#summer soon so ill have the time to run another one of these

[shortstorytournament]

so does anyone want a season two

#hey im back #summer soon so ill have the time to run another one of these #and i wanna share more short stories!

[puck-bunnies]

behind closed doors

umich!luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, fingering, praising, choking, not proof read

word count: 2.3k

me and luke were never much of friends, never even talked much. at least, that’s what everyone thought. no one ever knows what happens behind closed doors.

i have not used this app in forever, meaning i haven’t written a fic in quite a long time so this is me trying to get back into writing. sorry if this is not great and a little rushed, i just haven’t written anything in like five months. anyways, try to enjoy this fic and ill try to write more as soon as i can.

i sit in the living room of my best friends boyfriends house, she sits beside me as all of ethan’s roommates take up every other seat. the lightning vs islanders game plays on the tv, having all of our eyes glued to it.

the boys are in a constant state of yelling, wether is celebrating, yelling at how stupid the refs are, or booing the other team. i’m not as invested as usual, my teams aren’t playing, but ill never miss an opportunity to a hockey game.

my mind also focuses on the close proximity as luke sits beside me, our thighs lightly rubbing against each other ever so softly. the warm summer weather left me wearing shorts and a tank top, causing luke’s hand to glide across my bare skin as he secretly places his hand on my thigh.

i never intended on sneaking around with luke, it all just happened one day, the house was empty and quiet. we got to talking, venturing from subjects like our classes, plans for our future, and somehow turning into our sex life.

he learned that i’ve never really gotten quite what i need, never feeling that spark with any guy that i’ve been with. them never wanting to try anything i’ve wanted to, i’ve never been fully satisfied.

he continued to tell me how he has slept around quite a bit. nearly almost always leaving the rink with some new blonde puck bunny stuck to his arm. he didn’t wear it as a trophy, or say that he regretted any of it, all just saying it’s apart of his past. his history he can’t and won’t change.

one thing led to another, his hands roaming my body as my lips bit down on his. my hands squeezing the mattress tightly with every moan escaping my lips.

we didn’t even stop there, whenever we could find a time to be alone, we were tangled in each others arms.

here we are now, not even able to keep our hands to ourselves in sight of one another. i try to shake his hand off, not wanting any of the surrounding eyes to see his intimate gesture. he doesn’t move, squeezing my skin harder. i softly pierce my bottom lip with my teeth, try to calm my nerves. i can feel heat bubbling up to my face, painting my cheeks with a faint blush.

my eyes peer over to him, giving him a pleading look to start behaving. he doesn’t budge, giving me a side smirk before returning his eyes on the game.

rutger groans loudly as the 2nd period finishes, “fuck the lightning.” he swears as they’re pulling a 4-1 lead. he chugs back the rest of his beer, throwing the can on the ground in some grown man temper tantrum.

the ads run during the commercial break, leaving the rest of us to disregard the television for the time being. my heart starts to quicken, without their distraction of the game they’re eyes could fall upon luke’s hand on me.

my mind tries to work fast, but the only thing i can think of doing is grabbing the blanket next to me and covering myself with it, concealing us from the wandering eyes. luke’s lips curl into a smirk, proud of me not forcing him off, knowing that i want it. that i want him.

his hand becomes bolder, rubbing up and down my inner thigh. i bite my bottom lip again, trying to stabilize myself from this new feeling. his fingers become more adventurous, going to the hem of my shorts.

“fuck.” i softly mumble to myself, luke’s soft chuckle tells me that he hears my light groans. his fingers don’t stop there, rubbing up to the bottom of my shirt, toying with the cotton material.

the pads of his fingers brush against my sensitive skin, right across the bottom of my stomach. fire engulfs my stomach, my breath hitches as he rubs softly back and forth, tickling my skin.

the game comes back for the final period, my eyes keep trained on the hockey game, but my mind can only focus on his touch as it drives me insane.

he feels my stomach hitch with my breath, he knows i want him so badly, he knows what he does to me. i squeeze my thighs together, trying to cause some type of sensation in my growing wetness.

i can’t take his teasing fingers anymore, “meet me in my room.” i whisper to him. rising from the couch and walking away from the crowded living room. i head for the direction of the bathroom, making them hear my footsteps as i lead their ears to the door closing. i stay outside the bathroom, tiptoeing to my room in an unsteady waiting of luke.

the door finally opens, luke quickly closing the door silently behind him. a deep breath is all i can hear from him, turning around to look at me patiently sitting on the foot of my bed. he takes a seat beside me, quickly gripping my hips and pulling me onto his lap.

“it’s been awhile since we’ve been alone,” my fingers rake up the back of his head, through his soft brown hair, my finger swirling around a curly lock. “too long.” a soft sigh parts from his lips as my fingers lightly scratch at his scalp.

he keeps his hands on my hips, roughly gripping at my denim shorts. “i missed your hands all over me. you can’t tease me out there and not expect me to want more.”

our bodies come closer, our lips so close together, our hearts syncing their beats. i can barely hold myself back from making up that final inch. “tell me how badly you want me.”

“i want you..” he shyly gives into my need. it’s not enough for me, i feed off of hearing how badly he wants me, his hands rubbing up and down my body, the feeling of his cock being buried deep inside me.

“oh yeah…” my lips attach to his neck, softly kissing down from his jaw.

finally he gives in, “i want to feel you against me, your lips on mine, every inch of your beautiful body baby.”

a devilish smirk spreads on my face, “mmm, is that right?” i mumble against his neck, softly sinking my teeth into his sensitive skin, sucking the spot to soothe it after.

“oh god yes.” luke practically moans out. his hands become adventurous, slowly going down to hold my ass in his hands, gripping at my clothed skin. they make their way down farther, gripping at my exposed thighs while my kisses go back up his jaw.

i crave for his taste, forcefully pressing my lips against his in a hungry state. my tongue quickly sliding into his mouth, hands combing through his messy curls, pushing him closer into me. he guides my hips back and forth on him, i can feel him hardening underneath me.

breaking the kiss to catch my breath, i drop my head onto his shoulders as i feel his hands press against my pussy. my hips still grind on him, but instead of just on his hard cock, it’s on his fingers. “mmm, you want me that bad?” he chuckles, i nod against his shoulder.

he undoes my shorts, exposing the top of my pink lacy panties, his fingers drag down them, going farther into my pants. they settle on my wetness, my hips stop rocking, focusing on the closer touch. “god you’re soaked.”

my lip sticks to my teeth in a harsh lip bite, my walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled by him. his fingers work slow and teasingly, rubbing circles around my clothed clit, watching me squirm on top of him. my back slightly arches, legs slowly opening wider for him to have better access to my aching pussy. “needy, are we?”

i softly whimper, my hips start to grind again, craving more attention from his teasingly slow hands. his fingers move the crotch of my panties aside, touching my wetness with his bare fingers, feeling my folds and them dripping for him. my head lifts off his shoulder, taking a glance down at his hand stuffed down my pants, looking back deep into his eyes.

i take a deep breath out, without a single warning he thrusts a finger in my pussy. making me loudly squeal with surprise. he quickly covers my mouth, stopping his finger in me. “you have to be quiet princess, you don’t want us getting caught, now do you?” he asks. i shake my head no, he hums at my obedience. “good girl.” his voice is in a whisper, softly praising me.

he begins to move his finger once again, letting me adjust to the new sensation before adding another, stretching me out for him. curling his fingers up to my g-spot. finally trusting me enough not to scream, he moves his hand off of my face, settling it down on my hip to keep me steady.

my hands grasp at his curly locks, trying to compose myself. as he adds another finger i bite down on my bottom lip, trying to keep the wanting moans from escaping my lips. a smirk spreads across luke’s face, watching what he can do to me with just his hands. i curse under my breath, dropping my head down to keep my brain straight, the pleasure slowly becoming less bearable.

his fingers quicken, hand comes off my hip and to my chin, lifting my head to force me to stare back into his eyes. “look at me while i’m finger fucking you baby.” my teeth puncture my bottom lip harder, my chest heaving with all the moans i keep to myself. i slip up and let on me out, hard hands hit my throat, softly squeezing. “i thought i told you to keep quiet?”

his grip loosens to allow me to take a breath, closing back up as soon as my chest rises. another finger slips in my cunt, my legs start to squirm, toes curling and hands squeezing his hair. his fingers losen from my throat, falling down to the straps of my tank top. he pulls one strap off each shoulder, one at a time. hooking two fingers at the neckline and pulling down, my tits falling out from my lack of wearing a bra.

he wastes no time before gripping my breast, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive bud. i clench around his fingers, my senses overloading with pleasure. he lowers his head, kitty licking my other nipple. i softly moan, not loud enough for luke to get me in trouble again, but enough for him to know the things he’s doing to me.

my stomach clenches, the feeling i know very well as my head starts to feel light. “i’m so close.” i whimper out. luke doesn’t let up, switching to my other breast, sucking on the nipple before softly biting the skin.

my whole body clenches as i feel my climax, luke’s quick fingers curling inside me quickly. it all comes raining down, my pussy clenching around him as i coat his fingers with myself. he backs up, letting me heave and fall down on his chest to catch my breath.

i quietly curse under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut to recover from my high. i life my head back up to look luke in the eyes. he removes his fingers from my folds, fingers coated with my cum. he slides his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. my breath catches in my throat again, god damn he makes me want more.

“you’re such a good girl Y/N.” he pops his fingers out of his mouth, “i wish i could fuck you silly right now. but i want to keep all those precious moans to myself, when we can be completely alone.”

before i can even react to his words he puts his lips back onto mine, slipping his tongue in my mouth to let me taste myself. his fingers plant back onto my hips, helping me up to my feet so he can get out from underneath me.

“you go get yourself cleaned up and meet me back in the living room. i pray we weren’t gone too long for anyone to notice.” he whispers, fixing my hair from the sweat that beads on my forehead.

i nod to his words, giving him one last little kiss before he silently slips out of my bedroom. my try to regain my normal breathing patterns, my brain still fuzzy from my previous orgasm.

i obey luke’s wishes, tiptoeing to the bathroom to clean myself off. splashing water into my face to try to remove my blushing red cheeks. i walk back out to the bathroom, seeing everyone engrossed in the final minutes of the third period. i thankfully sigh, slipping back between the guys to sit back down beside luke. he offers me a light smirk, we both then back to the television, watching the game unfold.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #luke hughes fic #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes one shot #puck-bunnies

[michwritesstuff]

Enchanting to Meet You (Bridgerton: Benedict Bridgerton)

pairing: female reader (she/her) x Benedict Bridgerton

summary: In your debut social season in London, you can’t help but be absolutely enchanted by a certain gentleman. You wouldn’t be lucky enough to find a true love match after one ball…right?

notes/warnings: no warnings, just all fluff! does this song not scream dancing with benedict for the first time! stolen glances and witty remarks! like hello?

word count: 1.3k

The carriage was moving impossibly slow.

Trees passing by at a snail’s pace as you watched the light of your aunt’s estate grow closer in the distance.

The desire to run to your bedroom and bathe in the excitement of the night intensifying as each moment passed.

“A lovely opening ball, was it not y/n?”

You snapped your head from leaning on the window to where your mother and aunt sat across from you.

“Yes, quite lovely indeed,” you remarked.

You had grown up coming to your aunt’s estate in the summers.

As a child, you remembered begging your mother to take you to London for the social season as your older sisters were being presented to society.

You wondered if your sisters ever had a night as magical as you did tonight.

And it was all because of him.

Benedict Bridgerton.

You liked the name Benedict; you had never met another one before.

The blood rushed to your cheeks, so scarlet, at the memory of dancing the night away with him.

“Oh y/n, you are looking quite ill. You have had such a busy night; it would do you well to get a good night’s sleep and think on the many gentlemen who will call on you tomorrow.”

You could not help but lay awake that night, the moonlight shining through the curtains, as you thought about the entire night. Replaying it in its entirety, from start to finish.

The conversation was effortless, no lulls or awkward pauses you experienced with others.

What would you do if he had not called upon you the next day?

Would you be forced to entertain the other prospects in hope of waiting and biding time for his affection.

Was there someone else in the picture?

Why had you not thought to ask his intentions?

Was the chemistry enough to guide you through this season?

Your endless thoughts were torture.

Finally dozing off, the moonlight soon disappeared as the darkness of the night sky was replaced by the bright and glistening rays of the sun.

A subtle knock came from the other side of the door, your lady maid calling out.

“Miss Y/N, we must start getting you ready.”

With one final powdering of your nose, you made your way towards the parlor room.

As you walked in you spotted Benedict sitting on the settee near the large portrait of your family.

He stood up immediately once he noticed your presence.

As your eyes met the memories of the night before came flooding back.

******

You stood with your mother and aunt at the edge of the dance floor, running your hands down your dress, doing your best to smooth out the ruffles from where you sat.

“Miss y/l/n, what a pleasure to have you join us this season.”

“Thank you, Lady Danbury,” you smiled politely.

“Let us hope that she is as lucky as her sisters in finding a great companion,” your mother said.

You nodded your head as you took in the scene around you.

Girls and their mamas circling like vultures, while still maintaining the perfect amount of poise to be considered elegant and respectful.

It was much more overwhelming than you were anticipating.

 The magic of what you imagined as a little girl was slowly fading the more you felt the pressure of finding a husband by the end of the season.

If forcing laughter and faking smiles is what it took to get through the night, then so be it.

You had evaded a few gentlemen by writing down the name of poets on your dance card, smiling shyly as you quickly waved the ‘full’ dance card as a polite dismissal.

It was a pity really, you loved to dance.

The small talk and inquiring about your pianoforte on the other hand was quite detestable.

You had just gotten done pity laughing at Lord Hardy’s ‘humble’ comment about his many properties, when above his shoulder your eyes met a couple of cool blue ones across the room.

