Lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker - Lupin Peters Clearwater Odair Parker - Tumblr Blog

The Mandalorian season 3 ep 7 spoilers

Idk about u but when Din Djarin said “what means more to me, is honor. And loyalty. And character. These are the reasons I serve you Lady Kryze. Your song is not yet written. I will serve you until it is.” In the new ep of The Mandalorian I really was just trying not to scream as I watched it with my family 😵🦋🤞

Ummm anyway don’t contact me for 2-5 business days pls I will only be reading Din fics tyvm 💋

It’s me, I’m girls

girls will see the moon everyday and be like MOON!!!?!!!?!!?!!?

Stop this is so cute

cozy in the crest 🥺

PRINTS · MANDO ART TAG · INSTAGRAM · COMMISSION

gestures that gets me on my knees.

(feel free to use<3 the kisses ones are.. im- i-... yall better tag when u write these or else check under ur bed before sleep! :) )

lingering with your lips open, touching, but not kissing, and this one glance at their eyes and you say fuck it and pull at their collar to kiss them

heavily breathing after a kiss (damn ittitit)

gulping when they get a little too close

and not knowing how to talk or exist after they finish kissing you like they've been needing that kiss for a lifetime!!!

loosing your mind when they tilt your chin to look you in the eye

pulling them by their belt to kiss them>>

lazy kisses in the morning, that starts with a grunt as they pull you closer to them as you try to get up and lazily placing kisses all over face and ends with a hoarse whisper from them asking you to stay. fucjfuck

their mouth at your ear, whispering!!!

"give me a chance. to prove what i can make you feel." (ohmykgodks)

when they kiss you, hard, gripping, shaking breaths, fists in each other's clothes, against a wall, but they stop. and smirk, "you want that, love? i want cuddles though." and their grin is too wide, stupid and cocky and beautiful.

you're holding on by a thread and they sort of grin against your lips, mumbling, "just lose control, love."

that glance at your body with their eyes subtly widening, almost gulping as they take in your attire. fuck.

the lips are hot, soft, settling, nibbling and gasping, pulling onto each other for more and when you stop, they have their eyes closed, heavily exhaling, hair ruffled, and they look like the prettiest mess ever.

holding your hands above your head as they kiss you

ADHD thought #1:

I recall instances in order to remember information/facts

I'm going feral

(Gifs are not mine)

there’s so much positivity posts for stims like making popping sounds, hand flapping, etc. but i never see anything for things like leg bouncing, cracking your joints, biting your lip, making clicking sounds with your tongue, jerking your head/arms/etc., meowing, barking, growling, whatever it is your stims are, they’re not weird or ugly or gross or stupid. whatever your stims are, this is a positivity post for you!

I am not emotionally ok after ST4 Vol. 2. THE MOOD SWINGS I had during the last episode were CATASTROPHIC. I’m gonna miss them so much idk what to do w myself.

Time to go read st fics till I fall asleep 👍🤭

Friendly reminder that for ppl w RSD (rejection sensitive dysphoria), reprimand is included in rejection. Sometimes we won’t confront for fear of reprimand because the possibility of that kind of rejection feels world ending even if the outcome logically won’t be that bad.

Top 6.18% not too bad

I got the Top 4.47% on this English Vocabulary test

LMAO TOO TRUe

having trauma feels so cringe sometimes like ohhhh look at me look at me my mom was mean when I was little and it's going to continue to affect me and all my relationships for the rest of my life. I'm gonna be sick

Original thread:

https://mobile.twitter.com/DianaMiller5/status/1522278413096132609?cxt=HHwWgoC53deJnKAqAAAA

Note, I am finding these threads on the twitter feeds of ICU nurses who are now dreading the horrors that Roe falling will bring to their hospitals. This, on top of the horrors that they’ve seen and continue to see because of the pandemic. They were already exhausted and hanging by a thread.

𝐊𝐀𝐙 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐊𝐊𝐄𝐑 | 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | kaz brekker x fem!healer!reader.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | cursing, mention of cutting fingers, y/n kills someone, pre-established relationship? but also not really? like there’s something but there’s never been a label put to it, spoilers! if you haven’t read the books (yet) and wouldn’t fancy seeing any spoilers, i’d advise to skip this one.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | you’ve been working with the crows for years, healing all their injuries without a flaw. until kaz stumbles through the door accompanied by a cut on a his stomach with the only poison you do not have an antidote for.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | first kaz fic let’s go - i’ve been working on this one for so long and i’m seriously so hyped, please let me know what you guys think <3 

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.0k.

Keep reading

everything with you | james potter x reader

summary four times james almost kisses you and one time he does. [9k]

warnings fluff, mutual pining, getting together, first kiss, idiots in love, first date, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, suggestive language/theme, late 90s au, rugby player!james

<3

James Potter is a little obsessed with you. In a cool, extremely chill and normal way, he thinks. It's hard not to be, here, at some random party half drunk and pushed into your side, with your perfect hand held protectively over his head, shielding him from the hubbub of partygoers.

"Still feeling poorly?" you ask, pushing the hair from his eyes.

"I need a haircut," he says, distracted by your touch.

"No!" you protest in a whisper. "No, James. Your hair‘s lovely, please don't cut it. What would I run my hands through if you did?" You say all this with a lopsided smile, one corner pulled up higher than the other, and a conspiring tone.

He blinks rapidly. Maybe he doesn't need a haircut after all.

Your fingertips push into the thick tresses at his hairline and scrape back. He shivers in light pleasure and reaches out to grab your thigh where his head is resting, indulgently absorbing the warmth of your body.

You barely notice, pulled back into a conversation with a girl on the sofa opposite. James feels his phone pulse in his pocket and is reluctant to retrieve it, worried you'll pause your ministrations. He watches you take a sip of your drink and almost spit it out laughing and deems you distracted, struggling with his phone, just drunk enough that his motor skills are fucking with him as he snaps it open.

Sirius told me to tell you that you look pathetic. Love Remus.

James scowls at his phone and lifts his head from your leg to look towards where he thinks his friends are located. Sure enough, they haunt the kitchen doorway with equally humorous looks on their faces, Sirius smug to Remus' pitying. James flips Sirius off and finds it returned, a perfectly painted and manicured finger held aloft.

You giggle by James' ear. "I hope that's not for me."

"Definitely to me. You'll have to forgive him. He was dragged up," he says, groaning at his embarrassing mates.

"Don't be cruel," you admonish, nudging him with a naked elbow.

His phone chirps again.

I also think you look pathetic. It's cute. Do you want food? Love Remus.

Moons u rly don't need to sign off every txt. Not hngry. Luv u

OK. Love Remus.

James laughs at his friend's hopelessness and tucks his phone away.

"I'm never cruel," he tells you.

You neaten the rolled up hem of his short sleeve unthinkingly and he can't help how much he wants to kiss you. It's all in the little things, he knows. You put your fingers in his hair and he's happy to lie in your lap like a dog; you fix his clothes and he wants to kiss you stupid; you smile at him sweetly, asking if he still feels sick, and if he is does he want you to go sit with him outside for a bit? He's ashamed of the heat in his chest.

James finds himself at your side with an inch between your legs, a porch bench swinging underneath you.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings," you say tentatively. He feels an alarming rush of vertigo at your words, until you continue, "But I think you could benefit from some mild temperance."

He scrubs his face, nausea ebbing as you clarify. He thought for a moment you were going to reject him before he even confessed.

"Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't have any reason for you to take care of me then," he says, startled and sounding it. He winces before he's done. You make a humming sound.

"You hardly need to be drunk for me to take care of you."

He sits with this and looks out over the garden. It's a nice space, the home in a wealthy neighbourhood, twinkling fairy lights strung up over the porch and solar powered lamps peppered down a keenly landscaped stretch of green grass and flowerbeds. There's a pretty stone path leading down to the end of the garden where a grey-white fountain spurts water. It sounds calm if you can ignore the sound of the party, which he finds himself more and more able to do as your knee creeps closer to his.

He wishes, and hates himself for it, that he'd worn shorts. Craves that tiny skin on skin contact when your thigh touches him. You must be cold in your skirt, a midi slit up one side that shows the smooth stretch of your outer thigh, colder on your top half in a spaghetti strap shirt and a loose knit cardigan.

If he thought you'd accept it he would offer you his jacket, but you won't. He's tried before. I don't want you to get cold, Jamie.

"You really don't think I should get a haircut?" he asks self-consciously, tugging a hand through his unruly waves.

"No," you say seriously, turning your torso towards him.

"It's a little long," he complains.

"James, please." You lift your hand up to replace his, pushing his hair back.

"I'll look like Sirius soon enough."

You shift. The bench sways. You push your second hand in his hair and pull it all away from his face gently. He can feel the cool breeze on his bare, clammy forehead as you sit there with your hands in his hair

You run your hand through his dark mop one last time, then stop with your hands braced at the back of his head, a big smile on your face.

"Don't cut it," you implore him seriously, looking into his eyes.

He deserves a medal for not leaning into your arms right then and there.

"How do you keep it so soft even though it's this thick?"

He doesn't understand how you can continue a conversation like this without melting. He's melting. You're talking like everything is normal, fingers twined between ink dark strands and fingertips massaging his scalp.

"I… I oil my roots before I wash it." He doesn't share how his mum insists on doing it for him most of the time now he's back home from school.

"You can definitely tell," you murmur.

His eyes shut. He blames it on his drunkenness and not the feeling of your hands.

"James?" you ask quietly.

