’t seen one like it since your wedding night on the ritzy hardwood grounds of the Grand Hotel herself. He takes a seat in a singular fell swoop, frock coat flaring outwards and casting a soft breeze over your presence. Single-breasted, large notch lapels. Beneath it, his dark pinstripe trousers folded under the weight of his body, the silver brocade vest above the black cravat remaining stiff. From where your eye connected with him, you could see the nickel plating of a Colt 1873 single action revolver, sheathed under the oiled ellipse of the leather-bound shoulder holster. It was apparent he wasn’t here to push cattle.

It was a fleeting gaze, the kind that rattle each of your vertebra and settled in your coccyx. A single golden curl slipped over a broad shoulder and swung heavy in the tension between your two bodies.

There was a resonant patriarchal tenor that buzzed amongst the patrons in this space, tense on the outcome and flat-lining in deliverance. They tried to avert wandering gazes from this new resident— strung together words in staccato, interrupted by morbid curiosity and on-looking eyes. Michael Doten– amicably monickered “Mudsill”, shattered this hum like china. He was a worm of a man, slimy in all of the worst ways, and, on this day in particular, aptly under the impression of laudanum and drink. He shared these sympathies with his own father– a man no more than fifteen years his senior.

He slinked through the door with the demeanor of an old tom-cat, crooked in stride and greasy to the touch— not that you could fathom anyone wanting to touch him at all. He demanded a house whiskey with a slovenly belch– a concoction made from your own sarsaparilla, burnt raw sugar, and chewing tobacco.

“Michael, I’d say you’ve about had enough today.” You chided, firm in your answer. The stranger peered a doting gaze towards you, then turned it toward ‘Ol Mudsill from a downturned hat– wistful in demeanor and daring in residence. He watched as Michael cast a thumb of brown saliva onto your floor, intentionally ignoring the existence of the spitoon a mere few feet from it.

He sneered towards you through leather-laden eyelids, a protuberance straight from the aforementioned spittoon, and filled with piss and vinegar, “Now,” He started, “ – if I wanted an old bitch telling me what I can and can’t drink, I would have considered marrying.” It was a slimy statement with a profound lack of remorse. It dripped from the gaps of his rotting teeth like a tar.

“I wouldn’t marry you, even if I was fixin’ to face death herself.” It wasn’t the first time you had denied him a drink, nor was it the first time he had spoken ill toward you. You doubted it would also be the last. You were a harum-scarum, devil-may-care woman, tough as nails and pretty as a mink stole.

“You don’t listen too good, now do you?” Mudsill spit back, standing now. Your fingers grazed the pearl handles of the Remington Model 1890 tucked away in the fold of your dresses. You hoped to God you didn’t have to use it.

Before ‘Ol Mudsill could think of something to say back, the dark stranger stood, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“Is that a fact?” Mudsill raises a wiry brow towards the man, standing erect in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He said back, quietly. It was a discerning quiet, the kind where you figure trouble might be brewing.

“Well, for a man that don’t go heels, you run your mouth kinda reckless there, don’t ‘ya?” The stranger said, standing a little more erect– like he was fixing for trouble, though, by the context of the rest of the conversation, you’d say trouble had already been brewing. Now, you waited for the pot to boil over, “No need to go heel to get the bulge on a tub like you, huh?”

Mudsill glared toward him though tight lids, a reckless abandon only a drunk could possess, “Is that a fact?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Well, I’m ‘real scared.” Musill replied with a bobbling nod of his head, reaching for the firearm tucked away behind his waistband.

“Damn right, you’re scared. I can see that in your eyes.” The stranger followed the movement of his hand momentarily, eyes settling over the worn wood of the stock before meeting back up with his eyes, “Yeah, go ahead, skin it. Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.”

“Listen Mister, I’m gettin’ awful tired of you–” He was cut off, the stranger landing a stinging, open-palmed blow to his face.

“I’m gettin’ tired of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work.” Mudsill stared back, stunned. Frozen like a scared lizard. Another blow. ��I said throw down, boy.” A third blow landed across his cheek, harder this time. You could see where the blood filled his mouth and covered his teeth. “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?”

“No?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, reaching upwards to put a forceful hand on mudsill’s shoulder, “Now, come on, Junior.”

The wire snapped behind ‘Ol Mudsill’s eyes, and with a sleight of hand, he reached for the worn pistol tucked into his overcoat. The dark stranger was fast, but you were faster. The pearl grips cold and smooth against the sweat of your palms. Quickly and in one motion, you stepped out from the bar, hand forced steady only in fear alone.

“You’re bluffing.” Michael sneered towards you, taking a step forward, closer to you with the barrel now in your direction. It was enough for the stranger to bear his arms as well, though, he wouldn’t need them today. The barrel met Michael’s forehead.

“I don’t bluff.” Your thumb met the hammer, pulling it back enough for a deafening swell click, “Now your family may be back to rush me, but that won’t stop me from blowing a canoe through your head first, y’hear?”

His eyes widened, and he pulled the barrel back from you, finger leaving the sheath of the trigger and thumb only staying tucked around the grip enough to keep it held.

“Don’t come back here. Ever.” You ordered, and he nodded slightly.

“Yes’m”

The stranger spoke then, pistol still planted firmly against the back of the offender, “And you’re gonna drop that weapon right here, Michael.” He ordered.

The worn colt clattered against the floor as he tossed it from his waist-height to the ground. The stranger took this as the opportunity to grab Michael by the collar and drag him out the front doors like a calf. You could see the durst stir from outside, but didn’t sense a further commotion. You sat idly in one of your stools, letting free an exasperated sigh as you threw your head down against the bar. You didn’t sign up for this when you found yourself out west.

You felt the stock of a pistol press into the meat of your upper arm, “Here. Keepsake. Hang it over the bar, Nellie.” The stranger spoke back to you, sliding the firearm across the worn mesquite bar top.

You raised a brow at him, more at the moniker, but also at his enthusiasm, “Nellie?”

“I had a horse like you once,” He released a breathy laugh between his words, maybe more nervous at the fact that he was comparing you to a horse, “ —even after she broke she was meaner than hell, but prettier than a mink stole. It’s a pleasure, Mrs–”

He thought it was foolish, comparing you to that mean old mare, but he didn’t have time to dote on it before you stopped him mid-sentence.