Your insincerity dropped, curiosity taking over as you excused yourself from Lord Hardy.

The man had done the same with whatever company had previously occupied him, gently patting the man in front of him as he maneuvered his way towards you.

As he approached you bowed your head slightly.

“Miss--?”

“Y/N”

“Miss Y/N, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I suppose we have not. I have just come to London for the season.”

“Ah, the marriage mart? Believer of love, are we?”

“Are you not?” you challenged back.

“In an artists’ sense, yes. Not in the way that I must bow, and you curtsy while we skate around each for months to appease our families What is it truly to admire a woman? To look at her and feel inspiration? To delight in her beauty, so much so that all your defenses crumble, that you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her.”

You were shocked by his seemingly earnest words. Perhaps the shallow nature of society was not present in everyone.

“Well, we seem to have that in common Mr.—”

“Bridgerton, but you may call me Benedict.”

“Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, the artist or a poet?” you teased.

“This doesn’t really seem like the company you would choose to surround yourself with,” you remarked.

“Quite true Miss Y/N. I fear I am rather trapped among the duties of my family to attend tonight’s ball. You see, my sister Eloise is in her debut season as well.”

You followed his gaze to where a young lady stood next to an older woman. From afar their relationship was quite clear, a mama instructing her daughter on all the dos and don’ts of the night.

“Might you join me in a dance Miss Y/N?”

You looked down to your dance card, the spots filled with fake names.

Benedict grabbed your wrist, bringing the cards towards him for a closer examination.

He laughed as he looked at the names written, scratching out the last two to write his own.

“I do hope Lord Keats and Lord Wordsworth don’t mind me taking their spots.”

“They’ll live, I hear they have greater things to attend to.”

“Greater than you miss? I have high doubts.”

You took Benedict’s hand as the music began to play.

Your hand felt so right in his, as natural as breathing.

You could not help the fluttering in your heart as he whisked you across the dance floor.

This moment, this is the moment you imagined as a young girl.

The playful conversation, perfectly countering his quick remarks. Is this what it was like to meet someone at your level?

Your insincerity and vacancy from earlier replaced by a fulfilling excitement.

“It seems highly improper to have danced continuously with you Benedict.”

“I suppose it is a bit suggestive, do you regret it?” he asked seriously.

You thought for a long second before you looked at him properly.

“No, I do not regret it. Your company is quite refreshing and enjoyable.”

“Coming from someone with your elegance, I take that as the highest compliment.”

You had spent the rest of the evening walking around with your mother and aunt, engaging in superficial conversations, your eyes constantly peeled for a certain Bridgerton.

Your stolen glances and playful smirks across the ballroom went seemingly unnoticed by most.

However, after a brief encounter with Benedict at the drinks table, you felt the wandering eyes of a young lady wearing a lovely yellow dress.

You smiled sweetly at her before returning to your mother’s side.

******

“Miss Y/N, I hope it is not a surprise for me to have called on you so early this morning?”

“On the contrary, I would have been quite disappointed if you had not.”

“Would you care to join me for a promenade?”

“I would be delighted Mr. Bridgerton.”

check out the rest of my work ⤑ here!

#teentvimagines #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton masterlist #bridgerton fic #bridgerton family #bridgerton imagine #colin bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #lady whistledown #penelope featherington #Spotify

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT6

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 5642

WARNINGS: none :)

SUMMARY: The Queen considers whether it is time to move on with her life, but the past is not so easily buried.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 5½

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: All will be revealed in time 👀 Please reblog, comment or send an ask so I can hear what you think! Really hope you enjoy this one 🫶🏾🥰

The rain up North is nothing like the summer showers you experienced back home. This rain stings and bites at your skin as it falls, but it doesn't send you back inside under the shade.

Today is the first time in a few days that you have been outside, breathing in the fresh air. Your moon blood came particularly harsh this time around and left you bedridden for two days. It was a terrible ordeal, but it allowed you to see another side to your husband.

This morning, you awoke with no pains. Although your body is still tired and weak, here you stand, in the rain, embracing the Northern cold and eagerly awaiting nightfall because surprisingly, you have missed spending your evenings with Robb.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Amiria calling your name.

"My Lady, what are you doing out in the cold?" she sounds panicked as she wraps a blanket around your shoulders, "Seven hells! You'll make yourself ill!"

You chuckle as you welcome the blanket and follow her back under the shade, "It's alright, I wasn't out there for long."

Amiria runs the blanket over your damp hair. "It is a good thing I found you. Any longer and you might catch a fever," she presses the back of her hand to your cheek, "You have just been unwell, you should not tempt fate, my Lady."

"I apologise, I did not mean to worry you," you smile warmly and give her a short hug to reassure her, "Found me? Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Lady Stark has requested your presence in her quarters."

You're taken aback by this. Lady Stark, though pleasant since the wedding, has never once asked to speak to you alone.

"Did she tell you why she wants to see me?"

Amiria looks up at you and chuckles when she sees the nervousness that has settled into you.

"Don't be afraid," she says in a tone that suggests your anxiety is amusing to her, "She did not seem to be in a terrible mood."

"That is good," you breathe a sigh of relief, but your eyes remain apprehensive.

Amiria smirks and takes you by the arm, pulling you towards your chambers, "Come. Let us get you dry for the Queen Mother."

***

As soon as you enter the parlour, Catelyn rises to greet you at the door, embracing you before you even have a chance to curtsey. When she releases you, her smile turns into a frown as she cups your face with her hands.

"You still look a bit unwell, darling," she says, looking between your eyes, a hint of pity in her voice, "Come and sit, let us have some tea. Perhaps it will help you feel better."

You follow her to where a small table is set with all your favourite treats and a teapot to share between the two of you. She takes a seat in an armchair on one side of the table and you sit opposite her on the other side of the table. Without a word she begins to pour the tea for the both of you.

"Does it normally trouble you so?" she asks as she hands you a cup.

You take a grateful sip, smiling when that familiar warmth begins spreading in your chest. "Sometimes the Mother offers mercy and my bloods pass painlessly," you say, "Other times I am confined to my bed chambers for some days."

"Poor girl," her forehead wrinkles when she frowns, "I'll speak to Maester Luwin about giving you something that might take away your pain."

"Thank you, my Lady."

There's a pause in the conversation as you sip the mint tea and enjoy the warmth of the fire burning. Your worries begin to fade away as you relax in Catelyn's company.

“I see you’ve been spending much more time with my son as of late,” she says, breaking the silence, “I hear you’re with him in his study into the late hours of the night.”

It's an abrupt turn from your initial conversation, but you suppose it is normal for her to ask about her son.

“We talk mostly. Sometimes I sew while he works.”

A thin smile forms on Catelyn’s lips as she hums in response, “And what is it that you talk about?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s a bit impolite to ask about private conversations, but you would never dare to point out such a thing to your good-mother.

“I tell him about my family, what it was like growing up in the South,” you say hesitantly, “He talks about you, his family…his father and sisters.”

You can’t help but pity her when you see how she deflates at the mention of her lost family. Her eye twitches as she looks away, trying to stop her mask from slipping.

“He tells me stories about all of them as children,” a tender smile forms on your lips as you think back to the conversations, “It makes me wish I had siblings of my own to fight and play with.”

Catelyn nods again, but her smile seems even more strained than before. Your brows furrow in concern as you reach out to touch her knee.

“Lady Stark?”

She presses one hand to her lips, taking a moment to collect herself. Not a single tear falls from her eyes, though they come close. After only a few seconds, she blows out a breath and sits up properly in her chair, composed once again.

“He rarely talks about them with me,” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“I think he finds it easier to talk about them with someone who doesn’t know them,” you reassure her, “I assume it feels more like recalling a fond memory to a stranger than it does reminiscing about loved ones he’s lost.”

She nods her head, though she seems unconvinced. You can’t imagine the pain and fear she must be feeling knowing that her son has made an enemy of the same family who have her daughters in their grasp. That he is in open rebellion against the King who took her husband's head.

"He must trust you quite a bit."

You consider it for a moment, "I hope so. I would like to think he does."

"How have you been finding all of this? Being here, married to Robb?"

It is not a simple question to answer. In truth, you did not expect this much time to pass with your heart still refusing to fully open to Robb, nor his to you. Your mother always told you that falling in love is quick and simple, and in the past you found that to be true. But for some reason, it is slow and difficult with Robb.

A month since your wedding and you still hold each other at arms' length, merely allowing glimpses into your souls on occasion.

Instead of telling her an outright lie, you choose to focus on the good. "Your family have been so accommodating, as has Robb," you plaster a smile on your lips, "It has taken some time to adjust, but everyone has been so kind."

Judging by the look on Catelyn's face, she knows that you are hiding something. She doesn't come across as the kind of woman who is fooled easily.

“This may be crude of me, but I must ask," she begins, leaning forward ever so slightly, "This is your second time on the bloods since the wedding?"

It only takes you a second to decipher what exactly she is asking. You nod quickly, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Have you and Robb–?"

"We have not."

"The marriage is unconsummated?"

You nod again, averting your gaze in embarrassment. Catelyn looks off to the side, deep in thought. Each passing second only serves to make your stomach turn and your palms sweat.

Eventually, she turns back to you, but there is no anger nor shame in her eyes, only determination.

"I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I must stress the importance of your consummation." She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that is only slightly intimidating.

"Your marriage is not valid until the act is done. And I need not remind you of your duty to each other as husband and wife, and as rulers of the North."

Children.

"I understand."

"Then why, may I ask, are you waiting?"

This time, there is a hint of frustration in her tone. She looks at you with eyes so piercing that for a moment you forget that you are not a child being scolded by her Septa. Yet, it is somehow worse because the person asking the question is your good-mother.

"We only wish to know each other better before we–" you cut yourself off to find the right words, "There is still time–"

"There is no time," Catelyn's patience seems to have worn thin, "Robb will return to the frontline before long. And only the gods know if he will come back."

That thought sends a chill down your spine. Robb may not be some great love, but the mere idea of his demise makes your heart sink to your stomach.

"I have been in your shoes before, Y/N," she says, her tone softer, "I did not know Ned very well when I first met him. I certainly didn't love him either. That comes with time."

Her words are optimistic. Reassuring. And they get you thinking.

"We all have our roles to play. It is time you and Robb started doing your part."

***

"She wants us to consummate."

Amiria sits on a stool beside your bath, washing all the grease and dirt out of your hair while you soak in the warm water.

"But His Grace said that you do not have to if you don't wish to, no?" she asks.

You sigh deeply, "That is true. But I'm starting to believe that she may be right."

The longer you think about her words, the more they cut deep. You have been ignoring the reality of your situation, going through the motions and capitalising on Robb's busy schedule to avoid hard truths.

Robb is your husband now, and the North is your home. That will never change. This is not King’s Landing where you will have to endure for a time and be rescued. This is your life, forever. And deep down in your heart you know that if you are to start a new life, you must let go of the old one.

Without warning, tears begin to well in your eyes and blur your vision. This is not the life you imagined for yourself. To never experience love, you were prepared for – you always knew that your marriage would be arranged, and if love never happened with your husband, you would’ve been content given he was kind and gentle.

But this? To have loved and lost it? To know what it feels like and know that you will never have it again? It’s a pain you would not wish on anyone.

And Robb. He is kind, and he cares…somewhat. But he does not love you. And if he loves Elyse the way you have loved, then you know he will never love you. That is the hard truth.

You bury your head in your hands and let the tears flow. Amiria crouches down beside the bath and wraps her arms around you, letting you sob into her shoulder.

"I hate to see you in such pain, my Lady," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

The day you left King's Landing, your heart was shattered. A part of you has been holding on to him for so long because it is a reminder that what you shared was real. And how could you repay the love he gave by letting it go?

Selfishly, you want him to be happy, to have moved on. You pray that he has forgotten you. Maybe then you would not be riddled with guilt over letting him go. The truth is, you have responsibilities that you can shirk no longer. And you cannot be a good wife with him still in your heart.

With a deep, shaky breath, you pull away from Amiria and wipe your eyes, splashing your face with the bath water to calm yourself down.

Once your heart stops racing and your breathing relaxes, you turn to Amiria, "Could you fetch my robe, please?"

She hesitates momentarily before doing it. You climb out of the bath and slip on the robe, walking to your dresser with Amiria following close behind.

"Help me dress."

Your sudden switch from distress to being resolute is alarming to Amiria. She stares in bewilderment as you begin to get ready. "Where are you going?"

"I always visit Robb in the evenings," you say, "It is the perfect time to raise the topic of consummation."

Amiria places a hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. She looks straight into your eyes and asks sincerely, "Are you sure that you are ready to take that step?"

You know that you are not ready, but you also know that it is time to stop living in the past. It is exhausting, and it hurts you more than it makes you happy. You want to believe that you can be happy here, if you only give it a chance.

"Yes. I'm sure."

***

It’s not a question that Robb has a face any woman would love to look at. You see the way women giggle and blush when he smiles as he walks past them. The way they always seem to crowd when he spars with Ser Rodrik. You understand, you like to look at him too. He’s really quite…beautiful, but it’s more than that.

His guard is never lower than when he is in this solar working, and you like to watch the way he does things when he is not concerned with appearances. These are the moments when you see the truest version of him. His brows knitting together when he reads something particularly unpleasant, the way he occasionally looks up at you and offers a sweet smile. He curses sometimes. It used to shock you, but you find it amusing now.

Your admiration grows the more you see him like this, constantly fighting through mental and physical fatigue to lead his people and be there for his family. When he talks to you about them, you wonder if he has even had time to properly grieve his father, or if that is yet another thing he has pushed aside for the sake of his responsibilities. It breaks your heart to think so.