"Yeah?" he asks, though it sounds more like an unintelligible hum.

"Are you tired? D'you need to go home?"

"Maybe." He does feel suddenly like his limbs are made of stone.

"Who are you going home with?" you ask.

You stand. The bench wobbles. One hand falls out of his hair to rest on his shoulder and his skin warms where it lands, the other tucking stray pieces of hair behind his ears. He opens his bleary eyes and is met with a silver of your midriff, promptly closing them again to push evil thoughts from his mind in which he kisses stripes over that naked skin for hours.

"Sirius is driving me home," he admits reluctantly.

"Let's go look for him."

James reluctantly follows you with a little wobble. His inebriation has faded as the night progresses but a general tipsy dizziness prevails. You press a hand to his lower back and he narrowly avoids trodding on your strappy sandals.

"I don't see him anywhere. Can you text him?" you ask.

James grabs his phone. You both press your backs to the wall to make way for some passersbys. He doesn't bother with texting Sirius: Remus always answers.

Where r u??

Went to get food. Love Remus.

When will u b back?

Sirius wanted Molly's Kitchen. Love Remus.

Molly's kitchen in MILTON KENYES?

Sorry. He is very convincing. Love Remus.

I know he is… luv u see u never when i die here abandoned & cold

See you tomorrow. Love Remus.

It takes him so long to type this all out he's surprised when you're still by his side. You're looking at the picture frames hanging on the wall with the patience of a Saint.

"They ditched me."

"Oh," you say.

"Yep."

"Well, you'll just have to come home with me," you say breezily.

He gawks. You fish your keys out of your cardigan and brandish them like a lump of gold. "I have leftover pizza. Or we can order in. If you're hungry?"

He's not. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"We can walk. It's not that far. If you can walk?"

"I can walk."

Barely. He knows it would've been a lovely stroll with you in the lazy summer air, sun still ligphting the sky despite the time, gauzy pinks and blues skimming the white-gold horizon, if only he hadn't been half cut. Your skin is shiny as finest silk and a gentle breeze floats your perfume towards him and he's close to admitting maybe he's obsessed with you in a way that isn't cool at all by the time you make it to the front door.

It's a mostly silent journey until you're shutting your bedroom door behind you and he's wondering how he got here, sitting at the end of your bed. Your room is an extension of you that he can't take in fast enough. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

You lean down and unstrap your sandals and he toes off his own shoes, trying not to look at how you're bent over, at the silhouette of your legs in your light skirt. Next is your cardigan. He feels like a bachelor in the 1800s, hungry and guilty at your naked skin.

Your silver anklets click together as you weave past him to your bedside table. You flick on the glass shade lamp and an array of multicolour sprays up the wall and your hands. He's mesmerised.

"Pizza," you mumble to yourself, and then looking up at him, "James, I don't have any pajamas for you. Um… oh, and your jeans are gonna be uncomfortable. Do you wear boxers?"

"I- I- yeah. Yes." When he tells this story later, much later, he will not recall stammering here.

"Well, if you wanna sleep in your boxers I don't mind. Better than those awful jeans. I'm gonna heat up the pizza. Bathrooms right there," you point at the door, "if you need it. Are you still feeling sick?"

"No," he says, a smidge overwhelmed.

You reach out and cup his cheek for a second as you pass. He sits in your aftermath and worries he may not make it through the night.

Watching you eat is a strange pleasure. To get to watch you eat is the first, and then the face you make trying to catch a string of cheese is a close second. Now, lying shoulder to shoulder with you, too hot for the duvet and in his boxers he can't get the image of you out of his head. He's too afraid to turn and see the real thing in case you think he's trying to cop a feel.

He'd insisted on sleeping on the floor and you'd laughed so much you went warm in the cheeks. "No, James, that's okay. You're with me."

You'd swapped your skirt for a pair of loose cotton pants. The fabric of which brushed against his calf as you squirmed restlessly.

"It's too warm," you complain.

He's so tired he can barely answer. "Yes."

"I'm gonna open the window," you declare. You climb over his legs and there's so many points of contact he thinks he might go blind.

Window opened, you stand at the sill and pick your vest away from your skin, looking over your shoulder at him, catching him mid-heady gaze. If you care you don't show it, smiling at him with your big hoop earrings still in, your necklace, your bracelets. He frowns to himself. Are you supposed to sleep with jewellery?

You climb back into bed, standing at the edge and flopping down much closer to him than you had been before. It wafts a ridiculous gust of your intoxicating smell over him.

"It's supposed to be this hot all week," you say morosely.

"The miraculous nature of British summer time," he murmurs.

You laugh breathily. "How awful. When it's cold I want the sun to come out and when the sun's out I miss the rain."

He turns his head to watch you talk.

"I like the sunshine." You tilt your head up, in a deep debate with yourself. "It's the humidity I can't deal with. It makes my hair so frizzy. I want soft hair like you, and-" you pause. "Watcha doing?"

"Do you sleep with these?" he asks, poking at the hoop hanging from your earlobe.

"Oh. Sometimes. You're not supposed to, 'cos they're big and all, but I forget."

"Can I?"

"Sure, yes. Please."

He nods and brings his other hand up, pulling the latch off your hoop and sliding it from your ear. He climbs up onto his elbow and presses his fingers to your jaw, turning your head into the pillow so he can reach the other. You're decidedly pliant and quiet under his touch as he pulls the second out. He puts them down by your shoulder and pulls on your necklace until the clasp is in sight.

He's holding his breath. You're looking up into his face with wide, soft eyes, and he catches the tremble you resist as he pulls the necklace free from your neck.

"Tickles," you say sheepishly. He's close enough to feel the warmth of your exhale on his skin.

He drapes the necklace next to your earrings but can't bring himself to move. Your eyelashes twitch. Your lips part and he can see the tiniest sneak of your tongue.

The way you're looking at him is dazzling, dizzying. He smooths down the hair closest to your neck that he'd disrupted while detangling your necklace, ignores the unsteadiness in his hands, presses his fingers to the side of your throat.

Your eyelashes kiss as your eyes drift shut, and he leans down just as you turn your face from his.

"You're drunk, Jamie," you whisper, covering his hand with your own.

He knows you're right. Though drunk seems dramatic at this point, admittedly there's alcohol in his system, and he lets himself fall back into your sheets.

"Sorry," he says.

You bring your arm across your front to grasp his shoulder in your palm. Time moves slow.

"James?"

"Yeah?"

You brush the tousled hair from his face, your touch featherlight and familiar now against his temple. His heart soars as you cuddle in closer, skips when you touch your lips to the muscle of his bicep. "Sleep well," you say warmly.

You break the kiss and stroke the skin there gently with your thumb before turning on your back.

-

so u didn't kiss her?

u r exacerbating my pain, Black

Good. Ur pain SHOULD be 'exacerbated' idiot.

i was tipsy. she didn't want me 2

and in the morning when u were sober ??? couldn't have kissed her in between waffles????

she acted like it didn't happen so I did 2

oh my god! U r so dumb !

James dropped his phone in his lap, feeling the humiliation of his defeat tenfold. Sirius was right, James should have kissed you at breakfast. Maybe. Or at least made his intentions with you clear. He wasn't trying to kiss you because he was drunk or because you were there, he was trying to kiss you because he was hopelessly endeared to you and hoped you might want to put up with him for a bit. Or years. Whatever, it's not like he was planning the wedding or anything. Yet.

He very much hadn't kissed you the next morning. You'd gotten up before him, an angel in your new fresh clothes and your hair out of your face, skin dewy and fucking hell was he lovelorn. He'd been sick as a dog at the table and you'd mistaken it for a hangover, pressing a cup of water into one hand and two ibuprofen in the other, smelling like sweetness behind him.

"Temperance," you'd said encouragingly, lips by his ear.

He relayed this all to Remus over the phone on the bus home, who had listened without judging for the most part up until that point.

"Oh, James."

"You think that's bad?" he'd asked.

"James."

"Just. Don't tell Sirius?"

"I won't." A lie, evidently. At least I can be mad at Remus' blather mouth rather than my own pussy footing, James thinks happily, pulling a throw cushion over his face.

"I'm an idiot," he says into the cushion. It doesn't say anything back.

-

James Potter isn't your boyfriend to your whimsy disappointment, but you think he might want to be.

You'll admit that his tipsy almost-kiss was a speed bump where you worried that awkwardness would wedge between you ruthlessly, but the next morning he'd made enough jokes to have you tearing up and looked at you so adoring you assumed that point moot.

You dress extra pretty tonight, a million different trinkets, silver thin bangles that jingle. Please, you think. Please, James, just ask me on a date.

You're sick of motives. These days you only go so you can see James, tired of party drugs and alcohol and sweaty guys looking at you in that way where you know exactly what they're thinking.

You spy him now, pressing through the doorway with his entourage behind him. You think this with love. His two tallest friends are always right by his side, and a smaller girl trails behind them that you think is called Emmeline.

The first half of his friends that you knew of had arrived earlier in the evening along with your only mutual friend, Mary. You give her a saccharine smile as you peel away, not bothering to hide where you're planning on going.

She smiles indulgently and turns to the short-haired girl, Dorcas. Guilt-free, you wheedle past people you don't know and some that you do, giving pause when one of your friends from school appears. By the time you've finished menial well wishes you can't see James anymore.

"Looking for someone?"

You jump and spin on your flat shoes.

A relieved smile works its way across your mouth.