“Ms.” You corrected.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted down to the ring on your finger, a single thin gold band that he dwelled on for just long enough for you to notice the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Dead.” You clarified, and he felt his heart contract as the word left your lips.

“Sorry to hear that.” He dips his head low, only now taking off the Stetson to greet you properly, “Name’s Munson. Edward Munson.”

You shook your head, forcing that still-bruising ache away to push a smile, “Ain’t no changin’, may God have willed it, Mr. Munson.”

He matched your smile, handsome cheeks creasing deeply around the curvature of his mouth, “Just Edward will do, ma’am.”

You pulled open the humidor, nimble fingers gracing along the stack of cigars beneath its lid. You chose the one with the cleanest-looking wrapping, one that looked sufficient enough as a thank-you, before offering it to him. He took it with a nod of his head, thick fingers wrapping around the base gently before pulling the kerosene vase near him. You watched the smoke roll from between his lips in a vapid crescendo, all too graceful and all too beautiful.

“I take it you're not a prospector?” You questioned him gently, voice sure, yet smaller than his resonating alto.

He laughed softly, the kind that heaves itself from the chest. Hearty, “No ma'am.”

“Then how does someone like you find yourself in a place like this?” You leaned an elbow on the bar, chin resting firmly in the warmth of your palm. You tried to ignore the sweat building between the flesh.

He looked down at the cigar between his fingers, twirling it around and feeling the paper it was rolled in, “Well I find I could ask you the same thing–”

The bell above the door was shrill in the staleness of the air, the resonance of the prior entanglement floating back up in a cloud in an attempt to re-settle over the old furniture like silt. The man that waded through its wake was tall, but not gangly, no, he did not share the demeanor of a scarecrow. He looked like he meant business.

You pulled your attention away from Edward for a brief moment, your eyes tearing from his personage and settling over the familiar face, “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hello, ma’am.” The sheriff tipped his hat towards you in greeting, peering briefly at the man sat at the bar in front of you, “‘Ol Mudsill seems pretty shaken up, did somethin’ happen again?”

“Nothin that Edward here couldn’t handle.” You watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and Edward, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together but there were too many missing pieces, “Sheriff, this is Edward Munson, just unloaded from the train in Tucson.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He reached a broad hand out to meet with the sheriff’s.

He accepted the offer, hands locked together in a firm grip, “Steve Harrington.”

“Pleasure.” Edward mentioned, politely.

“You have a place to stay, Edward?” He asked, hand still interlocked with his for a brief moment.

“Not as of yet. Know of anyone housing?”

“I’d say the Grand Hotel just across the way.”

The walk to the other side of the road is brief, but the sun beat down against Eddie’s back like a brand– the eyes that followed his movement, the hands that held the iron. The dust kicked up behind him and collected at the bases of his boots seemed to slow his stride as he sunk into its softness. He would have to have them polished tomorrow.

Steve turned to him, boots casting a hollow thud as they stepped up onto the decking of The Grand Hotel, “I am inclined to ask, what exactly happened back there?”

Eddie cleared his throat, righting himself, “Just some drunk. Got all riled up when she wouldn’t serve him and started waving his gun around.”

Steve shook his head, removing his hat to run a finger through the hair beneath it, sand ripplying against his scalp beneath his finger, “Christ, well, thank you for handling that for her. She’s been through too much this year.”

“She dealt with that right on her own, sheriff, the only part I took part in was getting him out.”

Their boots made a clunk against the sun-rotted wood on the staircase of The Grand Hotel, stairs creaking in affliction. There was a moment of silence between the two men, tense and fleeting, like there was still something to be said.

“Her husband died last spring.” Steve finally mentioned, understanding that it wasn’t his place to tell.

“She mentioned it.” Steve felt a relief at him knowing. He didn’t want to be the one to have to bear the shock of the statement.

He sighed before continuing, “Shot and killed on that bar floor. ‘Couple of bandoleros robbing the place.”

“Chist–- She seemed capable.” Eddie mentioned to him, raking his hair back under his hat. He felt the sweat bead around where the band met his skin.

“But still, no woman should ever have to bury her husband.” The sheriff said, reaching up to place nimble hands on his hips, “‘Specially not that young.”

The Grand Hotel is the essence of luxury in the west. Well, as luxurious as they could ship by train. Mahogany covered the expanse of the palace in a grandeur scale, only being broken by the pin-striped wallpaper covering the upper half of the wayne-scotted wall on the second floor. The taxidermied elk that hung above the bartop was shipped from the northern country, as were many of the axis and whitetail deer that hung on other walls.

This seemed to be the only place in this town that a fine layer of dust hadn’t settled over.

The velveteen nature of the drapery that hung over the stage to the left in a heavy abismality had remained nearly untouched by the traces of the desert around it. The gold of the drawstrings that held them back still contained the luster under the light.

He couldn’t help but to search for you in the madness of coiled, unabashedly tentative curls piled on the heads of the women in the large bustles that scraped between tables and each other. You looked like you belonged here, but he knew where you would be.

This night’s show had ended already, the lingering patrons also taking residence within the palace. The backing curtain drawn to a close and the actors retired to their quarters. Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, overrun, overplayed. Edward thought about it. Of all the things in the world to know, why learn The Devil’s craft? He figured if it was the only thing left to know, he’d probably learn it, too.

There is a man of about five foot, ten inches sat at the bar, elbows rested against the glossy finish of the bartop. He is a burly man, Eddie can see that even from his sitting position. Steve guides Eddie towards him, taking his own seat next to him. Eddie stayed standing.

He looks back behind him, Steve muttering a few words that Eddie couldn't seem to hear over the drabble of lobby patrons, “Milt. County Marshall.”

He sticks a rough hand out, and Eddie takes it in a firm clasp.

“Edward Munson.” He shakes his hand once, Milt was a man of few words.

Steve buys Eddie a drink. A golden bourbon, not watered down like many of the bars out west did for reserve. Real golden bourbon. An import. A thanks.

They settled on a less-occupied corner of the palace, one that lacked faro tables and drunk patrons. On the opposite side of the baby grande that played anything its player knew how.

“Her husband was a good man.” Steve said between sips, sweat dripping down the crystalline glass like glitter, “Too good if you’d ask me. It’s what got him killed in the first place.”