Most mornings you wake up alone because he is up by the crack of dawn. And at night, you leave him here in this study, working into the late hours. You see the bags under his eyes and the way he pauses every so often to massage his shoulders and neck. He takes on…too much.

Sitting across from him tonight, all you can think about are Catelyn's words. How do you even begin to discuss such a sensitive topic? Especially when he is under so much pressure?

Your mother says it is time we consummated our marriage. Shall we start making love?

Ridiculous.

Robb stops his writing for a moment to crack his knuckles and stretch his back, and as he puts down his writing quill, he looks up and catches you staring. You quickly tear away your gaze, returning to your embroidery and ignoring the rising heat on your neck and chest.

Robb knows you well enough now that he can tell when there is something disturbing you.

"What is on your mind?" he asks, leaning forward to give you his full attention.

This is your opportunity to broach the subject, but for some reason, you are unable to form the words. So you tell him something else.

“Just that I...forgot to tell you something. I went into town the day before I fell ill.”

Robb sits up a little, visibly concerned, “Alone?”

“No, Amiria went with me. And a few guards.”

He relaxes then, leaning forward once again.

“We took some food and clothes to the homes sheltering the children orphaned in this war,” you say, “I wanted to be sure they’re being taken care of.”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “That is very kind of you. I had not thought to do that yet.”

You wave a hand and shake your head. “Of course not. You already have so much on your plate,” you gesture to his cluttered desk, “I have never ran a household much less an entire castle before, so I leave it to your mother. I’m just trying to do what little I can to support your efforts.”

You return to your embroidery, but Robb doesn't take his eyes off you. He knows there is still something eating at you and yet you refuse to say it. Suddenly he's full of regret. Perhaps, if he had not been so determined to dislike you at first, you would not still hide behind your wall.

Eventually, he looks away from you with a sigh, picking up a letter from his unopened pile and breaking the seal. You glance up at him, relieved that he has broken his scrutinising stare.

“What are you reading?” you ask, attempting to change the topic.

“A report from our scouts.”

You sit up properly, now curious, “How goes the search for Arya?”

Robb puts down the letter a little forcefully and run his hands through his hair in frustration. That about tells you all you need to know.

"Have you thought any more about what I suggested? About the Owls?”

This is a conversation that has already been had before. Multiple times. Robb turned down your father's offer, and he has rejected yours as well each time you've brought it up. At this point, he is tired of reiterating his position.

“I have already told you that I have no intention of using them,” his tone is clipped when he speaks, and he attempts to busy himself with other work to end the conversation.

His efforts are futile because you refuse to let it go, “They would be inside the Red Keep within hours of receiving your letter–“

“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“–and they would have Sansa on the road back to Winterfell within days.”

“I am not going to use spies.”

“Sansa is not–,” you pause mid-sentence to gather yourself, “Sansa is not safe with Joffrey.”

Robb sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes with his hands, "Do you think I am unaware of that?”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t use them,” you press, “Do you doubt their capabilities?”

“No, I am sure they are very capa–“

“Because they managed to smuggle me out of King’s Landing without issue,” you cut him off, “Daenerys Targaryen is alive in Essos today because of them.”

“Enough!”

You flinch at the sound of his raised voice. Instantly your heart starts racing, the hairs on your body standing on end. For a second, only a mere second, you are back in King's Landing, and you are terrified.

“I am fighting this war with honour,” he continues, his voice now back to normal, “This is the last time I will have this discussion, do you understand me?”

He stares you down for a few seconds until he thinks you have dropped it. You wait until he relaxes some before speaking.

“Your enemy would pay a starving child two coppers and a loaf of stale bread to poison your supper,” you say in the calmest tone you can muster, “Spying ought not be where you draw the line.”

You rise to your feet and walk to the door, ignoring Robb’s burning gaze. As you place your hand on the handle, you turn to him once more.

“I don’t suppose you will be retiring for the night?”

He begins shuffling some papers on his desk, “No, I still have much to do before the morn.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod anyways. “Very well, then. I shall bid you goodnight.”

Once you step outside and close the door, you lean against the wall of the corridor, sucking in the cold air and placing a hand over your chest to slow your heart. Hot tears burn behind your eyes – not of sadness, but of anger.

It took one word – one little word – and you were back there at the lowest point you've ever been. It's a reminder that all the pain and hurt inflicted by that monster is still inside you. And it hurts that Robb was the one to bring it to the surface.

***

When Robb eventually retires for the night, he half-expects you to be waiting for him, ready to continue the conversation from earlier, so he's surprised to find you curled up under the blankets on your side of the bed.

A few of the candles in the room are still lit – he knows you left them burning for his benefit. He uses the dim lighting to make his way around the room, removing his jerkin shirt as he does so. It gets hot in the room because even with the natural heating from the hot springs, you still insist on having a fire built every night before you sleep. Robb doesn't object to this because he knows you can't sleep in the freezing cold – but it does mean he now sleeps in as little clothes as possible.

He hears you stir when he walks to your side of the room and blows out the candles there, but he ignores it and returns to his side before climbing into the bed. As always, he turns his back to you, stares into the darkness and listens to your breathing.

Steady.

"I know you're awake," he says after a moment.

He's not sure you know that you snore when you sleep. It's not bothersome at all, the sound resembles the light purring of a kitten. On nights where sleep eludes him, the sound helps to calm his mind and lull him into a slumber.

That is how he knows that you are only pretending to sleep.

You don't stir, and after a while he assumes that you are choosing to ignore him. The moment he closes his eyes, he hears your voice call out to him.

"Robb?"

He hums in response, not wanting to seem too eager to reconcile.

"Don't ever raise your voice to me in that manner again."

Your tone is flat and unemotional, but the words are extremely sobering for Robb. He's rendered speechless, and no other words are spoken by either of you that night.

***

The bridge connecting the Great Keep to the Armoury offers the best view of the courtyard in Winterfell. That is where you go to forget your troubles, distracting yourself with the activities happening below you. But even watching the bustling of people fails you this afternoon. All you can think about is the night before.

Deep down you know that you provoked Robb into having that row, simply to avoid having a difficult conversation. You did not realise that was what you were doing until you had some time to yourself. And yet, you cannot seem to stop yourself from thinking about Robb's reaction.

He has never presented himself as a man who is quick to anger.

Neither did Joffrey. Not at first.

You shake those thoughts out of your head almost as soon as you have them. Robb is not like Joffrey, of that you are certain. He is...attentive, in the ways that matter.

Not a single stew or soup has been served to you since you told him about your unusual diet. He found out you enjoy lemon cakes, and before long there was a lemon tree growing in the glass garden. And not once has he complained about the fire you keep burning in your chambers before you sleep even though you know he despises the heat.

Joffrey was never that way, even before he revealed his true colours.

Perhaps this is all you will ever have, you don't have to love him to bear his children. A kind husband is more than most have. Shouldn't that be enough?

It is at this moment that Robb arrives at the top of the bridge, emerging from the armoury with Lord Umber in tow. He sees you standing there, right in the middle of the bridge, looking out onto the courtyard. There's a distant look in your eyes as you stare down, and Robb knows exactly what is weighing on your heart.

You don't notice him or Lord Umber until they are only a few steps away from you, at which point you quickly stand up straight.

"Your Grace," you curtsey to Robb as you always do around other people.

Lord Umber bows his head to you, "Your Grace."

"My Lady, this is Lord Umber. You might remember meeting him at our wedding feast?"

His face is unfamiliar, "My apologies, Lord Umber, I met quite a few people that night."

"No need to apologise, Your Grace," he laughs heartily, "The ale flowed freely that night, I'm not sure I remember our meeting either."

All three of you share a laugh at that, but before the conversation can continue any further, Robb turns to Lord Umber.

"Lord Umber, might you wait for me by my solar? I would like to speak to my wife in private."

"Of course, Your Grace." he bows his head to you both and walks past you towards the Great Keep.

Robb turns to you once you're alone, but he does not speak. He notices that the smile you put on for Lord Umber has faded, and the sadness in your eyes has returned. Your words from the night before play over in his mind, as they have been all morning. He knows that your upset at this present moment is because of him and only him, and for that, he's ashamed.

After a moment, he turns to face the courtyard, arms resting against the railing. You watch him, curious about his troubled expression, before joining him. Your forearm brushes against his as you stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," he says, eyes downcast, "I did not mean to frighten you, and I will never do it again."

You didn't expect an apology, not for this. Many men have done worse to their wives without a second thought, but as you glance at Robb out of the corner of your eye, it is clear that he is remorseful. It warms your heart.

"Thank you," you whisper, "And I am sorry too."

"What for?"

"Picking a fight," you look up at him, "I should not have taken your decision so personally."

Robb nods briefly, accepting your apology – one he is surprised to receive because he knows that you still believe he is making the wrong choice.

"I'm trying to be like my father," he explains with a heavy sigh, "I want to fight this war in the most honourable way I can. And if I resort to spying and trickery to win, how would I be any different to my enemies? To Joffrey?"

At those words, you turn your head sharply to look at him. Your eyes soften when they meet his.

"You are a good man, Robb. Nothing like Joffrey."

The hint of a smile plays on his lips.

"I know you don't believe this, but I truly do value your advice," he says, "Even if I don't always agree, I would still like to know your opinion on those choices. Don't ever hesitate to tell me what you think."

You stand side by side, overlooking the courtyard. Down by the guest house, a little boy and girl are wrestling in the mud. Within seconds, a woman who you assume is their mother appears by their side and begins scolding them over their spoiled garments. She pulls them away from the scene by their ears, the two children giggling as she does so.

You and Robb both laugh as this unfolds, revelling in the innocence and mischief of childhood.

"They remind me of Arya and Bran," he says, a mournful look in his eyes.

The same urge to console him when he first opened up to you about his father overwhelms you once again. But instead of drawing back, this time, you place your hand over his, and he welcomes it without hesitation.

You lean against his shoulder and give his hand a comforting squeeze as he absent-mindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. A simple touch but it’s enough to make you wish things were different.

"Do you think we will ever be happy?" you suddenly ask, "The way my mother and father are? The way yours were?"

Robb doesn't know how to respond to that. Mostly because in the midst of this seemingly endless war, he has been unable to envision life beyond it. But judging by your question, you may have started to, so it may be time for him to start as well.

He looks down at you with a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answers honestly, "But I hope so."

That makes you smile. You hold his gaze for a moment, only tearing your eyes away when the deep blue of his begin to grow too intense for your comfort.

You chuckle nervously and nod your head towards the Great Keep as you stand up straight, "Lord Umber must be waiting for you."

Robb blinks as if the fact had slipped his mind. "Of course," he says quickly with a bow and you regret that he chose to be so formal.

You watch him as he walks away, but he stops after a few paces and turns back to face you.

"I'm going into town later, I thought you might accompany me if you'd like," his tone is cheery, "I have some business to attend to, but you can visit the market while we're there?"

It is a kind offer, but you simply want to be alone with your thoughts for now.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to it today," you say apologetically, "But I thank you for the invitation."

Robb is disappointed with your answer to say the least, but he does not let it show. Instead, he nods in understanding with a wistful smile and heads back inside, leaving you alone on the bridge.

You turn your attention back to the courtyard, resting your arms on the railing and letting out a deep sigh. That is when you notice the very familiar silhouette of a man.

His back is to you while he talks to another man just outside the armoury. Even though he's far away and you cannot see his face, he looks too familiar.

There is absolutely no chance.

You lean so far forward that only a few inches more and you'd fall over the railing. The man throws his head back and laughs. Instantly a pit forms in your stomach.

You know that laugh.

Your body begins to move faster than you can think. Within seconds you've hitched up your skirts and ran back into the Great Keep. Your heart is beating out of your chest with every step down the stairs. There are no thoughts in your head. All you hear is that laugh and the thumping of your heart.

In the courtyard there's people bustling about everywhere. You want to scream at them to stop moving so that you can see. To stop talking so that you can think. Your shoes and the bottom of your dress are caked in mud as you run from one end of the courtyard to the other, frantically searching for him.

The armoury. He was standing in front of the armory.

You take off running in that direction, stepping in puddles and all kinds of dirt and muck on the way. Once inside, you stop to catch your breath, panting heavily as you look around, hoping to catch sight of him. All you see are large, oily men carrying pounds of steel, shields, armour and all sorts.

You begin to wonder if you only imagined seeing him. Your mind playing some kind of sick trick on you. It wouldn't be surprising considering everything that has happened recently.

Just as you are about to let it go, a hand grabs your shoulder and turns you around.

The black hair. Those blue eyes.

You forget how to breathe for a moment. Completely frozen in shock. It's like the whole building goes silent and all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You're sure he calls your name, but you find yourself incapable of doing anything but stare at him in confusion and awe.

This is not real. This is not real.

You cannot allow yourself to believe that this is happening because the devastation if it's not real is not one you will recover from easily. With a shaky hand, you reach out to touch his face. Before you can even cup his cheek, he takes your hand and leans into it.

A stuttered breath escapes your lips as tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.

"Gendry."

*

Special thanks to these lovely people (and extra shoutout to everyone who called it 😉) Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💞 (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):

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#robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark fic #robb stark imagine #robb x reader #got #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got fic #richard madden #richard madden x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #duty #stark x reader

[fromtheseventhhell]

“It was right,” her father said. “And even the lie was … not without honor.” He’d put Needle aside when he went to Arya to embrace her. Now he took the blade up again and walked to the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out across the courtyard. When he turned back, his eyes were thoughtful. He seated himself on the window seat, Needle across his lap. “Arya, sit down. I need to try and explain some things to you.” She perched anxiously on the edge of her bed. “You are too young to be burdened with all my cares,” he told her, “but you are also a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words.” “Winter is coming,” Arya whispered. “The hard cruel times,” her father said. “We tasted them on the Trident, child, and when Bran fell. You were born in the long summer, sweet one, you’ve never known anything else, but now the winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House, Arya.” “The direwolf,” she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest, suddenly afraid. “Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me.” He sounded so tired that it made Arya sad. “I don’t hate Sansa,” she told him. “Not truly.” It was only half a lie. “I do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience … at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up.” “I will,” Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. “I can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb.”