"James, you startled me," you say, voice light, pressing your fingers to your sternum.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Here." He gestures his big hand to you.

A flower. You take its stem between your fingers gingerly.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Saw it on the way."

You twirl it around and watch its petals dance before passing it back to him.

You smile despite yourself at his crestfallen expression and take a step closer.

"Put it in my hair?" you ask.

His brown eyes lighten, hot amber tea steeped in his irises. He's careful as he sews the flower's delicate stalk into the hair closest to your ear, his mouth hovering just over your forehead. You half hope he's going to press a kiss to your skin before he steps back. He doesn't, though his fingertips give you almost the same pleasure as he flattens what are already well tamed baby hairs.

You want an excuse to stay close to him. He'd done it all by himself the last time by participating in a drinking game he had no chance of winning and needing somewhere to lie down. Your lap had been open. You'd prefer he stray from any recreation of this tonight, and are saved from thinking up a new excuse when he taps the toe of his shoe into yours.

You look down at the rubber toes and then up at his face.

"Want a drink?" he asks.

You pull your shoe back just enough to hit his again. "Depends. What kind?"

"We brought a keg, not that I think you're interested in that."

"Nope," you agree, wrinkling your nose with a grimace.

His answering smile is ridiculously contagious.

"You don't strike me as someone so picky."

"I know what I like," you say, demure. "But I'll try anything once."

His eyes darken, sticky sweet; a playfulness edged in something like I dare you.

"Let's hope I can get you something that sticks," he says back, twice as smooth.

An immeasurable pleasure eats up your spine as his hand comes between your shoulder blades, steering you into the kitchen. He exchanges hellos with guys you don't know huddled around the kitchen table playing cards. One of them lights a cigarette and James stands between you and the twisting smoke, opening his arm out to the countertops covered in drink.

"What do you want, baby?"

You cross your legs and lean forward, pretending to read labels.

"How about you pick for me?" You turn your head to the side and enunciate each word through lips barely parted, eyes tracking his hands where they hang at his sides. His left hand twitches.

"And if you don't like what I choose?"

You straighten up slowly, "Then you'll make me another."

He laughs and you know he can see through all the aloof confidence you carry around you, can see you for who you are, but it doesn't read as cruelty so much as a kindness. You feel the layer of coolness you'd layered on slip away and smile at him with too much teeth, pleased when his hand claps your shoulder and he steps forward to make you a drink.

The concoction he makes is a little too sweet for you but you drink it without complaint, sitting up on the counter where there's room.

He leans with his hand braced behind him next to your thighs, face close to your own and beautiful as he talks to you, brown skin cooled by the white fluorescents and eyes shiny. You can see the smattering of dark stubble coming in if you look, which you aren't. Except that you are. Hungry, you soak in his little details. Tiniest scar by his mouth. Beauty spot not far from it under his nose, almost invisible against his skin. Wavy hair in tighter curls tonight and smelling of coconut or almond or something, fresh and fragrant and thick. His glasses, black wire frames, slide down his nose so often it drives you crazy to watch him push them back up.

Eventually, unable to resist the temptation, you straighten them on the bridge of his nose mid-sentence. He pauses to blow air out of the side of his mouth, warding off a curl dipping close to his eyebrows as you do, and the silence stretches even when your hands are safely returned to your lap.

"You look…" You press your lips together in an attempt to fight off a nervous giggle that slips out anyways as you continue, making the words less serious than they're meant to be, "Pretty. Or handsome. If you prefer."

He puts his drink down on the countertop. You knead your own fingers.

"You look pretty too. Handsome, if you prefer," he returns, creeping closer still. Your chest burns with the pleasure of being complimented. "So much jewellery tonight, you're a mirror ball."

"You don't like it?"

"Didn't say that."

You lift a hand, let all the bangles drop down your arm. "I may have bordered on excessive," you admit, abashed.

"Don't worry, I know all about excessive," he placates, picking his drink up pointedly. The image of him plastered and poorly pops up in your head.

"Yes, well, I was hoping you'd stay sober." You run your finger over the rim of your glass, unable to look at him. "In case I need some help."

His hand reaches out, a finger hooking under one chain bracelet and tugging gently. You can feel his gaze on your face, feel as he puts his drink down again with a final clink. His hand closes around your bracelet.

His fingers are gentle as his other hand slowly, slowly works up your face, fingertips pushing over the delicate, smooth skin of your cheek. His thumb finds a home at the bottom of your chin and he uses it to guide your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

It's intense because you want it, because he's handsome, because he's funny, because he's awfully, terribly kind. Because something between you both fits together like it's meant to, and you just know that if he kisses you everything is gonna work out like it should.

His eyes are on your lips. You follow his eyes with sick excitement and miss when he slips your bracelet off of your wrist.

You look between you both. He holds the silver links between his fingers. It's the only one he would've needed to unclasp, the rest are seamless bangles. This one, silver with small blue cut gems, is just his style.

You hold your palm out, mourn his hand as it falls from your face. You both look down between you as you wrap the tennis bracelet around his wrist and click it into place.

"There," you say, so quietly you're worried he might miss it. "Something for me to take off'a you."

His hand finds your face with purpose now, almost pulling you toward his own beaming face and he's opening his mouth, about to say something with a laugh already on his lips when a shattering crash echoes from the living room and into the kitchen. James stills, hand moving down to squeeze your shoulder protectively as he turns to the door.

A barking laugh. James turns back quickly, apologetic, murmuring a "Jump down?" and pushing his forearm under your armpit to help you down off of the counter.

As soon as your canvas shoes touch down, he takes a light hold on your wrist and pulls you along, following the guys who'd been playing cards. In the living room, Sirius sits at a coffee table with a knife in his hand. Sticking into his hand, blood already pooling around it in a black crimson horror that has half the room in morbid silence and the other half panicking.

Remus, at Sirius' left, is laughing with tears running down his cheeks, sounding like he's one guttural guffaw from throwing up. Sirius looks pretty cool about the whole thing, cooler when he spots James in the doorway.

"Prongs! Come and pull this out, would you? I'd do it, but I can't seem to make myself grab it."

Remus let's out another sobbing laugh. You can't help but giggle from behind James' shoulder, and Sirius zeroes in on this.

James drops your hand, walking forward and bending at the waist.

"Hey, don't think because you're his girl now that means you-fuck! Oh fuck, what the fuck-" Sirius presses the open sleeve of his dress shirt hurriedly into the wound, freshly opened. James holds the knife he'd just pulled free in his hand distastefully.

"Alright, hotshot, run your mouth in the car. You need stitches."

"Fuck's sake."

James drops the knife on the table and shoves the wounded boy's head with the flat of his palm, earning another curse. Remus, finally extending some friendly generosity, pulls the dark shirt he's layered over a t-shirt off and encourages Sirius to wrap it around his hand.

Sirius protests. "This'll give me an infection."

"Fuck off and die, then," Remus suggests lightly, wiping at his eyelashes with the side of his pinky finger.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. James tries to shepherd them both from the room, which has once again grown loud with laughing, most of it at the absurdity of Sirius injury.

"What did I tell you about pinfinger?" James asks scornfully.

"Not to play it," Remus supplies, stepping over people's feet with little apology.

You watch the sorry threesome make their way to the door, a disheartened feeling creeping in.

James opens the front door and pushes Sirius through it, torn looking back at you.

"Remus can't drive, so I'll have to take him," he explains.

"You still have my bracelet."

A weak argument. He can hear your disappointment. He smiles, eyebrows pulling up in… sympathy? Empathy? Apology? You can't tell what, only that he looks soft as butter as he says, "I'll call you? We can arrange a time for you to take it back."

"Okay," you agree, much too happy, just as he's pulled out the door by a bloody hand.

-

James doesn't have your number. He realises this in A&E, close to midnight with Remus asleep on one shoulder and Sirius slouched in the other, waiting for the plastics to come and assess if Sirius has done any permanent damage to his finger.

"I don't understand how you can stab yourself in the hand and fuck up your finger," James mutters for what's likely the fifth time.

Sirius sighs unhappily. "It's ligaments or tendons or something. I might very well have cut through a cord that needs to remain uncut."

"You're an idiot."

"Thanks, James."

"Yeah, you're welcome." James slouches a little lower in his chair to take the strain off of his best friend's neck in a show of genuineness. He does love him, after all, even after shocking displays of public stupidity.

"Sorry for cockblocking you," Sirius says.

"Vile. Wasn't gonna turn out that way. Though I was hoping I might actually make a real move tonight. I did make a real move," James shakes his head, disgruntled. "I was seconds away from kissing her. Your idiocy couldn't wait 30 seconds?"

"Wasn't exactly timing it, mate."

"Yeah."

James digs through his pocket for his phone. He never knows where the damn thing is. Your bracelet is tight to his skin and he looks at it with keen longing, imagining your nicely shaped nails running under it.

He shakes it off, goes to unlock his phone, and this is where he realises he doesn't have your number.

"Do you have Y/N's number?" he asks Sirius.

"No." It sounds like why would I?

"Fuck."

"She's Mary's friend, isn't she? Ask Mary."

He sighs and does as he's told, scrolling through contacts until he finds Mary MacDonald's.

Hi mary was wondering if u have Y/N's phone #

And why should I give it to you, Pots? :3 :D <3

pls mary I am not above begging u

While that would be a sight, I meant why do you want it? But please tell me more about the begging part!!! <33

mary

What are your intentions with my Y/N? She's much too sweet for you to manhandle <33

James blushes at her wording and groans aloud. "Girls are impossible."