He felt the pang in his chest, a tightening of muscles like tears, “It’s a shame. Pretty woman like that having to run that place by her lonesome.”

Steve chucked a bit in agreement, looking back over his shoulder like you would somehow appear, “That isn’t by our choice. She could have her pick if she wanted it.” He took another sip of his drink, and Eddie knew he was right. You were pretty, sullen skin like satin, hair like ribbon. He’d pay all of the money in his pocket just to touch.

“She doesn’t?” Eddie questioned, looking over to meet Steve’s eyes.

“I’d reckon not.”

He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the piano. He watched the woman sat on top, the way the lace of her undergowns flowed upwards with the swing of her ankles. He watched the man play with skilled– albeit drunk– fingers.

This place was lively, perhaps a little too lively for the hour. People still yelling obscenities and praises over faro, ice in glasses. He felt the sweat from the glass beneath his fingers, and it matched the band of it building beneath his cap. His collar felt tight, like someone had been pulling it from the back. Shouldn’t it have gotten cooler when the sun went down?

“I’d reckon I’d better turn in for the night.” He said suddenly, placing the glass down on the bar in front of him, about a milliliter of fluid left watered-down and pooling at the bottom.

He ascended the mahogany staircase to his quarters, where he would retire for the night. However, as he stripped himself of his frock coat and underclothes, he couldn’t help to peer towards the luminescent glow coming from The Whispering Sands upper floor across the bend.

The curtains billowed outwards towards the street below, casting a light over the sand beneath it like a halo. White linen backlit by yellow butane lighting. And there you sat, all woman. He’d have half a mind to buy you some night clothes, and the other half a mind to burn them if you even had them.

He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He could feel the windowsill digging into his palms, it grounded him– kept him from free-floating into the stagnant desert air.

The Grand Hotel is a loud place, and it never sleeps. The faro games did not stop on his account, and he didn’t expect them to. He closes his eyes, a glass breaks. A fight breaks out downstairs in a triad of commotion, shuffling, and yelling. This was the first time he had been in a bed in days, yet, it felt horrendously unceremonious. Sleep would not evade him in the way he willed it.

The flooring creaked, drunk patrons hit the wall outside of his quarters with intense, muffled thuds. Two people in the suit next to him were clearly of relation. He tried to ignore the way the oak headboard creaked and hit the wall in a rhythmic fashion. He tried his hardest not to think of you.

This place did not sleep, and he knew he wouldn’t either. So instead, Edward collected his hat and gun, pulling his trousers back on and lazily doing his shirt back up.

The night air had cooled some, less blistering than when the sun was out, yet it remained stale. He walked a bit, eyes still shimmering with the adjustment of light from the palace to the stark darkness of the desert. Light traveled a lot further here, darkness even further. The hum of the palace dimmed as the distance between them grew, air heavy like a barrier that stopped the noise from traveling.

He settled himself in the soft sand beneath him, back planted firmly against the knotty base of that twisted old ironwood. Someone else still awake at this unholy hour plucked delicately at old piano keys– these ones slightly more out of tune and reverberated off of the walls with a static hum that resonated through the otherwise empty streets. Sleep evaded in a thankless percussion.

And there you were.

He allowed his fingers to trail over the delicate expanse of your shoulder, brushing soft curls over its bridge. Soft presses of his mouth trailed from your year to the valley of your clavicle. He pressed your gowns down your shoulder as he went, the loose garment sliding off with ease.

In your glorious, supple nature. All woman all the time. Your hands, nimble and soft, were forceful against his chest as you pushed him back against plush white linens. Fingers as sure as death and as right as rain. The haze from the butane lamp cast a glow around you, baby hairs illuminating around your head like a halo.

Slowly now, but with an urgency, you right yourself in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his shirt in a way that made him want to beg just to feel a finger brush against his skin. He whined as he watched you with wide eyes.

His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, a welcome breeze blew through the open window, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. Songs of “Oh- Gods” and small giggles creating perfect songs- a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of the desert around you. You could feel his hands on your back, fingers his fingers unwrapping you from linen bed sheet confines and introducing you to your own bedroom like an heirloom– a home in which you yourself haunted. The palms of your hands feeling the smooth surface of stone beneath the skin, and the dewey droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue.

His fingers pressed firmly into the plush of your outer thighs, and your skin was soft. Calves skin, another import. Too soft for this place. Too soft for this sadness.

“So soft.” He whispered, voice a tenor to its usual pitch.

He watched where your bodies connected, the way you slid up and down on him, the way his fingers rippled your skin where they dug in, the gyration of your hips. Your hair is down this time, braid long since combed through, and the ends of it tickle as they brush against him.

“God, Nellie.” He isn’t particularly introspective or anything, but he does know that he’ll never feel something like this again.

Your tender touch a velvety petal trailed down the expanse of his chest where it heaves, nothing left to impede your touch. No overcoats, no holster or gun. Your hands like the claws of the bobcat pawing into the sand where his heart lay in an unmarked grave.

“Edward,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, his hands pressing the center of your back to bring you close against your chest. It was a plea. It read like a prayer. “Take me, please.”

His upward thrust slowed from long, meaningful bass crescendos to harsh uneven staccatos. Your breaths became erratic in nature to match. Your release washed over you like a storm, rolling and violent and all at once. His own followed suit.

Edward realized then that this was how the west would be won. If it wasn’t, he’d wage the war himself.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #Spotify #outlaw!eddie #cowboy!eddie

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mrghostrat · 2 months

Note

Hello! I am the same person who asked about the semicolons so I very obviously needed to say thank you for sharing that Maya Angelou quote!! I'm gonna print it out and put it on my wall at work 💖💖💖 semicolons for lyfe!!!!!!! ...I say even though I haven't used a single one in this whole ask.

it sounds like you feel about semicolons the way i feel about em dashes; we just gotta get an ellipses girlie in here to complete the holy trinity

#yes that ; was just for u 💛💛💛#ask a rat

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xiathiau-myshif-poetry · 6 months

Text

"Spirit of an Angel"

Stardust and ichor

Feathers of ivory white

Rings twisting and twirling

Intertwining halos of light

Soaring through deep space

Peering at the planets

Sharp claws hold gently

A fiery, pulsing star

Within the spirals

And the ellipses and whirlpools

Of deepest black and brightest gold

You will not hear my call

I am eternal

Iron fire in my veins

Reaching the edge of forever

As the asteroids rain

#poetry #alterhuman #otherkin #nonhuman #therian #angelkin #actually angelic #divinekin #celestialkin