This is literally Ned passing the torch to Arya, I don't make the rules

#arya stark #ned stark #asoiaf #literally the only Starkling to have a conversation with him like this and I'm supposed to believe that means nothing? #especially when she's remembering + trying to live by his advice? + the North is rallying for her? specifically as valiant Ned's daughter? #but the /lone wolf/ quote was important enough to steal from Arya and turn it into the unofficial motto of House Stark 😒 #like if he'd had this conversation with Robb or Jon y'all would see it

[luvhughes43]

Period Pains | Jack Hughes x reader

request: Can I get a fluffy jack hughes fic where the reader comes on her period whilst they are at the lake house and she has nothing with her. And she just wants cuddles. Maybe one of the other boys makes a comment about her being clingy and is like oh someone’s on their period 🙄. And she gets upset

word count: 0.8k

You had just arrived at the lake house a week ago, and having gone practically all summer without seeing your boyfriend, you were just too busy to take a much needed trip to the store. You had stupidly left all your period supplies at home, claiming that you would just buy more. But with all the much needed time you were spending with your boyfriend jack… you just hadn’t gotten around to it. Which led you to the predicament that you were currently in. 

You had bad cramps last night, and with all the busyness that comes with being at the lake house, you had not clued in to the warning that your period was about to start. Leaving you stuck in the bathroom, in a house full of men with absolutely no supplies. 

Luckily for you, you brought your phone into the bathroom with you, so you quickly called Jack as he was outside hanging out with his friends. He answered his phone on the second ring.

“Yeah baby?” Jack spoke into the mic. You could hear the guys laughing and talking in the background.

“I really need your help right now” you replied and you could hear Jack hastily slide open the slide in door, “what’s wrong? Where are you?” he responded clearly worried.

“I'm in the upstairs bathroom” you groaned in pain as you felt another cramp hit you. “K im coming” was all he said as he hung up the phone. You placed yours back on the counter and waited. You could hear Jack running up the stairs and the fact that he cared so much about you made you smile. 

Jack knocked on the bathroom door, “can I come in?” he asked to which you responded with a faint yes. Jack walked in to find you hunched over on the toilet,  your arms on your thighs and your head down. “Are you good?” he asked obliviously. 

“I started my period and I have nothing to deal with it. Can you run to the store for me real quick?” you asked, and Jack just nodded. “Yeah uh just give me a list of what you need”.

You got out of your hunched position and grabbed your phone, texting Jack a small list of everything you needed. “Okay ill be right back, love you” he said as he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before walking out of the bathroom.

About 15 minutes later, Jack was back from the small store up the road with everything you needed in hand. He walked into the bathroom and passed you a bag full of your requested items. “Thank you” you whispered to Jack as you felt another painful cramp in your abdomen. “Of course. When you're done in here why don't we cuddle in my room? It might help with your cramps and stuff, "Jack said. “Sounds perfect” you replied and he left the bathroom letting you clean yourself up. 

After you finally got everything sorted out, you brought your grocery bag into Jack's room. He was already sprawled across his bed and when he heard you creak the door open he smiled up at you. Before getting into bed, you took an ibuprofen, and changed into a pair of Jacks sweats. 

You climbed into Jack's bed and he laid one of his arms across his bed so you could cuddle up into him. With one of his hands wrapping around your shoulder he snaked the other around your waist pulling you closer to him. You were both facing the door, facing away from each other, and soon enough your legs were getting caught up into each other as you snuggled closer to each other. 

However, your peaceful cuddling season was quickly disrupted as Trevor Zegras bursted into Jack's room. “Where did you go man? I thought you were only going to the store” he basically yelled as he walked into Jack's room. He hadn't seen you two cuddled on the bed but when he finally realized you two were wrapped up into each other he smirked. “Never mind then… I see!” he barked out a laugh.

“Go away Trevor” you said irritated that he disturbed your peace you had created with Jack.

“Ooo someones on their period!” he laughed as you got up and threw a pillow at his head. Trevor just laughed harder. 

“Seriously Trev, go” Jack said, also sitting up. Trevor laughed some more and lifted both hands as if he was surrendering. He backed out of Jack's room quickly, shutting the door as he went. 

You and Jack both laid back down and you felt so frustrated. “I hate when people say things like that” you say, turning around so you were face to face with jack. He brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, “I know baby, I'm sorry. Trevs an asshole”.

Jack started playing with your hair which promptly lulled you to sleep. 

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes one shot #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb

[cherrylovelycherry]

506

pairing: childe x fem!reader cw/genre: ex-lovers, angst? masterlist! requests open!

A break-up is always painful for both parties. However, there is always one who feels it more.

The memory of his ex-girlfriend was present, even when it was time to get up, Childe looked hurriedly at the screen of his mobile phone.

No message, no call.

He sighed, lying back on his bed, closing his eyes.

Delicate, soft kisses full of love, being deposited on that freckled face of his. Being the weekend, he slept in later.

"So cute.", she thought. Running a hand through her hair, brushing away red locks that covered her face.

At the sudden touch, feeling tickled, he opened one eye first. Seeing his beloved girlfriend, there, beside him, he grinned like a fool. Stretching his arms out in her direction, grabbing her and pulling her against his chest.

The need to write to him tormented him, he rubbed his face in his pillow, trying to make those memories fade.

His bed empty, the curtains closed wide. No light in the room.

He reluctantly got up to go to breakfast, he wasn't hungry, but her insistent voice nagging him to eat had become a habit.

Hands intertwined, sidelong glances, two young people in love, each sitting firmly on the furniture, unable to cut the distance. Afternoons pretending to watch television.

He grabbed his mobile phone, inhaling and exhaling three times in a row, his hands trembling for a moment. Would it be okay if…?

He was masochistic and went through the photos he still kept in his phone's gallery. Pictures of the two of them in another country. "Will she still be travelling there like every holiday?" he wondered.

His smile lingered for a few moments longer.

Her hand felt like it was sweating, she looked at her boyfriend, being so calm and even eating a huge airport burger. She even felt nauseous from the nerves of flying. She tightened her grip on his arm now, as she checked in, the urge to go to a nice beach gone. But no, she convinced herself, he gave her lots of kisses and caresses as they sat in the plane seats, keeping her as relaxed as possible.

He did, he sent a message. He saved the number again, as a new contact. He mentally thanked himself for having stuck the paper with his number on it on the fridge.

A simple; "How are you?" was all he sent.

He felt nervous, tousling his hair with both hands.

Four hours passed, he sent another message again.

"I don't know why but I thought of you both," he sent, followed by a picture of two kittens.

Sent. The status of the messages was just sent.

The number of his flat he promised to remember forever. 506. The street where his heart lived. Where he spent more time than in his own home. With 16, where everything changed and started.

A new day, another "How are you?" message. Soon he started leaving calls, not expecting a reply, just letting her know he was there.

Little by little, becoming routine in three months.

Five missed calls, four letters, three injuries, two lucky ones.

Every once in a while, Childe would stop by the coffee shop where they would have a nice oatmeal biscuit and a hot chocolate in the middle of winter. As well as passing the bar, where they fought over drinking each other's glass, the fight ended in laughter and jokes.

He never expected a response.

Kissing in the rain after playing catch, feeling like little kids, not caring that people looked at them strangely for being in the pouring rain. A bit cliché, but theirs.

The memory of why he fell in love, remembering what made her fall in love.

A routine phone call.

Y/N was sitting on a bench, washing her boyfriend's hair, who had fallen ill. Caring for him with so much love, even though she would probably end up getting sick too.

Sneaking into his bed, on a summer night. Kisses on her forehead from him. His turn to watch her sleep so peacefully.

He was dying to hear her voice. As if it was his lucky day, he was about to hang up. However, the opposite phone was answered.

A "Hello?" from her was enough to trigger feelings that were supposed to be locked away. It felt the same, nothing changed.

The words he thought of for this moment, with no hope that it would come, were completely forgotten.

"How are you? Are you still living in 506?"

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #childe angst #childe x reader #ex lovers #genshin tartagalia #tartaglia #ajax x reader #genshin ajax #childe genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact

[ghastlyfilters]

could i have some stu x fem!reader going camping hcs? like it’s him, reader, the rest of the group just going camping and having a good time :))

𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬!! :>

pairing: implied stu macher x fem!reader

a/n: I LITERALLY LOVE YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS OHFOHDEGKIGTPJUPKHOJDTGQRHOYYU

i cannot express how much i fucking think about this group. there will be plenty of the ‘gang’ content coming soon!! picturing them doing the stupidest shit together is just, AH.

anyways anon, thank you for your request that made me so ridiculously happy lol (ENJOY!!)

UPDATE: YO. THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND ITS SLIGHTLY UNFINISHED BUT I’LL JUST GIVE IT TO Y’ALL ANYWAY

warnings: harsh language, randy thinking he’s literally gordon ramsey

• Boy oh boy, summertime had finally came around once again. Giving you all a pretty good idea of what was coming soon..

CAMPING!

• Okay, okay.. this hadn’t originally been apart any of your guys’ plans, but all of your parents were stubborn and wanted you to spend more time together.

• And apparently camping was just the right way to do so? Whatever. It’s not like any of you were ever going to win if you tried to protest on going each year. You lot VS a ton of parents? Fuck. It would never work.

• The agreed arrangement had been Stu, Billy, Randy, Sidney, Tatum and yourself to all go camping for atleast one week during summer break.

• Of course Billy was always the one trying to creep his way out of this shitty plan. It had been going on for so many years that the rest of y’all stopped trying at this point. But Billy? Oh, he was pretty damn adamant on faking whatever dumbass illness he could think of.

• You all made bets on who he would call that year, trying to convince that person on how very ‘poorly’ he was doing.

“I can’t go. I have a cold.”

“It’s July..”

“I HAVE A COLD.”

• His dad ended up dragging him out of the house and right into the van Stu’s parents bought him specifically for this occasion.

• After checking you guys had everything packed and ready to go, you were off into the hills!

• It was an interesting road trip to say the least, hours of Randy complaining he had to take a piss, plus Billy whining about how he didn’t wanna be here.. yeah.. an ideal three hours, huh? Jesus.

• The minute you guys arrive, Randy instantly runs over to a tree a little further away from you guys and pulls down his pants, urinating onto the land.

• Tatum always tends to start an argument and tells him how fucking disgusting he is, but he insists that she shuts her mouth and waits until it’s HER turn to be forced to have her bodily functions take over.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all fun and games until you have to take a dump in the bushes!!”

“AS IF!” Tatum squealed.

“Cut the bullshit, Alicia. You know it’s gonna happen sooner or later.” Billy chimed in.

• You insist on everyone taking a little walk through the woods, just to get familiar with the area once again.

• The rest of the gang agree and head on out with you, embracing the peaceful surrounding.

• You, Billy and Stu slowly walk side by side as the other three are already way ahead of you, arguing over the dumbest shit once again.

• Randy and Tatum always argued non fucking stop everytime you all went camping. Sidney would just awkwardly tag along, trying to change the subject to literally anything else..

• The three ask for permission to go back to camp, seeing as Tatum had made the poor choice of wearing her cute little white boots, though unfortunately they had heels.

• This just meant more peace and quiet for yourself, Billy and Stu. You’d see your other friends later, of course. But a tad bit of extra time with your boyfriend and another one of your closest friends wasn’t going to hurt.

• You guys returned for sun down, as spending all night in the goddamn woods of all places would be rather idiotic of you.

• Each and every one of your stomach’s began to growl, so Stu finally decided to whip out the grill!

• He had packed some hotdogs and burgers, ready to be cooked as soon as possible. Randy also brought along some snacks of course because you know, it’s Randy lmao.

• Another argument breaks out, but this time it’s between both Randy and Stu. Supposedly, Stu was in charge of bringing topping and sauces for the hotdogs. (Of course he had to forget it..)

“Aw, fuck this!” Randy said with a mouthful of food, throwing the remaining piece of his hotdog at a nearby tree.

“NOOOO!” Stu yelped. “What the fuck, man! You ruined a perfectly good hotdog!!”

Randy scoffed. “STU.. MY MOUTH FEELS DRIER THAN A DEAD WOMAN’S VAGINA.. THIS IS SO PLAIN. YOU DIDN’T EVEN BRING PICKLES DUDE..”

…

“Sorry but who the fuck puts pickles on a hotdog?”

“WHERE’S THE FLAVOUR IN THIS PIECE OF SHIT? IT’S BLAND. PAINFULLY BLAND.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, seemed like Randy was having his Gordon Ramsey moment.

• After drunk Randy’s constant complaining and Stu almost losing it over the fact you guys decided you’d make s’mores tomorrow instead of the present night, it didn’t take long until everyone decided to crash for the night. You all had proper tents built up, despite what y’all went through to get them that way..

“No, no, you’re gonna do it wrong. You see, you gotta make sure you’ve put the peg in the right place first.” Billy reminded Stu, trying his hardest to set up their tent. He knew his sleep was going to benefit from this of course, so that was the only reason why he began caring at this point.

“I got it!” Stu smiled, attempting to smack the peg with his mini hammer.

“THAT WAS MY FINGER YOU FU-”

Billy was sure he’d be sweating bullets for days after fully setting up the camp for everyone. He truly didn’t think it would be so hard, but much to his dismay, he was proven wrong.

• Randy and Tatum flat out refused to share a tent together, so they gave Billy the hassle of making two separate tents instead. Whereas Billy and Stu had agreed on sleeping in a tent together, whilst you and Sidney were more than happy to do the exact same thing.