"Yep," Sirius says tiredly.

James doesn't want his or your business passed around, and if he tells Mary, Mary will tell Dorcas and Dorcas will tell Marlene and Marlene will tell everybody she knows and will find it very, very entertaining as she does. He doesn't plan on awarding her the pleasure. He tells a white lie.

I found her bracelet and want to give it back :]

I'll give it back for you ;) <3

not that I don't trust u M but its super nice, id prefer to give it in person myself

OK OK I'll stop yanking your chain now Jamesie dearest hahaha. Her number is +44 XXXX XXXXXX. I trust the bracelet gets back to her in one piece. btdub, how's siri? <3

crying and shaking like a lamb, thanks m xoxo

He adds your number to his contacts and then stares at it until the nurse calls for Sirius and they get up to meet her, leaving Remus to blink awake confused at their departure.

-

hi Y/N, this is James

You look down at your rarely used phone and feel a warmth like sunshine unfold in your tummy. You don't use any emoticons, though you want to.

Hi James, how are you? How is your friend?

im amazing how r u? doctors are hopeful that he'll live, but it's up to him now :,(

James

kidding. he is fine. R u busy right now?

no I'm not busy why?

can I call u?

You call him rather than answer. He picks up straight away.

"James," you say quietly.

"Sweetheart," he says back. "Hey, hi. I had to get your number from Mary Magdalene."

"Wow, what was she like?"

"Uh… bloody? Which one was she?"

"I don't know, James," you say, laughing behind your hand.

"What are you doing today?" he asks.

You preen though he can't see. "Nuthin," you say, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. "Why'd you ask?"

"Trapped you there, baby. Don't you know you're supposed to wait until after I tell you what I'm planning before you say you're not busy?"

"Oh, weird. Something just came up."

"Uh-huh. Anyways, busy or not, if you want to: I've got a match later. If you want to come." He sounds nervous. It's a new look on him.

"Do I get to sit pretty on the sidelines with the other girls?"

"You can stand, if you like. But yeah, otherwise. Oh, unless you have some kicks. I doubt it would take much convincing to get you on the team."

"How's that?"

"Well, you know. They aren't blind. Dumb, sure, but we play rugby. Not exactly a honeypot of intelligence, all it would take for half those guys is your pretty smile-"

"You're plenty smart," you cut off his compliments.

James gags. "Keep it to yourself. It starts at six, but come whenever. Oh- do you need me to pick you up?"

"No, that's okay. I'll walk. It's warm out."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It'll be nice. I'll wear team colours." You're almost afraid to suggest it until he makes a very happy noise that he coughs to hide two seconds too late.

"See you at six, then?"

"Definitely. You owe me a bracelet."

"It's a date." He hangs up before you can say goodbye. Good thing, because you spend the next ten minutes with your face in your hands, smiling so wide your cheeks ache.

It doesn't quite feel like a date on the sidelines but you're too busy walking on sunshine to care. You watch as James throws the ball behind him, torso twisting, bulky arms flexing. His shorts and socks are stained green and his shirt grips tight to his chest.

You can see why he wanted a haircut; ink dark hair falls in his eyes as he sprints after the team and he has no hands to tuck it back.

You'd been a little late, trying too hard to look effortlessly radiant at home and forgetting the time. As soon as you'd arrived, out of breath and half-dressed, you stood at the side of the pitch close to watchers but maintaining a small gap trying desperately to catch his eye. It was obvious when he saw you - he smiled beatifically and raised a wide palm in greeting before getting into position for a scrum.

After a while there's a halftime break where he comes bouncing off the field to your side. He goes straight in for a hug, brave, warm, exactly what you wanted, arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground half an inch with the force of it.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pretend it's all an inconvenience, wobbling on tiptoes. "You're getting grass all over me."

"Oh no," he says, faux worried.

He smells like so many things. Deodorant and sweat, grass and dirt and salt. You press your nose into his hair and smell the almond oil there with a lopsided smile.

He lets you down, holding you at arms length.

"You're so fucking pretty."

You try not to burst into tears, turning your face so he can see the heart on your cheek made up of glitter in his team colours. "It's the team rep."

"No, it isn't," he says, running his hand down your face to straighten your head, pausing with his fingers under your chin.

Your bracelet is still on his wrist. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the lovesickness you're feeling.

You push his hair from his face. He, reminded of this affliction, levels you with a squinting glare. "This is all your fault."

"Sorry, Jamie," you say, biting back a guilty smile.

"It's fine," he concedes immediately. You're suddenly overwhelmed by the power you have over this poor boy.

"How long is the break?"

"Halftime? About ten minutes left."

You nod, thinking to yourself. "Well, um. You can say no, but. I can plait your hair back, if you want. Out of your eyes."

"You can?" he asks, brightening.

"Yeah, I can."

James sits on the bottom bench of the stand and you stand behind him, your fingers raking through his windblown curls in lieu of a comb. He sits strangely still, more controlled than you thought possible of him as you braid back the longest strands at the front of his scalp, sliding your fingers through his hair as kindly as you can. The small intimacy of it all has your heart racing.

Securing the dark braid with a bobble, you take in the back of his head. His soft shiny hair is oil black in the sun, his skin painted with gold. His neck begs to be kissed.

You rub your hands down the back of his neck, across the curves of his trap muscles and then down his chest, leaning on him so you can press your lips to the highest point of his cheek in a shy kiss. He tilts his head to catch your eye as you pull back.

"Done?" he asks, something indistinguishable in his voice.

"Done," you confirm.

His face is close enough to spot the beauty mark adjacent to his cupid's bow. You resist the urge to kiss that, too, and stand at full height. He copies you. You find that the stands underneath you makes you taller, his eyes are level with yours.

"How's it look?"

"I did alright," you say modestly. "Though maybe a haircut isn't the worst idea."

He laughs and looks down, reaching for your hands. He's different without his glasses, not more or less handsome, but different. The focus of his face changes, and you find yourself distracted by his eyes, his nose, his mouth.

He holds your hands like a prince, brushing his thumb over your fingernails. Then, in true royal fashion, he brings your hand to his mouth. A kiss pressed to your knuckles. One kiss becomes two, two to three, a peppering of pecks up your hand and over your pulse and up your arm. He reaches your sleeve. His hand follows his mouth until he's holding your elbow in his hand like you're a sacred being, pulling you in.

You drift together. His hands cup your upper arms and guide you slowly to the left as he ducks in.

A piercing whistle leaps through the air. You flinch apart like guilty kids, his hands a searing heat through your shirt sleeves as the call for halftime's end rings. Loudly.

He grimaces bitterly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know why this keeps happening to us, I'm-"

"Going to get in trouble," you finish, peeling his hands off of your body. "Go on, before they get mad."

"Your bracelet-"

"Keep it. It looks good on you, anyways."

He leans in and holds you by the neck. Your heart is a hammering racket for no reason - all he does is peck your forehead, quick and firm. Then he pulls back all sorry looking and scrambles over the bench and the kit to get back into position.

You sit down heavily on the cold metal seat behind you and cover your chest with your hands, taking deep breaths through your nose.

He catches your eye from the pitch and winks.

-

"Be thankful it was your mouth and not your nose."

"Explain what you mean," James demands, wincing at his split lip.

You match his stride. James, having been hit in the face with the rugby ball hard enough to bruise and cut his top lip, had refused to let you look at him, despite the horror it had provoked, and then had refused to let you walk home alone. I'm not getting in your car until you see a doctor, James, I mean it.

Fine, then we'll walk.

So you walk. The sun is setting, the sky a mix of white-pink and light blue, a bleeding yellow light throwing big shadows every which way. You step out of the shade of a towering, green leafed tree where the main road began. Before James can stop you, you jump up onto the small metal barrier that stops cars from driving on the pavement and walk across it like a balance beam.

"Please don't," James says.

You ignore him, using your arms to stop yourself from toppling into the road. A small revenge considering he had ignored your medical advice. James lets you do this for around 10 seconds before he grabs your hand in his. You wobble along the last meter of barrier with your joined hands held aloft and tight before you finally let him pull you back down onto the pavement, giggling breathlessly. Cars careen past, each one wafting a breeze of petrol and fallen leaves towards your legs.

Fingers interlocked, you walk. You take in the relative beauty of your town in its approaching dusk, meandering past roundabouts and roads, back gardens and a corner shop.

You persuade James inside the shop and beeline for the cold drinks at the back. The open fridges cool your clammy skin.

"What one do you want?" you ask him.

"Anything. Whatever you're having."

You grab three identical cans and ignore his raised eyebrows as you bring them to the front of the store, the cashier hidden behind lollipop stands, magazines, a plastic shield plastered in leaflets for upcoming events. There's a small TV in the corner blaring summer music that you can't help but hum as you emerge from the shop, swaying your hips in time.

"Who's the third for?" James asks, accepting his can. You tuck your own in your bag and grin.

"You! For your lip," you say. "It's swollen."

"Doesn't hurt."

"Don't believe you."

He reluctantly takes the can from you and complains loudly, exasperated at having two full hands, one pressed to his face. You wiggle your empty one at him in bad sportsmanship. Before long you're standing outside your home and James is hesitating.

"Do you want to come in?" you ask, half-hopeful.

He shakes his head. "I can't, I have to take Sirius to get his hand looked at again by plastics."

"Too bad," you murmur, looking at his chest and then his face. "Thank you for walking me. I know it's out of the way."