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this-daydream-is-dangerous-13 · 7 months

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Taylor says that she chose “September” for sentimental reasons. She’s always loved the classic tune by Earth, Wind & Fire, and notes that the month of September is especially meaningful to one of her relationships. An added layer of sentiment came from being able to record the song in a Nashville studio, the city Taylor moved at age 14 to pursue country music.

https://www.spin.com/2018/04/taylor-swift-september-28-theory/

Which relationship 🤔

Any links to this post ?https://twitter.com/erodalighthouse/status/1572677399753494528?t=PIJFqUuMr2C-Izp5--HxGw&s=19

Great ask, Anon. I had another ask (was it you?) early in September that touched on this but was saving it for Sept 28th! The 21st of September is as good as any, in light of the LK post, posted last year (as a nod to the Earth, Wind, and Fire original date referenced in the song) and retweeted today:

(thanks to the 7 or 8 of you Anons who sent the link!! Eyes everywhere, I love it!)

I also love the ellipses. They’re often in HS song titles…

So here is the original SPIN article to which you linked, but it only goes back to Taylor’s life in 2015:

Another Anon (thanks Anon!) linked to this article:

Which only considers 2016. To be honest: that was also what I guessed at first too. But then…I remembered some other stuff.

@womanexile covered it earlier today in her Anon reply, but back in 2013, Harry tweeted lyrics from My Old Man, a beloved Joni Mitchell song about her charming English partner Graham Nash. Here’s her post:

The theory is he is calling back to an anniversary date, since the Joni lyrics are a nod to their unmarried partnership. Look at the two of them in their heyday!

Remind you of anyone?

Here’s the 2013 tweet:

1D were touring at the time, so he was tweeting from Australia.

And here are the lyrics:

As womanexile notes, L*rries think Sept 28th is a date of significance for them starting in 2012, but there is another theory.

At the bottom of this post about the timing of the Begin Again MV, I lay out a prospective HS timeline for late September, early October 2012:

Basically:

Sept 28 - H photographed inside a UK airport sending his Mom off on a Kilimanjaro fundraising hike. He is INSIDE the airport (so seemingly travelling too). He then disappears.

Oct 1 - HS is spotted in LOS ANGELES, then home of Blondie. He’s with Ed; he is backstage for Ed’s concert.

Blondie films the Begin Again MV in Paris this day, heading to London for October 4. HS is spotted also in London the morning on October 4th.

So: his presumed arrival date in LA (before vanishing, then resurfacing October 1?): the 28th of September.

Though the official CK breakup doesn’t get announced until later, Blondie sees him for the final time mid-September. So I think Sept. 28th? Is the date TS and HS “locked it down” as described in Cowboy Like Me.

As such - the EWF cover date she sang? Could very well be Haylor and their dating anniversary in 2012.

Thanks for all the asks, besties!

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riddlemethispoetry · 2 years

Text

To August,

You, who taught me to wake, to speak in colour; hum hope like visions of poetry. You, beloved; whispering the seeds of life to asphalt cities, kissing into the sidewalk and pressing into them the stones of fruit that will be born generations from now; as stories, as secrets as ironoak breaking up the symmetries and looking to rearrange the cityscape; to challenge the skyscrapers, to reach for the rearrangement of land and sky by the comets they wish on, the asteroids to come.

You caught me dreaming of dinosaurs, once. Held me while I wept stories of cities of bones; of behemoths baking in between rotting volcanoes that oozed change and how they walked, their last death march as the world around them melted and then froze. I am terrified of being the same; not my body, my wayward soul with walk winding staircases somewhere, no. I am afraid of losing all my stories, of giving to quiet oblivion every angel that has leant me feathers and said "write." I am tired of losing August, of losing you. Tired of loving, later knowing it was just a myth.

You held me then, in your quiet palms and ellipses. You, the breath I take to find my calm; the air that tastes like breathless hands kissing bodies in back seats by rivers, by resolutions and streetlight. Hold me there, and hold me now; stand with me as the streetlights go out. Let us watch from our bedroom window as one and then another disappear; falling into ascending staircases and tomorrows. Hold my hand, help me find the words: help me say I love you, help me say goodbye to Romulus.

#poetryportal #spilled writing #darkacademism #dark academic aesthetic #alt lit #original poetry #spilled poetry #poem #original poem #writerscreed #rejectscorner #writers and poets #writers on tumblr

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gvfgal · 1 year

Text

Bound- Chapter Ten

Chapter Nine

STRICTLY 18+

A/n: All I can say is buckle up… This is probably my favorite chapter I’ve written so I hope you guys love it as much as I do.

There are also only about 3 chapters left, so be prepared for a wild ride. BUT, enjoy <3

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral (f rec.), slight fingering & handjobs, mentions on p in v, teasing, super mushy fluff, heavy angst, arguing, overuse of italicizes and ellipses… srry, lots of stuttering and stammering but there’s a lot of emotions so it’s FINE. 😂

Word Count: 5.9k

Poppy Prescott thought she’d never be able to fall in love again after the death of her high school sweetheart, Brock Lansing. It was part of the reason she decided to move to LA, California boys simply weren’t her type, so she figured there would be less temptation. And she was right, for the most part. She managed to fly under the radar for the first few years, chasing her dreams without the distraction of men. Sometimes her life got lonely, but she figured it was a lot better than trying to fill those empty parts of herself with guys whose names she wouldn’t remember the next morning. In a strange way, it worked for her.

Then one day, on a very rare rainy LA night, at some dimly lit bar, she met Jacob Kiszka.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

November 11, 1972

Los Angeles, California

It had been another failed audition for Poppy, the casting directors labeling her ‘too developed’ for the role she was trying out for. Rejection was to be expected, it was a part of the industry, but this one had her feeling a little more dejected than usual, leaving her to chase her sorrows away in one too many martinis.

She plopped down at the bar and ordered her first drink, eyes scanning the room before they landed on the man beside her, arms folded on the counter top and his head resting on them. There was a half finished glass of whiskey in fron of him, and an ashtray with a cigarette still burning inside of it.