• The tents were rather thin, causing everyone else to hear what was going on inside each tent. Including Randy letting out the odd bit of gas here and there or him sleep talking about ‘Prom Night’ with Jamie Lee Curtis.

• As the sunlight crept its way into everyone’s tents, you all began to stir and awaken. Morning was here. And you were all going to have to get up and start the day.

• Today was rock climbing! Something that had split opinions from the majority of you. Those like yourself, Stu and Tatum found it fun, but others such as Billy, Sidney and Randy weren’t too keen on it.

“You’re all such pussies, man. It’s safe. I don’t know why the three of you complain about it every damn year.” Stu remarked, his attention on your other three friends who really couldn’t be bothered to participate in such an activity right now.

“Please. You only like it because you’re tall and fast enough to catch yourself before you fall.” Billy snorted.

#scream #scream headcanons #headcanons #stu macher x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #sidney prescott #randy meeks #tatum riley #x reader #reader #ghostface #matthew lillard #skeet ulrich #neve campbell #jamie kennedy #rose mcgowan #scream fandom #ghastlyfilters #camping

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Title board created by the exquisite @mochie85!

Prologue: Last Christmas

After an accident reveals your secret ability to kill with a single touch, S.H.I.E.L.D. tracks you down, turning you over to Nick Fury to be locked away. Immediately considered a Level One Threat, not a single one of the Avengers will listen to your pleas, until the least likely advocate for your freedom emerges to make a deal. 

**MASTERLIST HERE** Pairing: Loki x F!Reader Content Warnings: smut, extensive mentions of death, euthanasia, and death-related philosophy, some dark content (though the characters won't be), exile, moodiness, smut, kinks of various flavors (look for specific chapter warnings), trauma and mental illness, reader is a captive, reader has a body count

“Luke, I swear to Christ, you need to get away from me!” you shrieked, dragging yourself towards the door, desperate to get away from the party as well as your aggressive ex, already five shots into the evening. 

“Aww, Jesus, Y/N! We all know you dumped me because you’re such a slut!” he countered, making you stop in your tracks and turn around angrily. 

You growled, both upset and embarrassed. “How dare you?” was all you could muster. 

Luke advanced on you, his dark eyes looking ready to bore a hole through you. “Listen, I may be willing to take you back if you just--”

“--no!” 

You attempted to dive away again, only for Luke to grab your hand, ripping your leather glove off, making you gasp, seemingly overreacting to a simple glove. 

As you stopped down to quickly pick it up, Luke grabbed the sleeve of your shirt and pulled you back up to eye level, hurting you and forcing you to struggle against him. “You’re always wearing those fucking things, even in summer! You’re a fucking nutcase, y’know that?”

“Let me go!” you said, with a tone of warning to your voice as it began shaking. 

“I need to put you back in your place, kid,” Luke grunted, the stench of bourbon on his breath making you want to gag. “Perhaps I’ll take you upstairs right now--”

“--fuck you!” you screamed. Without thinking, you brought up a hand and smacked Luke clearly across his left cheek. 

A few gasps rang out from the sound of the hit, but it was already too late for you to try and take it back. You’d felt that sharp, pulling sensation that you always felt when you accidentally touched a plant with a bare hand, or swatted at a mosquito in the air in front of you. At that moment, you already knew that you’d just made a grave mistake. 

Luke’s body instantly became cold and lifeless, dropping to the floor. You shook and quickly scooped up your glove, yanking it back on before you could kill again. 

Someone dove to the floor and checked for a pulse. “Holy shit, he’s ice cold! Like….dead guy cold!” 

“Not possible!”

“Did he have a heart attack?”

“Y/N hit him and he just went down like a sack of bricks!” 

“She just slapped him! I saw! It wasn’t even a punch!” 

As everyone began screaming and arguing about the newly-dead body in their midst, you quickly darted in and out of them before they could stop you, leaving the Christmas party and quickly running into the street, back towards your apartment. 

This was the first time you’d killed another person. On Christmas eve, no less. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god…

Having left the party so swiftly, you didn’t notice a man quickly take out a cell phone as soon as he saw what had happened, calling not 9-1-1, but someone even worse…

It all happened so fast. 

You’d immediately begun to pack as soon as you arrived home, planning on skipping town and creating another identity before the whole village knew about you, now that the cat was out of the bag. 

However, you’d barely had time to pull out the contents of a single drawer before your small apartment building was descended upon by what you thought was a S.W.A.T. team at first. The landlady, a scared little old woman, quickly gave the troops of men with guns what they wanted, ratting you out the minute they asked for any tenants with your description. 

Four men entered your studio, seeing you frozen against the far wall. 

“Get back…please…I really didn’t mean it…”

It didn’t matter. The agents immediately subdued and arrested you, placing a bag over your cuffed hands as an extra precaution as they forced you into their van and off toward New York City, which was only about an hour away. 

The rest of the night, and the following day was a flood of hot lights, buzzing noises and rings, people talking in technobabble, and countless violations of your privacy and bodily autonomy. You were subjected to medical, dental, and ocular exams, all while still being gloved and cuffed. The entirety of Christmas day was spent being treated like a criminal, as well as an experiment, and by nightfall, you’d been stashed away in a glass tank somewhere underground, about the size of your bedroom, with only a pallet for a bed, a trick door to receive food, and a hole in the floor for a toilet. 

Christ, I’m an animal in here, you thought, frightened. 

Your prison was brightly-lit, sterile, and full of monitors, recording devices, and a guard was always posted at the door, facing away from you but towards a security screen. You felt like a helpless little mouse under it all. Yet, you felt it was necessary all the same. 

I killed my ex, you thought, realizing how bad it looked. They won’t believe me no matter how hard I cry or yell. I am a monster to them. Maybe they’re right…some people just need to be dealt with like the garbage they are worth, and no matter what I do…I’m one of them. 

The clock on the wall read 9:30pm when you finally had a visitor, an extremely handsome, chiseled blonde man, whose face you couldn’t avoid being familiar with if you tried. 

“Hello,” said Steve Rogers, his voice wavering between anxiety and authority. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

You only looked him in the eye for a moment before deciding not to engage with your jailer (one of them, anyway). 

“Do you have a name?”

You didn’t reply, looking ahead of you instead, at the wall, from your spot on the floor by the pallet. 

“We need to run some tests on--with!--you for the next few weeks. We know what happened, and we know what you can do. You’re, heh, you’re quite dangerous.”

An awkward silence only served to put a bigger wall between you, larger and thicker than the six-inch-thick dome of plate glass separating the two of you at the moment. 

“You need to understand why we’re keeping you here--”

You emitted an involuntary scoff, putting Rogers off. 

“I can see I won’t be able to make any headway with you right now. Fury will be down to see you in the morning,” Steve added before making a quick exit. 

What a jerk, you thought. He’s so haughty. 

You attempted to lie down and see if you could manage to sleep this entire nightmare away, but the lights in the room were bright, white, fluorescent, and penetrated your closed eyelids. Not that it mattered, you couldn’t doze for more than an hour at a time without someone coming in to observe or attempt to engage you.

The famous Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, visited around midnight, her impossibly red hair braided messily behind her, her eyes looking at you with relentless pity, making you squirm and feel more like a zoo animal. You also refused to speak to her, even though she had a bit more social tact than Captain America (America’s Ass, indeed!). 

Early in the morning, Dr. Banner appeared. He also tried to speak with you but when you refused, he only accepted it and took some vitals. You got the feeling he’d sympathize with you at the very least, but you remained committed to your choice of refusing to give anyone an inch.

Finally, just after dawn on the day after Christmas, Nick Fury visited, much less of a ‘nice guy’ than the others had been. 

“Y’know, if you really want us to see you as someone who doesn’t need to be here, you might want to try talking to us, instead of looking like you want to blow our brains off our skulls,” he said. 

You refused to comply, deliberately turning your head away. 

“You do realize that S.H.I.E.L.D. can keep you here indefinitely,” Fury added. “You’re a top-level threat. According to our agent, you slapped some bitch, and he was dead before he hit the floor! While, I’ll admit, that sounds pretty damn badass, that’s not something a night in the drunk tank fixes.”

You wanted to get it into his head exactly what had happened, how everything was unintentional, and how ever since you developed your ‘gift’ as a child, you were taught that leather gloves could contain the danger. You’d been able to manage nearly thirty years of this ‘touch of death’ you possessed without committing homicide before…and the other night HAD been a total accident…

Hell, take my hands if you want to! I can learn to eat with my feet or something! Just let me go home…

“Look, until you cooperate, it’s probably best that you know that your own neck is on the line, here,” Fury continued, warning you. 

This finally got your full attention, and Fury noticed. 

He went on and explained. “If we conclude that you’re a danger to the world, and let’s be real…you kill anything you touch with your bare hands, here, we may end up having to permanently contain you, and S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t exactly enjoy letting threats live.” 

No, you thought. No way any organization would be allowed to snuff me…

One look into Nick Fury’s aggressive, angry eye was enough to convince you that he was not bluffing or bullshitting. 

“Now, perhaps later you’ll change your mind,” he hinted, turning to leave you alone again. “I’ll be back at noon. I suggest you be in a better mood to socialize.”

Thus, you spend Christmas alone, imprisoned in a cage, without a friend in the world. 

“Well, what can you expect from someone you dragged out of her home and arrested?” asked Nat. “Why should she want to talk to any of us?”

The Avengers were assembled in the library, talking with Fury about the situation regarding your acquisition. 

“She probably sees us as the enemy already,” suggested Steve, taking a sip of water from a glass in front of him. “Lord knows what that will mean for us if she gets out.”

“She’s got to know how quickly any kind of escape attempt would end should she try it,” said Fury. 

Steve shrugged. “She’s a loose cannon, Nick. She looked at me like she wanted to bite my nose off.” 

“Perhaps that’s because you shot first?”

Loki Laufeyson, standing by the window overlooking the back lawn of the compound, finally joined the conversation with his question. “Why are none of you assuming this little reaper is merely being defensive against the swarm of soldiers who burst into her bedroom in the middle of the night?” 

“Loki,” Fury began, putting his hands on his hips, openly expressing his continuing disdain for the God of Mischief, “What makes you think we want your opinion?”

He shrugged. “I’m hurt,” he said, sarcastically playing his hand over his heart. 

“I want to hear him out,” said Stark. “Rudolph knows more about the Bad Guy Life than the rest of us, right?”

Loki pursed his lips. “I will pretend I didn’t hear the half-witticism.” 

“Well?” asked Fury. 

The god shrugged. “Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves a bit? I mean, it isn’t like the woman did anything extreme, like--”

“--take over New York City with a herd of killer sky worms on behalf of a genocidal grape?” countered Fury, making Loki step back and shrug. 

“Why are you standing up for her? You haven’t even gone down to see her yet,” said Steve. “What do you gain from being her lawyer?”

“Well, call me a gentleman if you must,” he began, smiling cockily, “but perhaps I relate to her in a manner the rest of you cannot identify with. After all, you voted to give me a chance at redemption!” 

Stark rolled his eyes. “You know damn well that was reluctant, and mainly due to your brother having your back and taking responsibility for you.” 

Loki sighed. After hearing that S.H.I.E.L.D. had captured a woman on the biggest holiday that Midgard celebrated for apparently slapping a man to death, he immediately wanted to know more. Any mention of magic fascinated him these days, now that he was under the watchful eye of The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. To him, something didn’t add up, and he got the feeling that you were more of a victim than your target, and that you were far more likely to be selectively mute out of fear over spite. 

He recalled the fear he himself stirred within the hearts of others, and how in the end, it only dulled his own feelings of superiority, for any tyrant who commands the terror of his people is only awaiting the day they learn that behind those defensive walls, was a truly inadequate leader with nothing but his wits to live on. After the defeat of Thanos, and after the world was restored, it was this idea of accepting the truth rather than coating it in a layer of glimmer that gave Loki the motivation to become a worthy Avenger. 

Of course convincing the others took a lot of work, and even now less than half of them trusted him in earnest. While at first, it may have been an attempt at self-preservation, over the following year, the newfound respect he was gaining was reinforced by Thor, and after a while, the dust, for the most part, settled. 

“Look,” said Loki, pacing about the room as the cogs turned in his mind. “Perhaps we can come to some kind of--”

“--oh hell no, I am not making deals with this clown,” Fury clapped back, gritting his teeth. 

“Please, Fury,” asked Thor, finally chiming in. “Just hear him out!” 

“Maybe it’s something she can learn to control,” Loki suggested. “And if she can, and if we can keep her on our side, maybe having someone like her would be advantageous to our reputation against everyone up there,” Loki gently pointed upward at the air. “As Thor and I have both assured you, Thanos is far from the only threat to the planet and the universe.”

“And, how do you suggest we train her?” asked Fury. “If she touches your knuckle, it's game over! So, who wants to volunteer to be her, uh, coach?”

Looking around, it was obvious that no one was willing to get too close to you. No one, save for Loki. 

“Here is what I propose,” he began, “One year. Give me one year with her. I will even take her away from here, to New Asgard. From what it sounds like, her magic is naturally hers, as is mine, which means I know more about how it behaves already than most of you.” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch to make,” Steve muttered. 

“Why New Asgard?” asked Fury.

Thor chimed in. “So we can keep an eye on Loki too, to make sure he keeps his word. The King isn’t exactly his biggest supporter. She can ensure that this plan is followed through.” 

“New Asgard is a more open environment. A lowly sort of fisherman’s village, but a place that doesn’t push a lot of stress onto a captive. We won’t make any headway with her powers if she’s constantly defending herself,” reasoned the Trickster. “She must feel comfortable. Only then will she trust us.” 

“And how do we gauge the success of your little experiment at the end of the year?” asked Fury. 