"You're never out of the way," he says seriously.

You slide your fingers into the loose hair behind his neck, rub your thumb across the line of his jaw.

"Get home safe," you murmur as you lift up on your toes, shoes creasing. You press a half-open kiss to his jaw where your thumb had been moments before and close your lips over his skin slowly. You linger, pressing a second on top.

There's an unspoken acknowledgement between you both when you pull away. A promise.

He looks a picture of defeat walking down your front path. Covered in dirt and grass and sweat and blood, hair messy and chased by the last rays of sun. You watch until he's at the end of your street, butterflies thrashing in your tummy as he presses his index and middle finger to where you'd laid your kisses, as though checking his pulse.

-

James' parents own a restaurant. He knows, in his right mind, that this is a lame place to take you on a proper first date, only it's the hottest week of the year and everywhere else with outdoor seating is fully booked.

"I don't mind, James. Actually, I'm excited. I've never seen Sirius in a uniform," you say.

He scowls and scoffs melodramatically over the phone until you apologise to him for your terrible, awful, sick joke.

Technically, the Potter's restaurant is fully booked too, and he watches the books like a hawk for a week while his lip heals until he catches a cancellation. He instantly jots down his name. He's caught in the act by Euphemia.

"James," his mum had said, words drawn out. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

So really, he isn't sure why he thinks this date will go well. Everybody who works here knows him, and even as he waits outside for you under the dark wood porch a server comes up to him and nudges him with his elbow emphatically.

You turn the corner and he stops breathing, a vision in your sundress and sandals. He watches your anklets dance as you approach, eyes roving up your body devotedly until he finds a smile that matches his own in tenacity playing on your glossy lips.

He wants to kiss you then but wants more to foster a perfect, romantic evening first, so he's careful as he brings his hands up to your face appreciatively. Your hands hook around his elbows, an excited glaze in your eyes.

"Hi, pretty girl."

"Hi," you say, hushed by shyness.

He caresses your cheeks lightly, worried about smudging your makeup. Your eyes close when his hands move up, sliding over your hair to rest behind your ears. Sparkly earrings hang from each earlobe.

"You look beautiful," he says, because fuck it if James hasn't got game.

Your smile turns pouting at his words. He wants to record your voice and play it back when you say, "Thank you, James," in the softest tone he's ever heard from you.

He wants to stay like this. He swears he could happily stand in this bubble of the world with you and count your eyelashes, memorise the flecks of colour that surround your pupil, but you shimmy out of his hands and prompt him inside.

"Come on, handsome, I'm hungry." And then, inside the restaurant. "Oh my god. It smells amazing. What smells amazing?"

He has no clue. He's reluctant to go to the bar with you only because he knows exactly who stands behind it - Sirius, in his neat uniform, a towel thrown over his shoulder and a bandage wrapped around his hand.

He's well-behaved when he sees you, though a few things he says has James reaching to wring his neck.

"How's your hand?" you ask.

Sirius sets down James' pint and grabs for another glass, shovelling ice and pouring juice. "It's alright. The bandage is for health and safety, not because it's actually injured anymore."

"Plastics said he's fine," James interjects, raising the dark ale to his lips.

"Perfect," Sirius amends cooly, "is what they said. Head to toe."

James corrals you out onto the mezzanine before you can fall in love with the uppity bartender.

It gets worse from there. A server who's known James since he was in nappies takes your orders, an extremely handsome server with a deep dusky voice and black skin so smooth he's practically carved from stone.

"And what's for you, babygirl?" he asks after airing out every embarrassing thing James has ever done on restaurant grounds.

You're still laughing, but you turn to James with all the confidence in the world as you ask, "What do I get, James?"

He feels a little better after that.

The patio is perfect. The sun's out, the breeze is light. Every now and then he has a hint of your smell, sunscreen and perfume. Your leg bounces under the table, a tinkling sound of silver, and you lean forward. He doesn't look at your chest where the necklace hanging over your collar bones disappears, thank you very much, but you're so obviously perfect and he's attracted to everything - your body and your gorgeous face, yes, undeniably, but your voice! Your laugh, your smell, the way your hands move. The way your every word about him drips adoration. The pride in your tone as you recall what should've been his perfect match (if he hadn't been hit in the face).

After a lazy dinner and a second round of drinks he's buzzing and you're lovely, like a flower, bloomed and prettier than anything he's ever seen.

You leave the table and walk along the woodchip path and kids play area to look out over the lake, a dark shimmering sheet split in half by twisting white light, the sun falling from the sky.

The evening grows marginally colder, especially at the lakefront. At the first sign of discomfort he works his arm over your back, hand pressed to the dip of your shoulder

He's waiting for you to look at him before he kisses you.

"It's so pretty," you sigh happily.

Across the lake is a backdrop of green trees and a small, rustic boathouse. A family of ducks swim past, shepherded by a squawking swan.

"Bully," he mutters.

You hum. "Why is there only ever one nasty swan per lake?"

"Gotta fill their quota."

"The poor duckies," you sympathise. "Look, there's one of the fancy ones with a green head over there."

He follows your finger but gets distracted by the bracelets adorning your wrist, can't help but think about how you'd asked him to take them off.

"James, this is… it's really perfect. It's amazing."

He pulls you in a little closer. "I'm glad," he says, though he's finding it hard to respond - he can barely open his mouth. "I wanted it to be."

You finally turn to face him. He guesses his change in tone is what does it, because you sound similarly low and love-sticky when you murmur back, "Everything. It's all been so perfect. Everything with you."

He can't take it. He darts forward, so close to kissing you that the air between you is charged with it. When his nose grazes yours he gives pause, tries to work out what you're thinking as your tongue wets your lips.

Your eyes are closed. He shuts his own and-

"James! James Fleamont Potter! You come up here and help your mam!" his father's voice calls.

He drops his forehead against yours and lets out a pained exhale.

"Dad," he calls back, refusing to move. "I'm a little preoccupied."

"What? James, look, I don't have my glasses and your mother needs someone to write tomorrow's daily special!"

He pulls away from you and sends a heated look over his shoulder, one he's sure could melt metal and that his father can't even see. "And tomorrow's daily special, this couldn't wait until TOMORROW?"

"James, I've no clue what's turned you into such a sour puss tonight and I don't have time to work it out. All I'm asking is that you do this chalkboard for us and then you can get back to-"

"Dad! Dad! Alright, I'm coming!" he hollers back, cutting his father off before he can blow a gasket. "Jesus Christ," he says under his breath, defeated. You frown sympathetically at his embarrassment.

"You should probably go help your parents," you say, sounding similarly disappointed. He nods, unwilling.

"Just, don't move," he pleads.

You smile, total understanding on your face, and he's only taken a few steps from you when you turn back to the lake and your shoulders fall.

Fuck it, he thinks.

He turns your body with his palm on your shoulder and soothes your surprised flinch with a hand on your neck, your eyes meeting for a startled, excited handful of seconds before he's finally, finally, surging forward. You gasp into his mouth and his fingers tighten on your neck, lips aligned with your lips and searching deeper, parting to invite you in. You follow, a dance, a hand pulling you out of the road, a tether, and you taste like everything he's ever thought you might all at once.

You press your spread fingers over the fine material of his dress shirt and moan when he catches your top lip between his. He kisses, again and again, feels you slip through his hands like water. He hooks his arm around your head to keep you in place as he wades into you, slowing, softening, pulling away to plant one, two, three gentle kisses over it all like a balm. You respond to each one amorously. His chest rears to explode at your dizzy, pretty panting when it's over.

He loosens his arm to pull back and take in your entire face. Your eyes are shimmering, lips wet. He wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, finds it burning hot.

"Oh," you whisper.

"Oh?" he asks, endeared and amused and insanely happy.

"I didn't think it would feel so different to all the little kisses from before."

"Good different?" he asks, the damp pad of his thumb smoothing over the warm hill of your cheek, stolen bracelet scraping your skin.

Any anxiety he has unfurls and dissipates into nothing when you smile and lean in for a second kiss. "Good different," you confirm against his open mouth, "everything with you…"

He pulls you as close as any person can be to another person. He has a pretty good picture of what you were going to say, anyways.

<3

my masterlist

marauders tag list @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu @thatblackravenclaw @thatonecomfyjumper @lupinlust @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @set-myself-on-fire @decafcoffew

I’m crying this is so good

petal

pairing ~ geralt of rivia x f!reader

word count ~ 5.2k

summary ~ geralt was never a man of many words, so he does what he can to show how he feels for you.

warnings ~ fluff!! mild language, gross man tries some verbal harrasment, intimidation & unwanted touching, (geralt saves the day!), hurt/comfort, mention of reader wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury, mutual pining but they're idiots, minor angst, not good self talk, mention of feelings of worthlessness

a/n ~ uh oh friends i accidentally opened a doc and this happened, i am an absolute sap for pet names and goodness gracious writing a fic about a geralt giving a pet name escalated into this, so i hope you all enjoy!! mwauh!!

Petal.

A delicate, weak thing that floats away on the breeze at the mere mention of any danger.

Even when you had tried to prove yourself time and time again that you were certainly not either of those things

It was still what he called you.

"I don't need anything, especially not from you" He had huffed at you during your initial meeting

You tried not to be taken aback but his gruffness, you had been told of Witcher's harsh nature's your entire life, hearing the stories and songs of their exploits throughout your village since you were small, but still, you had never expected to meet one, nor had you expected for any of them to be quite so large.