“Long day?” she chuckled, not really expecting to get much of an answer.

Jake slowly lifted his head to look at her, his eyes bloodshot as if he’d been crying, but Poppy wasn’t one to judge, she felt the same way in that moment.

His eyes locked in on his drink, and he quickly knocked back the rest of its contents in one gulp.

“Yeah… somethin’ like that.”

She perked up a bit at the sound of his accent. She hadn’t met anyone from the south out in LA yet, and it already had her clinging to this stranger for some familiarity.

“Well,” she sighed as she pulled her wallet from her purse, “how about a shot on me? I’ve had a pretty shitty day too and I guess it’s true when they say misery loves company.”

He was looking at her like she was crazy, either that or he was trying to bring his vision into focus, but either way, the stupefied look on his face had her holding back her laughter.

“I’m Poppy,” she extended her hand for him to shake, he took it with a loose hand of his own.

“Jake.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One shot turned to two, and two turned to four, and before either of them could process what was happening, they were back in Jake’s apartment ripping each other’s clothes off.

This was new for Poppy, going home with some handsome stranger in a bar. And she could tell just by the way he carried himself that he was a broken man, but none of that mattered to her.

Jake felt strange yet familiar at the same time, and though he was slightly disconnected the entire time they had sex, she still enjoyed herself. She enjoyed being around him.

They set very clear terms the following morning when they both woke up slightly confused yet completely satisfied.

“Poppy, you seem like a great girl, and I’d love to do… this, again. But I need you to understand that I’m not looking for anything more than… this,” he explained to her as they sat across from each other on his couch, each with a cup of coffee in hand.

Poppy nodded in complete understanding, “me either. This… this is good.”

And it was good, the dynamic served both of them in the ways they needed it to without the complication of a relationship.

But Poppy quickly found that the more time she spent with Jake, the more fond of him she became. They related in ways that neither of them had been able to do with other people in California, and it pushed the limits of their physical relationship, at least on Poppy’s end.

Jake was a great listening ear whenever she needed it, and whenever she had furniture that needed to be assembled or lightbulbs that needed changing, Jake was always the first person she’d call.

And he’d always come through.

And whenever Jake needed it, Poppy was a shoulder to cry on. It took awhile for him to open up, but one night when he showed up to her front door drunk and dazed, he’d spilled everything about his past with you to her.

From then on, he’d talk about you often, and it was present in the way that his eyes lit up whenever your name was mentioned how madly in love he was with you. It showed all over his body, he became a completely different person.

Some nights after they’d finished having sex, Jake passed out from one too many drinks, Poppy would lay there and imagine what it felt like to be loved by Jake.

Really loved by him.

Yes, Poppy liked Jake.

But she never made mention of it, not even once. Yet she knew deep down that if she were to ever fall in love again, it could be with Jacob Kiszka.

The day he left Los Angeles for Montana, she felt like he was taking a piece of her heart with him. But the words he left her with had her feeling more than hopeful.

“If you ever find yourself in Kalispell, give me a visit.”

He kissed her on the top of the head and climbed into his midnight blue truck that she came to love so much.

As she watched his taillights disappear into the distance, it struck her.

When the hell would she be in Kalispell fucking Montana?

For over a year she tossed around the idea of visiting, she really didn't need a reason, did she?

But she also couldn’t show up unannounced… could she?

It took her a total of fourteen months to work up her nerve to make the trip, deciding that she wasn’t going to wait for the opportunity to present itself,

She was going to him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was after three in the afternoon before either you or Jake stirred.

Jake groaned as he turned over on his back, your limp body flopping back down onto him. Your bodies were sticky with sweat, and the sheet that Jake grabbed at some point during the night clung to you as if it were molded there.

You let out an over dramatic sigh as sleep left you, running a hand down Jake’s chest. Goosebumps rose to the surface of his skin, and you smirked at the feeling.

You stopped for a moment to take him in, his pink lips slightly parted as he slept on. It felt surreal being this close to him again, you spent years missing that feeling; waking up in his arms. You wanted to do it over and over again.

Your head lulled as you lifted it from his shoulder, placing kisses down the front of his body, licking away beads of sweat as you trailed lower.

One of his eyes popped open to look down at you, “mornin’ babydoll.”

“Mmmm, good mornin’,” you purred as you nipped at the small pudge of his lower abdomen.

Your hand found his already hard cock, stroking it languidly as you peered up at him through your eyelashes.

His hips jerked forward at your touch before settling back onto the carpet, a soft grunt escaping his lips.

“Baby, you’ve worn me out,” he chuckled as one of his hands began playing in your hair, “I’m drained. You’ve drained me.”

“Aw that’s too bad,” you teased as you began inching your way down his body, leaving small love bites in your wake, “cause I really, really wanted to taste you again.”

His cock twitched in your palm, and you bit your lip at the sight of the precum leaking from his slit.

“Yeah, you missed me?”

You were face to face with his fully hard erection now, your ass hiked up in the air but still shielded by the sheet.

Jake shuddered as you placed a gentle kiss on his tip, “so much.”

You kissed it again, your hand still stroking him, and his head fell back onto the pillow.

“I can make you cum again… then I can make you breakfast,” you gave another peck, “so you can regain some of your strength. How does that sound?”

“Good, only I think it’s way beyond breakfast time baby,” he mumbled with a smirk as his hand found your hair again.

You giggled loudly, “Okay, fine. I’ll make you lunch, and then maybe we can do it all over again?”

A laughed rumbled up from inside him, “you really are trynna kill me, huh?”

Before you could sink your mouth down on his cock completely, there was a knock at the door.

Jake’s eyes popped back open, looking towards the door then down at you.

He hesitated for a moment, he didn't have to answer the door, did he? He could just ignore whoever it was and let you finish what you so willingly started.

But when another knock sounded off at the door, he knew it’d be no use.

“Shit,” he sighed as he tapped you to roll off of him. He climbed to his feet and began searching for any items of his clothing he could find, being left with only his jeans and crumpled button up shirt.

He swung the door open a little impatiently, but upon seeing who stood on the other side, all the fury left his body.

“Poppy?”

She was smiling up at him sweetly, her bleach blonde hair pulled up into an intricate up do. She had on a floral print dress that clung perfectly to her voluptuous body, her large breasts pushed up on full display.

“Hi Jake.”