“I don’t know….some sort of exam? A test of progress?” suggested Loki. 

Fury looked to Stark, then Nat, then Steve. “If she passes, she’s just free to go?”

Loki nodded. “It’s only fair if she manages to do it, yes?”

“As if you’d know a damn thing about fairness,” mumbled Fury. “And what if she can’t do it? If she proves that she really can’t be helped?”

The former Prince of Asgard reeled back, not wanting to state the obvious answer: if you couldn’t be helped, then you’d still have to be ‘dealt with’ in the manner S.H.I.E.L.D. preferred. Loki knew he was on thin ice, and that the only reason he was even able to keep his head was thanks to some quick, successful trickery that had kept the tesseract out of Thanos’ purple claws. Once the stone within was destroyed, even Fury couldn’t deny that utter catastrophe was averted thanks directly to his actions. You, on the other hand, had been given no such chance to prove yourself. 

“I will take responsibility for her safety and compliance,” Loki answered. “Any crisis or failure will be on my conscience.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, as if to imply that Loki still wasn’t sure what a conscience was.

Fury looked around the room, deep in thought as he made his decision. “I already regret this,” he said. “Give us a week, and we’ll make the arrangements. But I have terms, Laufeyson.”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” Loki muttered with a subdued victory smile. 

“You will have three-hundred and sixty-five damn days in New Asgard,” Fury demanded. “We will be allowed to drop by for a progress report at any time. If she passes her test at the end of the trial, she will be given full permission to leave. If she fails, we sit BOTH your asses down in that tank until the end of time, you got it?”

“Very well…”

“..and when I say ‘end of time,’ know that my range of said time is subjective,” Fury warned. “If she’s too dangerous to contain, we’ll have no choice but to terminate her.”

Steve cringed. “I really thought we learned a lesson about playing God with people, no matter who they are…” 

Fury rolled his eyes. “Don’t add to it, Rogers.”

“Then it’s settled, and now, I’d like to meet my new student for myself,” Loki insisted, not waiting for an answer from anyone before leaving the room. 

@kats72 @violethaze @cheekyscamp @javagirl328 @yelkmelk @mischief2sarawr @buttercupcookies-blog @lokidokieokie @fictive-sl0th @jaidenhawke @caothicshit @holdmytesseract @anukulee @joyful-enchantress @simplyholl @meowmeow-motherfucker @huntress-artemiss @lokisgoodgirl @loz-3 @mjsthrillernp

Off we go! Please REBLOG if you're enjoying!

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki smut #loki angst #smut #new asgard #death #reaper #dont fear the reaper #soft!dom!loki #dom!loki x sub!reader #reader has powers #sub!reader #dom!loki

[punisheddonjuan]

Over the last week I've been back in my hometown of Hamilton staying at my parents' house and sleeping in my old bedroom. I had that optometrist appointment earlier in the week, it's Easter on Sunday, and I need to order my prescription at the pharmacy here on Monday anyway. So, an extended visit was an obvious choice. It's been nice. This afternoon I did a little dig through my closet after my mom mentioned that she would like to clear out anything in there which I wasn't keen on keeping. So I took a look, and while there was definitely stuff in there I am fine getting rid of, and in many cases can't remember why I hung onto it for as long as I did, there was also a bunch of neat old stuff in there.

Everything in that closet is thrown into a few banker's boxes, I wasn't quite sure what was in each of them. The first box I dove into turned out to contain all of my university coursework, all five years of it, and much of it disorganized and in disarray. I must have just thrown things in there, because there were loose sheets of translation work interleaved out of order, folders stuffed to breaking with photocopied journal articles and book chapters from different courses, syllabi and unrelated essays in messy piles, and various notebooks, loose notes and revisions. Organizing it all is not a task I'm up doing any time soon, and part of me doubts that I'll ever get it done, it's hardly important anymore. Surveying it all made me think on what a shame it is that I never have any occasion or reason to write things out by hand. I miss using my fountain pens, and my cursive was really quite nice.

I also found my official transcript, of which I have seven copies for reasons that have been lost to time. Presumably I ordered more copies because of grad school applications, but I can't remember.

I guess I did pretty well. And even though grades don't matter at all after you graduate, I did have to do a double take and think back for a minute trying to remember how the hell I managed to bomb Beginner's Ancient Greek II winding up with a C after getting an A in Beginner's Ancient Greek I (and then back to getting As after that). The memory did eventually resurface; I had deferred the exam on account of illness, but when it came time to write the exam in the summer, I wound up running a fever anyway, and on top of that, I was writing it a little over a week after my girlfriend had broken up with me. To be entirely honest, that summer and back half of the year is something of a blur. Welp, oh well.

Oh and hey, in one of those messy piles I found the paper for which I won a departmental essay contest and then third place in the national CAC undergraduate essay writing contest.

The professor's comments were far too kind. It's an okay paper for an undergraduate, I'd change a lot of things looking back at it now. I wonder what Dr. Corner is up to these days and if he finally finished his book. We had lunch together when I first moved to Toronto but that was years ago now. He was the professor I was closest to, a real mentor.

Buried behind the coursework box was another banker's box containing something entirely unrelated but very cool, these:

It's my old iPods! The 30GB iPod Video is completely dead, but the 160GB iPod Classic booted after I found a cable and gave it a quick charge. The headphone jack is busted, if I recall correctly, I had already paid to get it fixed once, and then it died a few months later. By that point I was fed up with having it fixed, and replaced it with an iBasso DX80. The electronics in it are still functioning fine; I might give a go at modding it into something I could put to use. Modding iPod classics is a whole scene these days and you can buy custom DIY replacement parts like microSD card readers to replace the harddrive, and there's custom firmware that allows the iPod to support higher capacity storage. Modding it shouldn't be too difficult and wouldn't even require much soldering. I'd replace the headphone jack, pull the 160GB HDD and replace it with a dual or quad microSD card reader and cram as many 512GB/1TB microSD cards it can take, and replace the battery with a higher capacity one. I stream my music collection from my media server to my phone via PlexAmp these days, but it would be cool to have an offline option, or something I can just leave permanently plugged into the Aux port of my stereo. My dad says he's got a 120GB model that half works floating around too, maybe I'll mod both of them.

There were a few other neat things in that second box like playbills from when I used to attend the opera. Which is yet another thing I used to be able to do and now miss terribly. That double feature of Bluebeard and Erwartung was phenomenal.

There was also a copy from one of the godawful and glossy annual "All About Sex" supplements the University newspaper published. I won't share pictures of that because there are a lot of half-naked semi acquaintances in there, but be assured, it's godawful.

In a third box I found approximately half of my physical PC game collection:

Check out that copy of X-Wing on 3.5" floppies and the sticker advising Windows and Pentium users that this is a DOS game. That's the very first PC game I ever got as a kid, received it as a present for Christmas '95. What you see there is less than half of what I know for a fact that I own on CD-ROM. Just off the top of my head I know I have physical copies of Half-Life, Red Alert 2, Tiberian Sun, Dune 2000, Emperor: Battle for Dune, Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri, Sid Meier's Civilization, Total Annihilation, Unreal Tournament, Star Wars Dark Forces II: Jedi Knight, Mechwarrior 4, Star Trek: Bridge Commander, Doom 3, Medal of Honor: Allied Assault, Thief 2: the Metal Age, Deus Ex and most of those games' attendant expansion packs. I didn't find any of them while clearing out the closet, which means that they're almost definitely up in the attic above the garage, along with the sci-fi and fantasy novels I had from adolescence which I didn't take with me when I moved. Getting up into that attic is a pain in the ass though, and it's cramped and stuffy once you're up there. Maybe next time I visit my parents I can put aside a day to go up there and locate everything. I'd really have to be feeling up to it though. I'm pretty sure my hardback copy of Good Omens is up there, as is my copy of Neuromancer, and the Black Company omnibuses. None of which I've read in years.

The only other things of note were a bunch of pewter figurines of wizards I had for unknown reasons and a few nice and largely unused (with the exception of a few pages that I must have torn out years ago) notebooks that I can put to good use.

Actually, I just figured out the reason I owned these and hung onto them. It's because they're rad as hell. Wizards rule.

#blog #personal history

[hawkeyedflame]

i guess i'm a touch late but,

2023 was a truly amazing year for me. i feel so blessed to be healthy and alive and experiencing the beauty in the world in spite of all the setbacks i've had over the years.

i was able to travel to canada and see the breathtaking rocky mountains three times this year. my wife was able to visit with me as well, and two of my best friends from out of state traveled down to visit me/us over the summer. our immigration decision will be handed down very soon, and we will finally be able to close this difficult chapter of our lives for good.

my brother and sister-in-law blessed our family with another child over the summer and he is precious in every way. my niece continues to be a joy to watch grow and engage with the world. i got a better job, with much higher pay, a wonderful team of coworkers, and a very generous work-life balance. i picked up running again this year, feeling finally healthy enough to move my body in ways i hadn't been able to in an entire decade, and even started racing again. i'm running a marathon in april with some friends. i go to the gym at work every weekday. i have been hiking and snowboarding. i've taken up learning the irish language, i've re-committed to learning how to draw, and i've been making and maintaining healthy habits slowly over the year. i have friends i see regularly and most days i forget my computer even exists, which is surreal to me as someone who used to be extremely dependent on, probably addicted to, social media and video games as escapism.

my mental health is practically perfect, not even a whisper of depression or anxiety, thanks entirely to my diet, which has in turn allowed an upward spiral of productivity and genuine living that has driven me past merely not being ill, into the territory of being near-constantly joyful and deeply at peace with myself.

i got a tattoo which has become a source of confidence and assurance, a small but bold reminder that i am strong enough to be true to myself and live my life honestly and for the benefit of my family and community. i have brought healing to many people this year and my hope is that the effects continue to ripple outwards into the world over and over.

nearly nothing bad happened to me or my loved ones in 2023. it was easily the best year of my life and i genuinely believe 2024 will be even better. normally i'd cry out not to jinx it, but i believe it will be better because i am better, and i will continue to shape better and better versions of myself. i hope this year will be good for everyone else, too.

#the hawk speaks #not a new years resolution just a fond recollection of the past year #i actually do not have any new years resolutions this year except to stay the course. for the most part my life is well put together #of course there is always room for self improvement but i actually feel completely secure and content with the direction i'm going

[f1-stuff]

I would love to know about Mallorca AU

I'm so glad you asked anon! This is lowkey one of my fav WIPs that I absolutely plan to finish in time for f1's summer break this year. It's essentually an AU where Charles is still a race driver but Carlos isn't, and they meet when Charles and his family is on vacation in Mallorca for the summer break...

Because I'm feeling ridiculous and indulgent today, here's another 2k-word snippet.

The next day, they head to a secluded beach that promises amazing waves, as well as lots of rock climbing and hiking. Charles expects to see some surfers, but it’s also quite windy so he’s not sure how safe it is. He’s gone surfing a couple times, but he’s not very good yet. And since he doesn’t like when he’s not good at things (who does?), he hasn’t tried again recently.

When they arrive, there’s still a fair number of people there as it is a weekend, but nowhere near the crowds on the more popular beaches. They find their own spot and set up camp, although he and his brothers immediately get to work hiking up one of the cliff faces to get a good view from the top.

The view is worth it, but they’re hot enough by the time they get back down to run straight into the water. He’s right about the wind, which means the waves are definitely gnarly. But they have a good laugh attempting not to drown. 

They even find a small rock outcropping not too far from shore that they can climb and jump off of. Lorenzo protests at first, claiming it’s not safe. But when Arthur ignores him and does it anyway, he sees that it’s not too bad and joins in.

They rest on the rocks for a bit, tired from the climbing and swimming, but when Lorenzo mentions their mum might be getting worried, they decide to head back. Lorenzo jumps down and Arthur follows him, starting the swim back. Charles (stupidly) decides he’ll dive off, and wouldn’t you know it, as soon as he hits the water, his swim trunks are pulled clean off.

He surfaces with a laugh, dragging hair off of his face and wiping water from his eyes. But when he glances around, he can’t see the trunks anywhere. He spins a full three-sixty degrees at least four times before he wonders if he’s going crazy. A wave might’ve pushed them into some rocks, but he swims around the rock outcropping and doesn’t find them.

So a wave pulled them under, then. Fantastic. He really liked those trunks, too.

He starts the swim toward shore, his brothers having gotten a head start, but still within sight.

“Arthur!” he calls, as he’s closer than Lorenzo.

His brother either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him. He hopes it’s the former because the latter doesn’t bode well for if he were in any actual danger. He tries to catch up, but by the time he’s reached about the maximum depth he’s comfortable with before he’s flashing the whole beach, Lorenzo is already back at their chairs and Arthur is out of the water.

“Arthur!” he tries again. 

This time, Arthur does hear him and turns around. Charles sighs in relief and beckons him over with his hand, but all Arthur does is wave and cock his head to the side, beckoning Charles over with a matching gesture. Charles sighs in frustration, repeating the gesture with more intensity.

“Come back!” Arthur just continues to look at him like he’s crazy, before waving at Charles and heading to their chairs. “Idiot,” he mutters. 

Most of the time, he says that with affection. But he’s thinking rather ill thoughts at the moment, as he watches his brothers greet their mum and take sips of water. 

Lorenzo must ask Arthur where Charles is because he sees Arthur point over his shoulder, Lorenzo following with his gaze until his eyes land on Charles. He stands up straighter, making a clear gesture for Lorenzo to come back. His older brother just continues to look confused, until he himself repeats the arm motion, beckoning Charles to come back.

“My God, they’re both idiots.”

Well, eventually they have to wonder why Charles won’t leave the water, right? That, or he has to wait for someone else to come along. Or he exposes himself to the whole beach.

Yeah, no. He’ll wait.