When he finally stood to his full height, you had to actively make sure to keep your mouth closed in fear it might fall to the floor if you let it act on it's own accord.

Though he was much taller than you, you refused to be intimidated by him, still standing your ground before him, thankful your dress covered your legs, less anyone see your trembling knees.

The brunette beside you still persisted. "She's perfect, I promise, and we'll never have to see her again afterwards, hm?" He turned to you with a smile, and you shook your head earnestly, though you couldn't deny how some part of you longed to stay with the pair longer than for just this.

The white haired man took you in once again, his heated gaze traveling from your slightly worn shoes to your hair as if he were appraising you like a cow from market. He finally sighed, "Fine." He grumbled, almost slamming his mug down on the wooden bar.

"I think he likes you" The other man commented, gently placing his hand on your lower back as the both of you followed the Witcher out the front door.

It was surely an unconventional way of meeting, but there seemed to be nothing truly conventional about either of the pair, Jaskier and Geralt as you later learned. You would have expected such a harsh man would have taken up more, like-minded companions, but the more you witnessed Jaskier's sunny disposition combating with Geralt's brash nature, the more you felt that this pairing was one that was always meant to be.

Though your addition to the group was quite unexpected.

You were only supposed to be nothing more than midnight Striga bait, something to lure it out into the forest, only to be hopefully saved at the last second by Geralt's skill. That was all you were supposed to be, but as your heart raced that night, feelings of both fear and excitement pulsing through your veins, as shadows cast by the full moon danced around you, you knew you couldn't go back to your village. How could you? All your life, you had only ever known muddy streets and market barkers and clouds that never seemed to allow the sunshine to peak through. How could you ever return to any of that, when just these few moments in darkness gave you more adventure than in any of your years of living in the light of your town.

Jaskier seemed to notice that particular glint in your eye once the deed had been done.

"Wasn't she helpful?" He smirked, "Maybe we should keep bringing her along?"

Geralt only grunted in response as he looked upon the now deceased creature.

You tried your best to hide the smile that threatened to split your cheeks at the thought, you could only imagine what a week with them would be like if this was just one night.

"I mean..." Jaskier sauntered slowly over to him, "She did catch us this Stri-"

Geralt turned to him in an instant, a wordless, piercing snarl plastered on his face, and you felt a slight twinge of disappointment at his obvious disdain at the thought of you joining them.

"It would take us another three days to bring her back, it would just make things quicker if she stayed with us, and, no offense" He quickly turned to you, "I'd rather continue on, than have to travel three extra days back to that shit hole."

Geralt hummed, turning to you now, and in the pale light of the moon that shown through the trees, you swore you saw him appraising you once again just as he had when he first met you.

"We're taking you back as soon as this is over." He spat as he walked towards you, shouldering past you as he stomped through the woods.

Jaskier flashed a quick smile at you, "He'll come 'round, he always does."

One week turned to two, two turned to three, weeks turned to months, and you still continued to be brought along on adventures with the two, experiences that you never could have imagined partaking in, in even your wildest dreams, were now things that you experienced on a fairly regular basis.

You saw kingdoms, glittering castles, and kindhearted princesses. You witnessed the fiercest monsters and the most entrancing magic, the adventures you had always been warned to stay away from, you found yourself right in the middle of all of them.

Though as thrilling as your new life was, sometimes you would miss your somewhat-soft bed and the comfort of knowing you would always have some place warm to stay, but you made the most of what you had, savoring the creature comforts you came across as much as you could when you did gather enough coin for a night or two stay at a local inn.

It was on one of these particular nights when he had first called you that.

Petal.

Geralt had sent you in with a small satchel to pay for the rooms while he hitched Roach on one of the posts outside of the inn.

It was an infrequent occasion when you had enough to rent three separate rooms for yourselves, but monsters were not an infrequent occurrence around these parts, and the influx in beasts also meant a slight raise in pay.

"Three rooms, please" You spoke softly, stifling a yawn with your hand as you did. It had been a long journey, and both you and Jaskier knew no one but Geralt was allowed to even touch Roach, so walking long distances was something you had gotten used to, though getting accustomed to the walking didn't mean you had grown to be any less exhausted after the lengthy journeys.

"One room." The main replied sharply, snapping you from you exhaustion almost immediately. "I only see one of ya. One room."

"Sir-"

"One room." He looked you over, a sort of repugnant heat in his gaze that you didn't quite care for. "One room... For the pretty lady all alone at night... Not very proper of ya" He scoffed.

Your stomach turned at the man's words as he circled around the desk, only pausing when he stood directly beside you.

"My friends are right outside. They'll be here in a minute." You hastily replied, not bothering to make eye contact with the man.

You visibly recoiled when you felt his hot breath suddenly fan across your cheek. "Y'er friends aren't here now are they? One. Room."

You quickly jumped from the mans touch on your waist, and finally turning fully towards him, you saw how his smile was a nauseating mix of yellows and greens as he sneered at you, creeping closer to you as you now felt yourself being cornered in between the corner of the small desk and the wall opposite.

"Well, if y'er gonna be so impolite, no room then." The man towered over you, and although you tried to keep calm, you couldn't help the way your breath shook as you stared up at the man.

The sudden sound of the swinging front doors slamming against the walls made you jump, "Petal!" You heard Geralt call.

The man almost instantly stepped away from you, his gaze now pointing to the floor. You turned to Geralt, your eyes wide with confusion and shock.

"Was wondering if you had gotten our rooms" He added, calmly sauntering over to you and gently placing a firm hand on your lower back, pushing you quickly out of the corner and into his side.

Your mind was racing, both from the shock of the inn keeper's advances and Geralt's sudden entrance and even more sudden touches. It wasn't like he hadn't ever touched you before, it was only that this felt different. Other times, he had just aimlessly grabbed at you, quickly pulling you away and out of reach from whatever creature you found yourselves up against, those touches were rough and almost meaningless, he was only saving you because he had to. You knew you were nothing but another burden for him to worry about on those hunts.

This was different. This was soft, protective, and for a moment, you even thought it was something akin to caring.

You could hear the door shudder behind you again and you could tell it was Jaskier, a soft 'oh' coming from behind you as he watched the situation unfold.

"I was just tellin' her we got three rooms just for ya right next to each other, down that hall" The man rushed, pointing down the dimly lit hallway with shaky fingers, "Just straight to the left."

Geralt took the small bag from you, reaching into it and placing a handful of coins on the counter. "Thank you" He mumbled, an intimidating glare on his face before he led you off.

You noticed how few coins he had given the man as you passed the counter and knew it was nowhere near the actual cost for three rooms, yet the man still didn't dare to say a thing as you three walked off.

Probably a matter of self preservation more than anything.

You opened the door to your room, a satisfied hum escaping your lips as you felt the warmth of the small bedroom already begin to flood your shaken senses.

"Are you alright?"

Your breath hitched in your throat at the unexpected voice that came from behind you, turning quickly to see that Geralt still lingered in the doorway.

"Fine," You sputtered, "Just a little shaken, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

You had never seen him so concerned, his brows were furrowed as he looked at you, his lips drawn into a thin line of concern.

You smiled softly at him, "I'm fine, I promise, just need some rest." You threw your arms above your head as you yawned once again.

"That's... Good." The words seemed to almost pain Geralt to say, like he was confessing something to you he hadn't even confessed to himself yet.

"Thank you, though, for your help." You smiled, a foreign heat blooming in your chest as you uttered the words.

Geralt didn't respond at first, his head tilting to the floor, though you swore you watched the beginnings of a smile begin to turn the corners of his lips. He mumbled a quiet "Goodnight", as his eyes flickered to you form, quickly looking you up and down again before shutting the door behind him, leaving you no less astonished then you were before.

The morning came all too quickly, after a rather sleepless night, you felt yourself longing for another night's stay, and if it weren't for the previous night's events, you thought that maybe you would have been able to convince Geralt to stay one more night, but you knew neither him, nor you would want to stay another evening under the same roof with that man.

You weren't sure if you would have gotten much sleep regardless.

The word echoed through your fatigue-addled mind, even as you felt yourself slowly pulled to consciousness by the slivers of sunlight that peaked through the thin curtains in the bedroom.

Petal.

He could have just called you by your name, it wasn't like he didn't know it by now. But Geralt was strategic, he never did anything without a reason, so maybe it was just a tactic to get the man away from you? Imply that the two of you were a bit more familiar to scare the man off?

"How are you faring?" Jaskier asked, tearing you from your thoughts as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

"I'm fine" You replied, staring to feel like a broken record, "I am, Geralt seemed to come in just in time though" You chuckled lightly, both watching him as Geralt readied Roach

"He always has a way of knowing when you're in trouble" Jaskier mumbled

"What-" You were quickly cut off by the familiar whinny of Roach, the both of you instinctively aligning yourselves on the side of her as she made her way through the town.

Jaskier only let out a smug, self satisfied hum, continuing to look forward and leaving you to torture yourself with your own thoughts.

You couldn't tell how long it had been since you left the inn, it could have been days since and you probably wouldn't have noticed, your brain only occupied by the teasing phrase Jaskier had spoken to you.

"Are you alright?" You heard Geralt's coarse voice utter once again, you huffed in frustration, how many times must everyone ask you that?

"Yes." You answered sharply, though a strange, pained feeling washed over you at your tone towards him, you chose not to think too much on it now. You finally turned up to him, noticing how he had suddenly stopped, the abrupt pause had Jaskier also now looking to him, his head tilted in confusion.