He glanced back into the house briefly before closing the door a little tighter, “wh-what are you doin’ here?”

His uneasiness wasn’t missed by Poppy, but she chose to ignore it, hoping that it was just nerves.

“Well you said if I ever found myself in Kalispell to pay you a visit. I mean, I didn’t really find myself here, but I figured I didn’t really need a reason to come see ya,” she chuckled nervously, “I missed you.”

Everything changed when the look on his face registered in her mind. She’d seen that look plenty of times before back in LA. It was the look that only appeared when it came to you.

Poppy took a step back, “it’s her, isn’t it?”

He didn't respond, but that damned look gave away his answer.

“Is she here?”

He nodded, and before he could produce any words, he felt your presence behind him, pulling the door open with a smile.

“Hi.”

Poppy’s eyes were wide when she looked at you, and she felt her heart jolt. You were even more beautiful than Jake described you, and you were glowing.

Because of Jake.

“Um,” Jake cleared his throat, “Poppy, this is y/n. Y/n, this is my good friend Poppy from California.”

“It’s real nice to meet you, Poppy,” you grinned and extended your hand, and after a beat, Poppy did the same.

“I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she spoke sincerely.

Poppy’s hand was soft when you shook it, delicate just like the petal of one. You could tell just from that gesture that you’d like her.

“We were just about to make lunch,” you looked at Jake pointedly, “would you like to join us?”

“Oh, no,” Poppy stammered as she took another step back, “I- I wouldn’t wanna intrude or anything.”

Jake spoke before you could, “you’re never intruding, Poppy, you know that,” he grinned at her warmly.

He pushed the door back further and stepped aside, “come on, join us.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was dusk by the time Jake walked Poppy out, one of his jackets draped over her shoulders as they strolled down the long driveway silently.

None of you could’ve imagined the fun you would have together, talking and laughing like some old friends from childhood.

Poppy watched the way you two interacted the entire time, and she knew that she stood no chance.

She wasn’t upset about it, though, in fact, it was quite the opposite. Seeing the way you and Jake were together led her to believe that some people were just made for each other. Plain and simple. She’d never seen Jake as happy as he was in those several hours, and it confirmed that you were the missing piece in his life.

“You know I get it now, Jake,” Poppy broke the silence as she glanced to look up at him, “why you love her so much. She’s wonderful, better than I would’ve imagined her to be.”

Jake cast his eyes down to the gravel, kicking one of the rocks in his path, guilt pulsing through his body.

“Poppy, look I’m sorry—”

“No,” she grabbed his arm to stop him from walking, making him look directly at her, “no you don’t have to apologize for being in love, Jake. I knew what I signed up for when we started seeing each other. I just thought…” she trailed off, but quickly shook away whatever she was about to say.

“Anyways, it’s fine,” she flung her hand in the air, “I see the way you are when you’re with her. I’ve never seen you so at peace, it really looks good on you.”

Her eyes began to well with tears as she took Jake’s hand in hers, his expression troubled as he stepped closer to her.

“And seeing the two of you gives me hope again. I- I never really thought that falling in love was worth it after Brock died,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes delicately, “but seeing you two like that, it gives me something to look forward to.”

Jake pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in the top of her head.

“Thank you for everything, Poppy.”

“No, thank you, Jake.”

They embraced for a moment longer before Poppy pulled away to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Good luck, Jake. And I’m keepin’ this jacket,” she called out as she climbed into her rental car.

“Where are you goin’?”

Poppy shrugged, a broad smile on her face, “I don’t really know, maybe down to one of these bars to pick up a handsome young cowboy.”

Jake chuckled and shook his head, “you be careful out there, Poppy Prescott.”

“Will do… Jacob Kiszka.”

She slammed the door shut and blew him a playful kiss through the window. Jake watched as she drove down his winding driveway and out of sight, and once she was gone, he made his way inside.

You were standing over the sink washing dishes when he entered, your back turned to him as you did so. He stood at the kitchen entrance and admired you, so domestic in a way he hadn’t been able to experience yet, he found himself growing quickly addicted to it.

Finally his feet move towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you on the head in the way he had done to Poppy moments ago, only this one was full of different emotions.

You dropped the pan you were washing and leaned into his embrace, “I like Poppy, she’s a sweet girl.”

Jake sighed, “yeah, she’s great. I think she’s the only reason I didn't completely lose my mind in LA,” he scoffed a bit at that.

A small smile appeared on your face. You didn’t need to know the extent of Jake and Poppy’s relationship, though you had a pretty good idea of what it entailed. But none of that mattered, you’d each found your own ways to cope with the absence of one another, and all that mattered was that you were back now.

You leaned back to graze your lips against his cheek, “well I’m glad you had someone as amazing as her takin’ care of you.”

Jake smirked as he reached to shut the faucet off, returning his hands to your waist.

You knew what he wanted by the way he began leaving wet kisses down the back of your neck, and you moved your hips backwards to meet his growing erection.

“Wanna finish what we started earlier,” you breathed out, continuing to grind your ass against him.

“Hmmm that sure does sound good,” he hummed into your ear, “but I think I have a better idea.”

In one swift movement he spun you around and sat you on the counter behind him, hiking up your skirt and snatching your panties down your legs. You let out a surprised gasp, clutching a hand onto his shoulder tightly to keep your balance.

When he dropped to his knees in front of you, that hand moved to his tangled hair, gripping at the roots as he fanned hot breaths over your pulsing clit.

His eyes found yours briefly, that familiar look of devotion in them before he dived in, his flat tongue lapping at your wet folds.

“Fuck, fuckkk Jake,” you sighed out as you threw your legs over his shoulders.

One of his fingers teased at your hole, dipping in slightly before retreating with your wetness encasing it. The finger reached up blindly in search of your mouth, and you bent at the waist to wrap your tongue around it.

He pulled away from your pussy a panting mess, solely to watch the way you sucked his finger clean.

“I just want you to taste for yourself why I can’t get enough of you.”

Your walls clenched at his words, and as he lowered himself back down, he caught a glimpse of your engagement ring. It twinkled and danced in the light, and while it may have made any other man rethink what he was doing, all it caused Jake to do was hook his arms around your legs, dive back into with new urgency in his movements, and work you to another blissful end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day came and went. You and Jake got up early to climb to the top of the hill he took you to on your first full day there. At the top, you enjoyed a small breakfast that you and Jake threw together for yourselves.