There are other people in the water, but most of them are women and kids. He doesn’t really fancy swimming up to a kid and their mother and asking for a spare pair of swim trunks. Somehow, he thinks a strange man implying he’s naked would at the very least make someone extremely uncomfortable and at the worst, get him kicked off the beach.

He’s actually starting to get cold despite the hot summer sun, when someone paddles by on their surfboard.

“Hi, excuse me! Um, sorry - perdóneme,” he says to the guy. 

He looks to be about Charles’ age, maybe a little older - dark hair that’s long enough to tuck behind his ears, slicked back from the water. He looks significantly less likely to be creeped out by Charles. Not a hundred percent, but...less likely, for sure. 

“Inglés? Please...” He mutters the last part to himself. He knows a few Spanish words and phrases, but he’d probably have better luck speaking Italian and hoping the guy understood.

“Yeah?” the guy thankfully replies, his brows furrowing at Charles. He stops paddling and sits up on his board. “Alright?” He has a Spanish accent, so Charles assumes he’s either a local or from Spain on holiday.

“Do you have swim trunks - uh, another pair?” Charles asks, laughing awkwardly. “I’ve lost mine.”

Then, after a brief pause. “Lost them?” The guy is attempting not to laugh for Charles’ benefit, presumably.

“They were...taken by a wave.”

“Ah, this clears things up.” Charles thinks he’s being made fun of, but the man looks like he’s enjoying this rather than bothered. “What should I do? Give you mine?”

“No!” Charles says, flushing for some reason. “I don’t know. Could you bring me a towel or something? My family is just there, but they are being idiots.”

The man is faintly smiling as Charles speaks, but doesn’t look in any rush to help. Charles is about to resign himself to wait for someone else or just ask the guy to get one of his brothers, when he suddenly nods, laying back down on his board.

“I will be right back, francés,” he says, starting to paddle toward shore. “​​Rápidamente!”

Charles realizes, after he’s been watching the man paddle for several seconds, that he has a weird smile on his face. He purses his lips and rubs his arms when he shivers a bit from the cool water.

The man reaches shore, and Charles watches with more than a little incredulity as he saunters with his surfboard under one arm all the way off the beach and disappears into the parking area. Charles sighs, fearing he’s just struck out again in obtaining help. The guy could be just going to his car to grab extra swim trunks, but Charles isn’t holding his breath.

He’s not only tried to get the attention of his brothers again, but also started wondering if he should look around for another potential savior, when he sees the man emerge back onto the beach, sans surfboard. Charles nearly scoffs when he seemingly stops to chat with a couple of girls, but he can faintly see something like trunks clutched in the guy’s hand, so he won’t curse him out just yet. 

And soon enough, he departs from the girls and makes eye contact with Charles, waving the trunks in the air like a chequered flag at the end of a race. Charles sighs. Day one of vacation and this is what it’s come to.

He smiles weakly and gives a thumbs up, hoping that’s enough to get the guy to fucking bring him the trunks. The man gestures for Charles to come to him, and Charles is a second away from losing it, when the guy laughs and wades into the water. Charles lets out a deep breath, relieved.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” the guy jokes when he gets close enough.

“Very funny,” Charles says, catching the trunks when they’re thrown his way. They’re a pretty standard aqua, but there’s the silhouette of a shark on the backside in a darker blue. Charles notices a tag hanging off the waistband. “Have you bought this just now?”

“There’s a shop down the road, very close,” the man says. And he looks so much like he doesn’t mind, sinking low in the water with his chin resting on the surface and hardly paying attention to Charles, that Charles doesn’t protest the kindness. And anyway, it’s done now.

“That’s nice of you,” he does say, smiling. “Thanks, mate. How much was it?”

“Bah, I don’t remember,” the man says, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Charles takes a peek at the price tag anyway, before pulling them on underneath the water. He’ll try to offer him some euros once he’s back with his stuff, but he also knows from experience that it can sometimes be more polite to just accept a gift when it’s given.

“Thank you, again.” The man just nods and straightens up to walk alongside Charles as he heads back to shore.

“I’m Carlos,” he says, holding out a hand for Charles to shake. He takes it with a slow, dawning smile. “¿Qué?”

“Hello, Carlos. I’m Charles.”

“You are kidding,” Carlos says, grinning. “Mate, this is fate.” He elbows Charles, who can’t help his answering laugh. “I’m honored to be the one to help you out of this, eh- hairy situation.” Charles just shakes his head.

“Not French, by the way,” he says, and Carlos raises his brows. “You called me French, before.”

“Not French,” Carlos says, adopting a thoughtful expression.

“I speak French - Italian, also. But I am not from France.”

“Speak French but not from France,” Carlos repeats, rubbing his chin. “Swiss?” Charles shakes his head again. “Belgian?”

“No,” he says, laughing.

“No, no, no. Of course not. You don’t sound it,” Carlos says, as if someone else had suggested it, rather than himself. 

Charles raises a brow, enjoying this game more than he should. They’ve already reached shore by now, but they’re just sort of idling near the water, wet feet collecting loose sand as they drip dry.

“Canada?” Carlos suggests. Charles gives him a moment to stew, before shaking his head.

“Do I sound Canadian?”

“I don’t know,” Carlos laughs. “Ehm, Africa? No. Madagascar?”

“Madagascar?” Charles repeats, mystified. 

“Maybe! Why not?” Carlos says, shrugging.

“You will never guess it.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“Mm, I don’t think I should,” Charles says, laughing.

“I will never guess it, huh?” Carlos mutters to himself, thinking. 

Charles is surprised he’s still trying to figure it out. It reminds him of how competitive Pierre can be - how competitive all the other drivers on the grid are. Carlos is certainly built like an athlete, so the competitiveness seems to fit. Charles decides to distract him.

“You are from Spain?” Carlos nods.

“I live in Madrid, but I come here during summer to work,” he says. Now standing next to him, Charles realizes he’s a little taller than Carlos. He doesn’t know why that surprises him. “Are you staying in Palma?”

“Near there,” Charles says, forgetting the exact name of where they’re staying. 

“Ah well, me and some friends are getting drinks in town tonight. You’re welcome to join. We can show you the right way to party in España.” Carlos grins and Charles laughs, but he’s not sure he should agree. A group of people he doesn’t know, any of whom could recognize him and post about where he is and what he’s up to?

“Tempting,” is what he ends up saying. “Maybe, if we don’t have something planned. Where will you go?”

“Eh, here and there. We’ll probably start at a place called Calama.”

“Calama,” Charles repeats, making sure he’s got it right.

“Sí. It’s on ____. That’s the street name. Say it because I don’t trust you.” Charles laughs, but obliges, stumbling through it a bit, but getting there in the end. “Okay. Bueno.”

“Thanks again for the swim trunks,” Charles says.

“It’s no problem.” Carlos grins again, and Charles gets the feeling he’s someone who likes to laugh. He supposes that’s a stupid thought - who doesn’t?

“See you, mate,” he says, waving as he takes a step toward his family.

“See you,” Carlos says back, then pauses. “Luxembourg?” Charles raises his brows, shaking his head. “Mierda. I will guess it.”

Charles laughs and turns around, finally joining his family who appears to hardly notice his arrival. He flicks his brothers each on the back of the head, who both yelp more in surprise than in pain.

“What was that for?” Arthur says, rubbing his head.

“For being an idiot.”

Lorenzo squints at him. “Are you wearing different shorts?”

-

You could call this a charlos 'meet cute'... lmao

#tag game #rpf #charlos #mallorca AU #anon #ask

[sumire-no-nikki]

To Be Here

October. My beloved October. The kotatsu blanket is back on, the indoor plants don't need as much watering, the fallen leaves in the backyard need sweeping and the Summer clothes have been put away. Funny how many friends I've recently chatted with about the bliss that comes with October. It's a burst of orange ochre and apple red in my head. When the season turned, the sun who has since made herself scarce is a warm embrace whenever she pokes her head out. The wind and clouds are constant companions. The evening is perfect for mysterious reads under candlelight. What a splendid month.

As I am typing this, however, October is nearly done. Something this good always leaves too soon, doesn't it? I love the first taste of cold after the pesky Summer heat and September’s false promises of colder days. October is where it really gets going. But it's always nearly done before I feel like I can properly savor it. How melancholy!! But isn’t that how it always goes? Love is more deeply felt after only the crater it left is the one thing you’ve got to remember it by? Love defined by the lack, the absence, the loss? There will never be enough Octobers for me. I’m a creature of want in this way, yearning is an instinct for me. I watch the days go by and the thought that there won’t be another October until next year is like quicksand for my mind.

That said I’ve spent the month working diligently and on the whole being rather productive in both work and personal matters. There’s this project I’ve started and making good progress on! Once completed I promised myself a trip where I can apply what I’ve learned and I’m so excited to reach that goal. I’ve also read a lot this month. I really surprised myself. I’ve read six books and the month isn’t over yet! I read two Agatha Christie books, all three of the Toshikazu Kawaguchi series (the fourth one is coming out next month!! And I’ll have to read the fifth one in Japanese because I don’t want to wait for the translation to come out!!!) I also read Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library as recommended by a friend and I'm so glad she brought it up! I've had a copy of it for ages but just never managed to pick it up due to associated memories (it was given to me by someone during a bad period in my life!!) I swear that book might've just saved my life. I also finished two manga volumes in Japanese this month. It's a series called Yotsuba&! which is just the most wholesome series. Maybe I'll talk about it someday on here. But that series is such a light in my life. I picked it up on one particularly tough day last week and it instantly revived hope in my heart that there's still good out there no matter what.

Other things I've been up to: I've been running a lot these days and I'm actually surprising myself with how much I enjoy it. Earlier today (I'm typing this before bed) I went on a run while it was drizzling. I felt like a kid playing in the rain. I couldn't stop smiling!

Also, the podcast show I mentioned some entries ago!! Case 63!! It has a season 2!! Actually, I found out it's originally by a Chilean writer, so the version I listened to is an English adaptation. Anyway, I'm so happy there's more of it. Season 3 is the final season in Spanish so I expect the English adaptation of that will also be made (since they went so far as to continue with season 2). Fingers crossed! I'm so intrigued as to how it will end!!

As for TV, I started and finished watching HBO's Barry in like a week. I was absorbed!! All four seasons! Mind you, each episode is only 30 mins so it wasn't really that long. It's such a funny and dark show I love it so much. I've heard good things about it through the years but I never found the time to get into it. Plus I have this terrible illness of "I-Can't-Get-Into-Things-When-It's-Super-Mainstream-I-Need-To-Wait-Until-The-Hype-Dies-Down-itis" lol. No, seriously I just didn't feel like getting into a new show until this month apparently. But I'm so glad I watched it. The show is a goldmine, the best Hollywood/LA culture satire I've seen in ages. The way it highlights the gender gap in the workplace, how a writer must compromise on truth in order to sell something, even the way a woman needs to be a "perfect victim" in order for her story to be worth anything! It's so witty!! And the central question of can people truly change--I'll be thinking about this show for a long time. It's so good. Watch it if you can.

Early this month I also managed to sneak a quick trip to Croatia and Slovenia which was so relaxing and peaceful. Trips can be quite stressful for me especially when it's a big city full of tourists due to my OCD (I'm looking at you Paris, and literally all of Italy smh... jk jk) But this trip was restorative and gave me a genuine sense of discovery and wonder, which is what I aim to travel for.

I've been listening to the new Mitski album and rethinking my home library's organisation system! I haven't decided yet but I mainly want my Classical Mythology books, both fiction and non-fiction in one area. Also wishing I bought two Caryatid statues in Athens last year instead of one! Would've been nice for her to have a buddy!!

Now, the title of this entry comes from a realisation I had this month--a very important one. As someone whose nature is to think and think and think, it's difficult to be in the present. I'm always in agony over the past, and anxious about the future. I can be quite dismissive of what's in front of me as a result. This is a chronic issue of mine. But while reading The Midnight Library, tucked in my reading chair, savoring the scent of a pumpkin pie candle, all the pieces of advice I've read both online and in person suddenly clicked.

When writing a first draft of a novel, it simply needs to exist.

When making art, it simply needs to be there.

When yearning to do something, I must attempt it

When wanting to exist, I simply am.

I just need to be here in the most literal sense. To be. Not in the past tense, not in the future tense. There's no need for qualifiers. There is no standard to fulfill. I know this is neither new nor revolutionary, but in the embrace of an October evening, digesting this advice and accepting it made me feel so brave.

It hit me like a sucker punch. I thought, I need to untangle my sense of self and my worth from anything external. I cannot keep on doing this to myself. Because the truth is if I don’t stop this constant self-flagellation, I have simply replaced my mother in adulthood. I will have been no different from her and her constant need to criticise me. This is something I've been actively trying to improve recently and I can feel myself getting better. I feel, somewhat ironically, that by being present, I'm regaining a sense of hope that I haven't felt since childhood. Like somehow my past is healed and my future is assured.

So despite how much I've gone on about loving October at the beginning of this entry, as much as I know I will miss it, I have to be where I am. That means accepting that all things end--good or bad. That means being in November when it comes. That means understanding that what I've lost, while dearly missed, is out of my grasp now. That means what will happen to me is tomorrow's business.

This entry's song I've repeated to death (which is a very good thing) this month. It's by an artist I really enjoy. I cannot wait for new material from her and this new single is a sign of really good things to come!

I leave you with a photo of a friend I made while out on a walk. What shall I name him?

Have a wunderbaaahhh rest of Octobaaaahhh! 🐑

#diary #sumire-no-nikki #Spotify

[ask-sibverse]

Prompt: hiking date with Killer (As much fun as explicitly diabetic related situations are, it's nice to do some things where the main focus isn't diabetes. I do have another diabetes focused drabble planned, but for now, fluff! Mostly.) Set in the same version of things as this

TW: violent intrusive thoughts

(Like this? Want more? Send a prompt!)