If you had blinked, you would have missed it at the speed at which Geralt dismounted, but he now stood directly in front of you, his face only inches from your own, and your chest filled with that unfamiliar, warm feeling from before.

"You can ride... If you'd like..." He finally spoke, his eyes never meeting your own as he did.

You had to stifle the scoff that threatened to leave your lips, for a moment you wondered if some Doppler had snuck into his room at night and taken his place, but then you looked into his eyes, that same unintelligible bashfulness when he stood in your doorway had appeared in his eyes once again.

"That would be nice... Thank you" You would have been a fool to say no, this would surely be the only time he would ever offer for anyone to take his place on Roach. Not only that, but you felt yourself thinking of how his face would possibly fall if you denied him, and you almost winced at the thought.

With just as much suddenness as the night before, his large hands wrapped around your waist, "May I?" He asked, a surprisingly timid smile appearing on his face.

You nodded softly, your eyes growing wide when he lifted you onto the horse as if you weighed nothing. You swallowed thickly as you adjusted yourself on Roach, nodding again as Geralt began to pull on her reigns to continue the journey.

You looked around you, sighing as you admired the new view from atop the horse, but even as you admired your surroundings, you still heard the soft grumble that came from the man.

"Petal"

You were too stunned to say anything, you almost thought you had imagined it, but the annoyed groan from Jaskier beside you only confirmed what you now knew to be true, he had said it again.

There was a long journey ahead, but you noticed how you seemed to dread it a little bit less.

You weren't even supposed to be there.

Both you and Jaskier had initially stayed back at the small camp you had set up that morning, peacefully enjoying some tea you had managed to make after several failed attempts of starting a fire.

Geralt said it was to be simple, nothing he hadn't done before, but something about the deafening silence you both heard when the lake was so close, had something uneasy settle in your stomachs.

"Geralt?" Jaskier called, the both of you now sitting in anxious silence as you awaited for some sign of life.

Though nothing came.

Jasker called his name again, his cries once more met with the same blaring quietness.

It was as if your legs moved on their own accord as you carelessly threw your small cup down, starting in the direction of the lake, ignoring the concerned yells from Jaskier as you did.

You weren't the monster hunting type, that's not what they had brought you on for in the first place.

You were bait at most, and someone to make tea at the least.

You didn't kill monsters.

You felt a fearful shudder run through you at the idea that you may actually have to fight something, this was nothing anyone had ever prepared you for, but you supposed there was a first for everything.

The foul smell of the bubbling water filled your nose first before you even began to see the lake, though still, you heard nothing.

You continued to sprint as fast as your legs could take you, silently praying to hear some sound, any sound, as you got closer.

A yell, a grunt, a whisper even, you'd take anything.

But still, the silence persisted.

You couldn't quiet the shocked yell that ripped through your lungs at the sight when you finally reached the body of water.

The monster was dead, and somewhat guiltily, you felt your shoulders sag in relief as you observed how it's limbs had been haphazardly thrown in all directions, and the familiar sword nestled within the top of it's skull. But laying along the muddy bank was Geralt, both hands pressing firmly on his side, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched.

You called his name, rushing to his side, almost sliding across the ooze-covered ground as you knelt beside him.

As if he sensed your presence, he moaned, sluggishly turning his head to you.

"What happened?" You asked frantically, he only moaned again in response and you huffed, distraught and almost delirious as your eyes scanned him.

As you sat beside him and got a closer look at his form, you could tell he was bleeding, a dark, crimson liquid leaking between fingers he pressed so snugly against his side. You tried to calm yourself as your frenzied hands wandered his chest and torso, searching for any other injuries, you knew he had to be taken back to the camp, but you were also certain you wouldn't be able to drag him back there on your own, nor did you think that even with you and Jaskier's strength combined you would be able to do so, leaving you with only one other option.

"Geralt?" He groaned, his eyes now blinking open, "Geralt?" You grabbed both his shoulders, briskly shaking them before you called his name again. After a moment, his eyes finally fully opened, a soft smile appearing on his features as he slowly began to gain his full consciousness.

"Petal..." He hummed, his eyes almost fluttering closed again before you shook him a second time.

"Can you do something for me? Geralt?" Your voice was almost hysterical as you spoke, "Can you do me one favor?"

Geralt continued to smile gingerly as he nodded his head.

"Okay, could you get up for me? Could you stand?"

His face immediately dropped into a pout as he shook his head, a deep rumble of a chuckle escaping him as he did.

You took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. You didn't know as much as Geralt, but you knew enough to know that this was not good.

He was delirious.

You internally cursed yourself for not listening to him more in those quiet moments he would talk to Roach about the other monsters he had dealt with.

You had no idea what you were dealing with.

"Camp..." He finally mumbled, his voice was weak, not like his usually commanding tone.

"Yes, we have to get you-"

He almost knocked you over at the force at which he abruptly stood, his legs trembled as he took slow steps, and you shot up beside him, lifting his arm and placing it around your shoulders to balance him as much as you could.

"C'mon-" You strained as he leaned all of his weight on you for a moment, "Let's get you back"

The rest of the dawdling journey was spent in the company of ditzy hiccups and laughs, you would imagine what a handful he would be if he ever got drunk, but your mind was too preoccupied with the still-bleeding wound Geralt covered with his other hand on his side.

"Oh my Gods" Jaskier murmured the moment he saw you appear from beyond the brush, rushing to Geralt's other side to assist you.

"What happened?" He inquired, tone almost just as frantic as yours

"I don't know."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know." You hated how your voice shook as you spoke, if your voice was stronger, maybe you would have yelled at Jaskier for his insistent line of questioning, but your only focus was now on Geralt.

You both grunted as you layed him down on the thin cot in his tent, Jaskier turned to look through the bag that was placed in the corner, anxiously tossing bottles and small pouches to the side.

Geralt grumbled once again, turning again to his side to look at you. "Petal..." He groaned, and you found yourself nodding.

"I'm right here" You sighed, your eyes now brimming with tears. "We're going to take care of you, okay? Like you've always taken care of us. You're going to be okay, promise?"

His delusional smile faded for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No, no, don't do that, you are going to be okay... Jaskier!"

"I'm doing my best!" He scrambled, "It's usually Geralt doing this-"

Geralt's left hand suddenly fell from his side, fingers weakly pointing to a rounder, black bottle that had been tossed aside in Jaskier's initial panic.

Jaskier clumsily placed the bottle in his hand, your shoulders sagged in relief when Geralt swiftly removed the cork from the bottle, drinking its contents in a single swig. His breathing seemed to even in mere seconds as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Well," Jaskier sighed, "He's not dead."

You couldn't recall a time when you had seen him sleep for this long, in fact, you couldn't seem to recall a night where you had seen him sleep at all.

Even as you turned his body and adjusted his limbs so you could properly bandage and clean the deep slash on his side, his light snoring continued.

Jaskier had left the tent hours ago, adamantly saying how he needed to rest after such a stressful event, even though you could still here the soft strumming of a lute and quiet humming just outside the tent long after he had left the two of you.

The world was quiet once Jaskier had officially retired, Geralt's breathing and the muted crackling of a slowly dying fire being the only sounds that surrounded you as you worked.

Though Geralt was never the most talkative travel companion, it was still strange for him to be completely silent, not even a grunt or hushed 'hmm' to break the reticence.

"You worried us, you know? I know you hate that, people worrying over you, but you scared us" You whispered, trailing your fingers along the injury, now completely covered by beige cloths and hidden underneath his shirt. "You scared me, I thought I was going to have to kill a monster" You chuckled to yourself, "I wasn't sure how that was going to go, maybe you should show me... At some point... Maybe" Your voice was wistful as you spoke, wondering if he would ever take you up on that offer once he finally awoke, most likely not.

He had always made it a point to never put you in any real danger, even though sometimes you'd find yourself standing directly in front of jaws that would surely eat you alive in seconds, Geralt would always assure you that you were safe, that he would kill the beast before it ever got close enough to truly hurt you.

Every time you had asked him for any sort of training so you could defend yourself if anything went wrong, he'd only scoff at you "I don't need you hurting yourself, or worse." He would always say, "I'll handle it, Petal."

"Why do you call me that?" The words tumbled from you before you could even think about them, "I do have a name you know," You smiled "I've never understood why you call me that." Maybe you didn't mind it so much.

"Soft."

You froze, unsure if your mind was playing tricks on you in the silence, or if Geralt had actually spoke.

"It's because you're soft."

Yes, he was definitely speaking to you.

You chose to ignore him completely at fist, looking forward as if he wasn't laying directly below of you as you sat on the small log you had turned into a makeshift seat. He's just waking up from a dream, you thought, he's still recovering

You heard a deep chuckle before he spoke again, "You wanted to know, and now you're ignoring me."

"Geralt? You're awake?" You asked, finally facing him.

"Clearly."

"How are you feeling?" You stammered, your breaths becoming shallower as you wondered if he had heard all of what you had said.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm glad" You sighed, "I'll leave you then." You added abruptly, your only thought being of leaving the situation as quickly as possible. Though just as you began to stand, a firm hand gripped your wrist.

"No, stay." He grumbled, his eyes blinking away the remainder of his fatigue. "Please."

You returned to your place and he slowly released you, his fingers softly lingering on your hand before it dropped to his side again. Geralt groaned as he attempted to sit up, almost wincing as he finally straightened himself.

"You should res-"

"I'm fine." He grumbled, "Thank you, for... This" Geralt gestured to his side as you nodded.