As you climbed back down, a large gray storm cloud rolled over Kalispell, sending a heavy rainfall that didn’t stop for the rest of the day.

You and Jake rushed back to his house, jumping in the shower and making the slowest, sweetest love you had in a long time. He had you pinned flush against the wall, his hips rocking up into yours at a slow clip, whispering ‘I love you’ over and over again, just so you knew he meant it.

He must’ve said it a hundred times before he finished you both off. After that, neither of you felt like doing much of anything, and you’d once again found your favorite spot on the floor in front of his couch, watching old black and white movies as you drained two bottles of wine. You’d stop in between every movie to get a round in.

By nightfall, the heavy rain had calmed to a soft sprinkle, the temperature dropping along with it, and Jake had a fire burning steadily in the fireplace.

Your naked bodies were tangled together as you completely ignored the movie on the TV, opting for conversation.

“I’m tellin’ you, babydoll, the Eiffel Tower at night, it’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before. I have to take you some day.”

You took a sip from your glass and nestled yourself closer to him, “I’d love to see it, I bet it’s marvelous.”

He was smiling at you, and he pressed a kiss to your temple, “the only thing that could make it more marvelous is if you were there. I’ll take you, watch.”

You blushed at the sentiment. He’d spent the last hour telling you about all the places he wanted to take you to make up for lost time. Paris, Rome, Ireland, Brazil, they all sounded like a dream, but also so far out of reach.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by the sound of his home phone ringing from the kitchen. It hardly ever rang unless it was one of his brothers or his parents, so he figured it must’ve been one of them.

“Hang on,” he groaned as you lifted off of his shoulder so he could stand, and he quickly put his sweats back and raced to the kitchen to catch the phone.

“Hello?”

It was quiet for a moment as the person on the other line spoke, you took a casual sip from your wine glass.

“Uhhh, yeah… yes ma’am, she’s here…”

Your head whipped around to look at Jake, and he was already staring at you with wide eyes, and your stomach dropped.

“Yes ma’am… sure… one second.”

He carefully sat the phone down on the counter, taking a few steps away from it, “it’s uh… it’s your mom. She wants to talk to you.”

You were petrified as you stared at him.

Please don’t make me, you begged him with only your eyes, but his only response was a warm smile, already aware of how you were feeling, “it’s fine. You’ll be fine. I’ll step outside to give you some privacy.”

At this point, you were about to beg him verbally not to leave, to stay near for moral support, but he was moving towards the back door without another word.

After another moment, you clambered to your feet, wrapping the blanket snug around your body and reluctantly made your way towards the waiting phone.

You took a deep breath before you brought it to your ear, bracing yourself for what was to come.

“Mama?”

“Hi, baby,” your mother’s soft voice responded. She didn’t seem upset, that was a good sign.

“Ho- how did you find me?”

“Well, I called your house today lookin’ for you. August answered and said that you weren’t there, that you were visiting a friend in Montana. He seemed surprised that you hadn’t mentioned it to me, but I told him it must’ve slipped my mind.”

You let out a sigh of relief, but the relief was short lived as you realized you’d made your mother lie on your behalf.

“But I know you all too well, and I also knew that there was only one person that you would have known in Montana. So after we got off the phone, I called Karen, and she gave me Jacob’s phone number.”

There was a lingering silence that left you wanting to shrink into yourself.

“Y/n, baby, what are you doing?” She sighed finally.

A single tear involuntarily slid down your face, but you wiped it away just as quickly as it appeared.

“ I don’t know, mama. I- I don’t know what I’m doing, I don't know what the hell to do I just… I don't know.” Your composure was crumbling quickly, and you threw an exasperated hand on your face, “I love August, God knows I love August. But when it comes to Jake I just,” you sighed, “you know how it is when it comes to Jake. No matter how hard I try I just can’t forget him. It’s like he’s engraved into my entire body.”

You couldn’t produce the words you wanted to, but there was no need. Like your mom said, she knew you all too well.

“I know, I know. But I also know that this isn’t the right way to do it. How do you think August would fe if he knew what you were really up to out there?”

Oddly enough, you had spent the last few days completely avoiding that thought, it was too painful of an image to paint, and you didn’t want it to tarnish the precious time you were spending with Jake.

“And I may be wrong, but I think he’s a little suspicious. Said he’s hardly heard from you since you’ve been gone, and he thought he heard you call him someone else’s name when you did talk.”

If possible, your stomach begins to turn even more. You took a glance at Jake through the tall glass windows, his back turned to you as he strummed his guitar casually.

“Mama, what do I do?” you whispered as you continued staring at Jake.

“Well,” she began, “I’m not gonna tell you who to choose, that ain’t my decision to make. But you do need to make a decision, the right way. And you aren’t gonna be able to do that hiding in Montana with Jacob.”

You knew she was right, but you also knew what it meant, and that was another thought you found yourself trying to avoid.

“Just come home, baby. We’ll sort it all out, just come back, please.”

The tears were falling one after the other now.

“When were you supposed to fly back?”

“Tomorrow,” you mumbled. You entertained the idea of skipping the flight all together, but the fear of what came with it was enough to make you push it to the back of your mind, a third thought to shun.

“Do me a favor, y/n, and get on that plane tomorrow. I know it’s gonna hurt leaving him behind again, but no one is saying it’s final. You just need to do it—”

“The right way,” you cut her off, your tone sorrowful, “I know.”

She let out another sigh, “I love you, it’ll be alright.”

Your mom always had a way of comforting you rather easily, her words like chicken soup for the soul. But this time around, you weren’t so sure if you believed her, or if those words would be enough to comfort you in the storm you were about to face.

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone, and you made your way back into the living room in a zombified state. Jake wasn’t far behind you, sliding the patio door open cautiously.

The tears that stained your face worried him, but he swallowed down all his uneasiness.

“Everything alright, babydoll?”

It took you several seconds to look at him, and when you did, catching a good look at his concerned eyes, you could've crumbled right to the floor beneath you.

“Jake,” your voice was a lot squeakier than you wanted it to be, but it was near impossible for you to talk around the rock lodged in your throat, “I- I have to go.”

He shut the patio door behind him as he scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, “go where?”