Cgm, check. Pump set to activity mode (one of the author's favorite damn settings about the Omnipod), check. A boatload of granola bars and other low blood sugar snacks to shove in your inventory, check. Plenty of water? Got it.

"I think I'm ready," you said.

Killer had suddenly texted you that he's taking you on a hike, before immediately backtracking and asking if it was too much with your diabetes. You tried to resist the urge to smack him as you reminded him you swim regularly in the summer and did martial arts several times a week for years. You know how to balance diabetes and exercise.

So here you were now and hour later about to go on a date with Killer. Was it a date? He hadn't called it one. It could just be a friendly, platonic outing. You shouldn't make things weird.

But you were ready to go, either way. You walked out of your room to find Killer on the couch with your cat. Cats are tiny hunters and Killer is, well... Yeah. So it didn't really surprise you that he got along great with your cat. Said cat was currently purring in his lap.

"I'm ready to go."

"I'm trapped, go on without meeeee."

You stared at him. "I don't even know where we're supposed to be hiking."

"Oh yeah. But the caaaaat."

You snorted and scooped up your cat. He meowed in complaint but let you move him off the murder skeleton. "Lets get going, shall we?"

He nodded eagerly. "You ever been to Mount Ebbott?"

"No, I don't think I have."

"Its not too horrible a hike, and the view is great from the entrance to the Underground."

"Okay, let me get my car keys."

"Why bother? You've got someone with you who can teleport."

"I keep forgetting that."

Killer snorted and extended his hand. "Hang on tight."

Shortcuts were sometimes more disorienting than portals. Portals you at least were passing through something to get from point A to point B, shortcuts you were one place and then you blinked and were somewhere else. So to suddenly be in the woods at the base of Mt Ebbott took a moment for your mind to catch up with.

Killer started dragging you up the path as soon as you collected yourself. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and it was just the two of you on the mountain.

"Is it usually this peaceful?" You asked. "I don't think anyone is up here."

"Depends on the AU, and the time of year," Killer said. "But yeah, no one but us here right now." He paused. It seemed like thoughts were running through his mind. "I could do anything to you, and no one would know."

"Killer."

"I wouldn't, I promise!"

"Killer."

You sighed. "What's going through your head?"

"... That no one would hear you scream. That I could chase you through the woods and kill you, watch my knives make you into a pincushion and no one would find out until it was too late. But I won't do that, promise!"

You put a hand on his shoulder. "Do we need to go back? It sounds like your mind is getting to you."

"No! Ill be fine, I want to show you the view from the top!"

"Alright, I trust you."

So you filled the silence to give him a distraction. Talking about your hobbies and cats, asking what he and the gang had been up to. It seemed to work, at least to distract him if it didn't fix things. You almost didn't notice the entrance to the Underground until you were about to fall in, Killer having to grab you by the collar of your jacket.

"Don't fall in. You're not a Frisk." he snorted. You stuck your tongue out before turning.

The view took your breath away. You could see all of Ebott City from here and the surrounding valley. You could imagine how incredible it must feel to see this for the first time after centuries kept underground.

"This is..."

"Incredible, yeah. I saw it a few times before my human really lost it."

You squeezed his hand gently. "I hope Chara doesn't reset here, I'd hate for everyone to lose this." Especially your friends

"Eh, who knows." He shrugged. "Don't have a high opinion of most of those brats. Or humans in general."

"What about me?"

"You're... Different. Special."

#intrusive thoughts tw #killer sans #killer sans x reader #t1dreader #undertale

[butmakeitgayblog]

Buddy, I’m gonna need you to share my pain with everyone else. I cannot go through this alone 😭

Cue Taylor Swift.

For the record, you did this

You did.

By sending me TS's Soon You'll Get Better, which I had never even heard. And considering the honeymoon snippet you'd think you woulda seen it coming

This baby girl right here?

Right here?

This is Lexa who has completely stopped running from it.

Her illness causes bruising. That's just a fact of Lexa's life. It's what she wakes up to every morning and what she sees in the mirror before bed every night. It's something she'd gotten so used to working to cover up that by the time Clarke started coming around, it kind of didn't occur to her what would happen when or if she eventually couldn't keep them hidden anymore.

Or if she'd even want to hide them from her at all.

The first time they sleep together is when Clarke sees the full extent of it and, oh, Lexa practically shakes with how nervous it makes her. Because yes, she knows Clarke is attracted to her, and yes, Clarke has always been nothing but gentle with her, treating her like she's something precious rather than something broken that could crumble if held too firmly in her grasp. But it's another thing entirely to be laid so bare. To have every one on every rib stand out against the paleness of her skin. To see Clarke's eyes trace the peppering of them across her shoulders, her hipbone. Across her breasts, belly, and the dips of her thighs.

But Clarke kisses them with unwavering reverence. Not as though Lexa's delicate for them, but as though she loves those broken parts of Lexa every bit as as she loves the supple, unmarred skin around them. As though they're nothing more than pieces of Lexa's perfectly beautiful whole.

That's something Lexa didn't even know she needed until she had it. That feeling of Clarke cupping her face and nuzzling close. Breathing her in. Kissing her temples and cheeks. Taking on Lexa's burden as her own. That feeling of Clarke accepting her exactly as she is in her illness. Not despite it.

And that never changes. Not once when they're close or being intimate does Clarke treat her as anything other than just Lexa, the woman she loves. Not physically, not emotionally.

Which is how Lexa prefers it.

She prefers it on the bad days, when she can't even stand the sight of food and keeping down water feels like a herculean feat. On the days when she barely recognizes herself in the mirror amid the splotches of purple, yellow, and faded blue, Clarke still looks at her like she's nothing less than precious. And on the days when Lexa can't do anything beyond laying in bed drifting in and out of sleep, she appreciates the fact that Clarke will just slip under the covers beside her and snuggle up like that was always what she'd had planned for the day.

Because it's in those moments that Lexa can pretend.

They'll lay in her bed, usually naked and practically wrapped around each other, Clarke obviously boiling under Lexa's 4 insulated comforters... but she never complains. She just lays on her back and coaxes Lexa's head onto her chest, running her fingers through Lexa's hair and reverently kissing every bruise within reach. Humming with every kiss she faithfully returns in kind across the full swell of Clarke's breasts. (Forever a boob girl.)

And they take turns talking about what they're gonna do together "when this is all over" and seal every one with a lie-sweetened kiss. They make plans to visit the grand canyon and camp under the stars and shout to wide open sky till their lungs burn. They plan summers in Europe just to kiss under the Eiffel Tower and argue about wintery holidays split between the tropics and begrudging trips back home. They make plans to find the hidden sanctuary of some long forgotten waterfall to make love under and swear to dip their toes into the shores of every ocean.

They plan a lifetime's worth of moments in that quiet safety they find in Lexa's bed. Plans for a future life filled with all their love and all the pieces of the world they're gonna conquer together, someday.

Just as soon as Lexa gets better....

#dysco lymonade #a walk to remember au #AWTR synopsis #you can also blame ALaw for this #you two were the two who were the two #and klforpresident really #it... it was a group effort my point being I'm innocent better #here*

[theelderhazelnut]

OC Interview

A huge thank you to @black-dragon-posting for tagging me <3

Tagging: @vivilovespink @darialovesstuff @bar10du @huepazu @scentedcandleibex @confidentandgood @aliyaaaepel3 @loverofthewindgod @ninibear3000 @roofgeese @orbitinytheworld @krysta-cross @loreoflemons @detectivelokis @captastra @zoetheneko @isabellawaites

Ombra impatiently checked the white clock hanged on the wall. "How long is this going to take?" She asked the interviewer while maintaining a flat face.

"Not more than fifteen minutes." The interviewer observed the pile of papers in his hands, grinning widely at the thoughts racing in his head. "This documentary is going to be very much different from the previous ones we produced."

"How come?"

"You will soon find out, Miss Ombra." The interviewer gestured to the cameramen. "Cameras? Okay, Let's begin!"

Basics

"Name?"

"Are you asking for my real name? It's Golnaz. And my last is Zomorodian"

"Are you single?"

"No, I am currently in a relationship with one of the most powerful sorcerers among the realms." An uncontrollable toothy smile appeared on her lips.

"Are you happy?"

"I try to be. But uh-" Ombra slightly frowned. "I have to be. This is the least I can do in order to not make my life a literal hell."

"Are you angry?"

Ombra drops her head, letting out a silent smirk. "Only plants are not angry."

"Are your parents still married?"

Ombra nodded a "yes".

9 Facts

"Birth place?"

"Hamedan, Iran. You can read it thoroughly from my eyes."

"Hair color?"

"Do I really need to say this?" She took a wavy strand of her lose ponytail to the front and continued. "Dark brown. You may think it's black, but it reveals its true color under the sunlight."

"Eye color?"

Ombra wrinkled her lips in slight annoyance. "Chocolate brown. Very much dark as well. But it changes. If I utilize an enormous amount of my Metalrealmer energy, it changes to cyber yellow."

"Birthday?"

"November twenty sixth."

"Mood?"

"At this moment? Well, curious I think. Curious to know what happens at the end."

"Gender?"

"I'm half-female half-neutral. I do feel totally neutral sometimes." She paused for a moment then continued. "Do I have to elaborate?"

"Summer or Winter?"

Her eyes brightened. "That's a tough question. Eh...I prefer both. I don't know. The fresh air and the longer days in Summer hypes up my mood."

"Morning or Afternoon?"

"Definitely afternoon. Every single living thing falls in a relaxing silence in that time. And it's just me running around in the base." Ombra let out a soft chuckle.

Eight Things About Your Love Life

"Are you in love?"

"Yes, I am. With myself. No no no, I won't deny that, but yes. I am in love with another person."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"No. If you feel totally attached to someone in the very first sight, and all of a sudden crave them desperately, you are undoubtedly mentally ill."

"Who ended your last relationship?"

"There wasn't any."

"Have ever broken someone's heart?"

Ombra nodded in agreement. "And I have zero regrets. Of course, I'm not sure how many times I did because, well, maybe some of them were unintentional."

"Are you afraid of commitments?"

"Only when it's about Quan Chi, I guess. Not being to fulfill my promises to him is an absolute nightmare. I don't want to be a fake manipulator."

"Have you hugged someone within the last week?"

"As far as I remember I only hugged Quan Chi. But please don't be afraid if you want to hug me." She calls to no one.

"Have you ever had a secret admirer?"

"I'm not sure if this counts, but I'm gonna say Quan Chi. He did nothing a secret admirer would do." She shrugged. "But still."

"Have you ever broken your own heart?"

"This sounds weird, but no. It isn't easy to break my heart. You must be something so precious to me to be able to do that." She leant her chin on her palm. "I'm not saying that I'm not precious to myself."

Six Choices

"Love or Lust?"

"Both."

"Lemonade or Iced tea?"

"I choose iced tea. It tastes more like water, and responses to my thirst perfectly."

"Cats or dogs?"

"You have no idea what kittens can do to me."

"A few best friends or many regular friends?"

"I am not so professional in taking care of acquaintances, so the answer is obvious."

"Wild night out or romantic night in?"

"It entirely depends on my mood and physical energy. A wild night out with Quan Chi is literally a life-death situation which requires great physical energy. Sadly, I use most of that energy at work, so it's a romantic relaxing night in ninety percent of the time."

"Day or night?"

"My preference changes all the time about this. I'm not going to give you a firm answer."

Four Have You Evers

"Been caught sneaking out?"

"When I was a child, home was the safest place for me, so I technically had no reason to sneak out. But as an adult? No."

"Fallen down/up the stairs?"

"I'm always careful." Ombra lowered her tone to almost a whisper. "But I'm secretly afraid of it ever happening."

"Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?"

"Not someone. Something."

"Wanted to disappear?"

"Yes and no."

Four Preferences

"Smile or eyes?"

"Eyes tell a different story. It way harder to fake your eyes movements and the truth behind them than faking your smile." She shrugged. "Also they're more beautiful."

"Shorter or taller?"

"You mean my own height? Well, of course, taller. Much taller."

"Intelligence or attraction?"

"Intelligence can also bring about attraction. In fact, intelligence can bring about almost anything, so I think attraction is not enough on its own."

"Hook-up or relationship?"

"It's disgusting to me to touch someone who I just met, so I say relationships, obviously."

Family

"Do you and your family get along?"

Ombra nodded. "I was lucky that I was born in a functional family."

"Would you say you have a messed-up life?"

Ombra frowned, staring at the distance. "Depending on how you look at it, I do have a chaotic life, but it's no "messed up". However, it's on the edge of it, and it only requires a snap of my finger."

"Have you ever run away from home?"

"Not from the building of my home, but I did technically run away from my country. To survive."

"Have you ever gotten kicked out?"

"My family love me. No matter what I do." A bitter smile curved her lips.

Friends

"Do you secretly hate one of your friends?"

"What kind of a question is this? Do you intend to expose me?"

"No no! Absolutely not! You can skip this one!"

Ombra's eyes darkened. "I don't. I can't stand keeping someone I despise so close to me."

"Do you consider all your friends good friends?"

"I deliberate before choosing them."

"Who is your best friends?"

"There's three of them. My sister, Quan Chi and Menace." (@vivilovespink)

"Who knows everything about you?"

"My sister and Quan Chi. Menace knows too much, too." She chuckled lightly. "It's just that he's the last best friend I found, so we need more time. Y'know, not everything can be told."

"That should be it. Thank you for giving us your time, Miss Ombra."

"You're welcome." She responded, and watched the three men leave the room as they chatted cheerfully. "This show's gonna definitely rock it!"

#ombra the ironhead #mk oc #mortal kombat oc #quan chi #menace (oc) #deadlyiron #tag game #this was so fun!