"No need to thank me," You did your best to hide the twinge of anxiety in your faintly trembling voice as you spoke, but you were certain you'd already been found out regardless. "It's the least I could do after all you've done-"

His rough hand had found yours again, the pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles as he listened to you.

"For me..." You managed to continue, your eyes focusing on the abrupt, calming touches from the man in front of you.

You could almost swear there was the beginning of a soft smile on his lips as his eyes followed his fingers, lightly tracing the ridges of the top of your hand. "It's because you're soft, Petal" He finally stated, "I never meant anything by it."

"No it's nice-" You faltered, "I just never thought it was because you liked something about me" Your voice was thick with weariness and confession as you spoke. It wasn't that Geralt hadn't shown you any ounce of caring or friendliness during the time you had known him, it was only the fact that you never thought that a man so blunt and threatening would ever give you an epithet based off of something as gentle as the softness of your touch.

Your eyes finally flickered to his and you almost instantly wanted to return your gaze to your lap. His stare was too sharp, too intense, for you to even handle without having to look away for a moment.

You had to think that he was still feeling the effects of whatever venom or blood loss - induced haze that had gotten you into his tent in the first place.

He couldn't be looking at you like that.

Like he wanted to smother you alive.

Like he wanted to keep you all to himself in this small space forever.

Like he wanted to love you.

A contemplative 'hmm' was all you received in response at first, though still tracing over your hand, he continued "And why do you think that?" He questioned.

"You never wanted me to join you in the first place."

His movements stilled, you found yourself even shocked by your own words. You had never spoke to him so plainly about your feelings, perhaps it was something about being so close to him that made it so difficult to hide.

"That's true." He acknowledged, and you felt a dull, thrumming ache of discontent bloom in your chest at his admission.

"I was only ever bait for you to use to get you monsters" You added, feeling an unexpected rush of tears flood your eyelids.

There was a brief pause before he responded again, "That's true."

"And when I ask for you to train me, to show me something that could be more useful than just standing and waiting for something to kill me, you refuse." You felt helpless as you spoke, feeling like you were finally admitting things to yourself you had pushed to the very corner of your mind for so long. You felt disposable, and it hurt to watch as he mindlessly agreed to all of your concerns. "I want to be something more..."

You meant to say something else, something quick and biting so he understood that you weren't to be taken advantage of anymore, but you weren't sure that even if you opened your mouth a single sound would even escape. You felt your cheeks begin to dampen as your teeth pulled at your quivering bottom lip.

Through the heart beat thundering in your ears, you heard Geralt murmur your name, nevertheless, you refused to look at him, your gaze still fixed on the soil under your feet as you tried to stifle your own whimpers.

Your breath hitched in your lungs when two fingers grabbed your chin, tilting your head upwards. You hadn't noticed how he had shifted, now kneeling in front of you, his face level with your own.

He stated your name again, this time with more certainty as he stared back at you, his brow lightly furrowed as his hand shifted to cup your face, his thumb whipping the tear that rolled down your cheek. "But so much has changed since I've begun to know you..." He whispered, "You are more to me."

You didn't have a moment to respond before his lips crashed into yours, his other hand creeping up to your neck as he pulled you closer. His kiss was bruising, though it still remained a gentle mess of passion and tears as he cradled you between his palms, holding you with a tenderness as if he held the entire planet within his hands. He groaned into you when your hands found purchase on the collar of his black tunic, your senses completely surrounded with nothing but him as he slanted his lips across yours.

"You are more to me than that" He spoke breathlessly, his lips still continuing to chase your own between words, "I care for you, and I know that I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Geralt-"

"Please, I can't lose you because of this. You mean too much to me." His breathing was shallow as he pulled away from you, hands still cupping your cheeks as he did.

You could only nod at first before finally gathering yourself enough to speak, "I care for you, Geralt..." Your smile was weak and tearful as you replied. "Too much to leave now."

"Stay?" He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours as you nodded softly once again.

Geralt let out a pained moan as he adjusted himself on the cot, slowly lowering himself on the linen and shifting himself just enough to allow you room to lay beside him.

You smiled as you pressed against him, the comforting warmth of his arms wrapping around your waist already beginning to push you into sleep.

Before the exhaustion of the day could finally pull you under, you felt the delicate press of Geralt's lips against your forehead, the quiet rumble of his voice finally lulling you to sleep.

"Soft."

oh my goodness gracious, my heart, i am actually kind of super excited about how this turned out surprisingly!! i do love some hurt/comfort, and i've been feeling slightly e h about myself, so i hope this does bring some comfort to anyone feeling that way!! or just some comfort to you all in general!! i hope you are all doing so well!! mwauh!!

want more geralt? check out my masterlist!!

all I want is to have a room that looks like I'm old biology professor whose been away from human civilization for half a century in the forest who spends my evenings reading old books researching about cryptids with my cat surrounded by my many treasures and trinkets I've collected over the years and my many, many growing plants that nearly take over all of my house.

I can’t fucking articulate what I wanna say a lot of the time and I feel like a hurt ppls feelings cause I’m trying to say something but I don’t know how to articulate it correctly in time for the conversation bc I always feel like I need to fill the silence and keep the flow so I just start saying random shit

Yk when you have a dream abt someone you know irl where, in the dream, you’re like dating or talking or whatever,, but you never thought about that person like that irl,, so now you’re thinking abt that person in that light cause your brain decided to make you question everything? Yea me too.. :D

!!!

FUCK TOMMY LEE AND HERES WHY

I’ve seen a lot of discourse over Pam and Tommy in the past few days. So as a lover of Sebastian Stan, and someone who is heavily invested in 80s/90s rock and grunge culture, I’m here to give you the facts, because some of you fuckheads won’t do your own research.

Just because Sebastian Stan as Tommy Lee fuels your love for rockstar!bucky, does not mean you should support it.

And remember folks, Tommy Lee is a horrible piece of shit, and Pamela Anderson deserved much better.

ONE - Tommy Lee is an abuser. In a case Pamela Anderson filed with the Los Angeles court, she stated that Tommy Lee had gotten jealous of the fact that she gave their children more attention. And so, he resorted to physical violence. According to Daily Mail, the papers stated, “Tommy kicked me violently in the back several times and in the buttocks. He was completely out of control.” Tommy Lee only gained four months in jail. He also abused his children. Pamela Anderson reported that he dangled his son in front of a “temperamental” rottweiler. She also wrote in the documents, “Brandon has told me that Tommy hurts him and pinches him and Dylan. Dylan has told me that he hates me for making him go to his father's.” He remained abusive well into their adult years. In March 2018, Lee’s fiancé, Brittany Furlan, called 911 after a fight broke out between Lee and his son, Brandon Thomas Lee. According to a transcript of the call, Furlan told the dispatcher, “My stepson and my fiancé got into a fight and pushed his father; And then he asked his son to leave and he wouldn’t leave and he punched him.”

TWO - Tommy Lee also has a history of sexual assault. According to a report from Tucker Max, one passage in the book “The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band” read, “For ten years solid, we had been invincible. No one could touch us. Tommy and I had raped a drunk girl in the closet, and she had forgotten about it.”

THREE - Its easy to see how much of a womaniser Tommy Lee is. Another major confession in the band’s book involves Tommy Lee and his womanising habits. One of the stories in the book claims Tommy Lee had sex with a woman just so he could drive her Jaguar. He was notorious for his womanising ways. His marriage to Heather Locklear also failed due to his infidelity, as he cheated on her with a porn star.

FOUR - He fetishes a disability. During his interview with Rolling Stone, Tommy Lee explained, “I have this crazy fascination with little people. Like, if I see one, I’ll run up to him and be like, How’s it going? To be really honest with you, I want to take them all home with me. And I know I can’t do that, but for some reason I always try. They just remind me of fun and the circus. I don’t know what it is. And I’ve just always called my world “Tommyland” — like Disneyland, but a lot crazier.”

FIVE - He’s racist. He and Sixx verbally harassed and assaulted a black security guard during a concert in October 1997. According to a report from CBS, it all started when Sixx allegedly started a racial tirade against the guard and then encouraged a crowd of 2,500 to attack him. Lee, in turn, poured a drink on the guard’s head. When charges were filed against Lee following the incident, he turned himself into the authorities.

SIX - He fired workers without paying them a single cent- even after they had obliged by his constantly changing wishes and lack of pay.

SEVEN - He was seen as a ‘sex god’, and both he and his band, Motley Crue, were thrown back into fame. Pamela Anderson was shunned by society, and was completely sexualised and harassed over it.

I beg you to do your own research. Read about why Tommy Lee isn’t a good person, in any way. And please, respect Pamela Anderson. She deserved so much better than what she got. Don’t support Pam and Tommy just because your favourite actor is in it. Don’t support any show that tells a morally wrong and traumatising story, just because you like someone in it.

Please also reblog this, share it, just make sure you and your mutuals arent supporting this shitty man, just because Seb plays him.

Is there such a thing as reality disphoria and euphoria because if there is,, I get so much euphoria from this video and I don’t know why. It makes me feel like I’m living in a cottage in Harry Potter all because of the bowl???

Side note: I need the bowl

#nap time 😴

⚠️NWH SPOILERS⚠️

Bruh if it’s how I think it is..

Everyone in the universe forgot who Peter Parker is..

That means that the other Peter’s family and friends forgot too..

Cause strange made everyone in the universe forget so the people from the other universes also forgot