You sniffled as you pulled the blanket tighter around you, eyes trained to the floor like a child being scolded, “back to Nashville. Back to August.”

A deafening silence took over the room, so dense you could feel it suffocating you. As much as you wanted to look at him, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, but you could feel his eyes burning a hole into the top of your head.

He scoffed, shattering the silence, “you’re not serious, are you?”

You watch as one of your tears fell to the wooden floor, then another right behind it, and you said nothing.

“You can’t be serious, y/n,” he was well on his way to shouting now as he began pacing in front of you, “h- how can you do that after everything that’s happened these past few days?”

“Jake I have to go back,” you wept as you began watching him pace, “I can't just… stay here forever.”

There was nothing funny in the moment, but Jake was chuckling to himself in disbelief, shaking his head and running a finger over his beard.

He stopped to look at you, his voice back to its normal volume, “Let me ask you something, y/n. Do you love him?”

Your lower lip quivered as you responded, “yes Jake, I do.”

“As much as you love me?”

Your eyes looked to the ceiling, a scoff passing your lips, “you know I can't answer that.”

Jake’s jaw ticked as you looked back at him, and he shook his head again, “No, you can. You just don't want to. Because if you do, that means you’ll have to face the reality of the situation.”

You could feel your anger beginning to brew inside of you as he spoke to you so flippantly. But even still, all you felt was love when you looked at him.

“I mean come on, babydoll,” he stressed, taking a step towards you, “I love you, and you love me. It’s that simple, so why can’t you stay?”

Your own head shook rapidly, “Jake, it’s much more complicated than that and you know it.”

“Damn it, no it isn’t!” he shouted, his voice booming off the walls of the house.

“Jake, what we did was a mistake.”

Your words made him freeze in place, turning to look at you with so much hurt in his eyes that it worried you. You didn’t want to say that, you weren’t sure if you really meant it, but it was clear in that moment that he wasn’t having a word you were saying, and he clearly didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. They were the only words you could say that would get him to stop.

“Rather you want to accept it or not, I’m engaged. I’m getting fucking married,” even you sounded like you didn’t want to believe it.

“Things are different now, Jake. Me and you, we aren’t the same small town love drunk kids we used to be. You’re a fucking rock start for crying out loud,” you wailed as you gestured to the expansive house you were standing in.

“And we can sit here and play house, and play pretend like everything’s like it used to be, but all we’re doing is fooling ourselves. And the sooner we learn that, the better.”

Your voice was hoarse from shouting, your tears leaving your face stained an angry shade of red. At that point, you knew you were trying to convince yourself that it was all true more than you were trying to convince him, breaking your own heart with your own words.

Jake was staring at you with a blank expression on his face, his jaw clenching and releasing, but when he spoke, his voice was much softer than his expression was, “so you’re really leaving me?”

You wanted to say no, hell no. I could never. I won’t ever. But your mom’s words rang in your head on repeat.

‘Do it the right way.’

Jake sounds crushed, “Babydoll, please, come on. Don’t…” he took a step towards you, but when you took a step away from him, he stopped. Everything stopped.

The world around him stopped spinning, and his pounding heart came to an abrupt stop, only briefly before pulsing to life again. The rhythm was duller than usual.

He nodded his head, “okay.” His eyes lingered on your trembling frame for a moment longer before he whipped around and disappeared in the direction of his bedroom.

Once he was out of your sight, you rushed to retrieve your discarded clothes, dressing yourself with haste before he could return. If he ever returned.

You heard him slamming drawers in his room, and after a minute passed, you hear one final slam, then his feet stomping back towards you. You tugged your jeans on before he reappeared, his face contorted in anger. In his hand was a large stack of postcards bound together by a withering rubber band.

When he reached the coffee table, he tossed the stack down onto it with a thud as his eyes burned into yours.

“The day your dad passed away, it took all my strength not to reach out to you, no matter how bad I wanted to. I wrote down everything I wanted to say to you on a post card, and from then on, every time I waned to say something to you, I’d write it down.”

He jabbed his finger down at the stack, his chest heaving, “you read those letters and tell me if you think you’re making the right decision.” He left you with nothing more as he stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a half empty bottle of whiskey and made his way back to the back porch, his anger too large for the room he was standing in.

You looked down at the postcards for so long you began to zone out, before you snapped back into reality, snatching up the stack as your body began mechanically moving towards the guest room.

The first thing you did was call a cab on the guest room phone, then you hastily began packing your suitcase. Your vision was blurred from your tears as you crammed clothes and shoes into the bag, not caring that it was unorganized, it was the least of your worries.

This heartbreak seemed to hurt a lot more than the first, and you continued to sob as you prepared to do the last thing you ever wanted to do; leave behind Jake again.

But you had to, it was the right thing to do. You’d spent enough time in dreamland, it was time to return to reality.

The cold, ugly, dismal reality.

The stack of letters were the last thing to go into your suitcase, and once you were finished packing, you made your way back into the living room. Jake was sitting on the couch with his bottle of whiskey, staring in your direction as you came into view. You stopped at the end of the hallway staring back, your knuckles lightening from the grip you had on your suitcase handle.

“Y/n…” he began, a hint of warning in his tone, “I hope you know that if you walk out that door,” he pointed towards it, “you might as well never look back.”

Fresh tears began to spring to your eyes at his harsh words, your lip quivering as you shifted back and forth on your feet.

His stare was intense, so intense it was almost scary. But the moment was broken by the faint sound of tires approaching in the distance.

You took one more good look at him, not knowing the next time you’d see his face. Then with all the strength you could muster, you made your way towards the front door.

The ground was damp as your boots dragged through the gravel, the air still misty.

“Where am I taking you, young lady?” the aging cab driver asked as he took your suitcase from you.

“First motel we get to,” you clipped as you flung the back door open to climb in, “or the second, I don't care. Just get me the hell out of here.”

After getting your bag situated, the driver climbed back into the car with a grunt, starting the meter as he put the car in reverse. Jake was standing on the front porch watching you leave, though all you could see was his silhouette.

Your shoulders shook as a new cry left your body. You realized then, that when you made it back to Tennessee, there would be nothing to ‘sort out’, no decision to be made. You wouldn’t have the chance to search your heart to help make up your mind, because Jake had already made it up for you.

You were going back to Nashville, and you were marrying August Cook.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter Eleven

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