#meg's writing

[feyhunter78]

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swing open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside the sound of his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

[spacedoutmermaid]

When a house is left alone for too long, its desire for company grows ever stronger.

#moodboard #horror moodboard #one of the many books I wanna fully write one day #meg's writing

[ninjasmudge]

When Macaque can take his relationship with Sun Wukong falling apart better than Megatron does with Optimus.

why cant you be more like macaque, he just beat some people up and put on plays until he felt better

anyway enjoy this niche crossover

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #six eared macaque #transformers #megatron #tfp megatron #tfp #tf #mk #mk art #transformers prime #i was gonna draw maq and then i was like wait them robots is huge #and then i brainwaved so smoke monster macaque it is #if you asked me about whose fault the transformers wars are in general i could write you a multiple page essay #i could talk for hours and hours about different continueties blaming different things and how the war fell on both autobots and decepticon #but in tfp megs is pretty assuredly largely at fault and simply unable to entertain the idea of peace #i vow not to get into that essay here but his motivations were coming from a different place than for eg. tfa where hes much more justified #tfp was assured destruction #plus its for the joke so thats why im placing blame on him here #the joke needed it #sometimes salf care is obliterating your whole species #my art

[espinosaurusrexex]

!this is a repost because something was wrong with the original!

Thank you so much! I had a lot of fun with this. Already looking forward to all the other imagines lined up 🥰

Secret Relationship (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

BuckyBarnes x Female!Avenger!Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: fluffy af, little angst

Your eyes stared over the coffee mug at him from across the room. He was stealing glances over to the kitchen in which you sat as Sam and Tony tried to convince him to meet the smoking hot yoga teacher bachelorette the two of them had found for him this week. 

You felt a little bad for him, to be honest. Bucky seemed exhausted from their constant nagging. It was weird to see the two men together like this. Normally, Tony and Sam would just pass in the hallway with subtle nods. But when it came to finding a woman for Bucky, the two could be mistaken for best friends. 

“Her name is Ronda and she is hot.”

“Mhm. Gives hot yoga a whole new meaning.”

“That’s right. And she’s willing to meet you!”

“Well, I’m not willing.”

“Why are you always like this, Bucky? We go out and we find you a nice girl and you decline every time.”

“Maybe he’s like this because Dr. No over here isn’t getting laid. Which is why you should go on this date.”

“I don’t need to get laid to be in a good mood, Tony.”

“We don’t know that. You’re always grumpy and you’re most certainly not getting laid. Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

“Oh, that definitely isn’t a coincidence.”

“I’m a scientist I know that stuff.”

“Yeah, he’s a scientist. Listen to him.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

But Bucky was panicking, you could see it in his eyes. He wanted to say it, that he didn’t want to go on dates because was already dating you. But you had forbidden him from doing so. It was better this way, and he had not spoken up when you suggested keeping your relationship a secret for now. 

With a small smirk, you got off your chair.

“Have you two geniuses ever thought about your annoying banter being the reason for his bad mood?” You sauntered past the men with your mug still in hand, the other slightly grazing Bucky’s back on your way to the door. You could feel his muscles relax just from the small touch. 

“How are we being annoying? We are literally helping him get some.”

“I don’t need to get any!” 

That was the last thing you heard Bucky shout frustratedly when you entered the hallway, a small chuckle leaving your lips before you went to your room to finish the report you had yet to hand in. 

-❁-

It wasn’t long before Bucky entered your room with an exhausted sigh. He leaned against the closed door when you looked up and then proceeded to approach you at your desk, where he leaned over your shoulder, arms caging you to his chest and chin nuzzling in your neck. 

“They’re the worst,” he mumbled into your sweater before placing small kisses along your neck. 

“I know, baby.” You stroked his arms. “For the geniuses, they claim to be, they’re really hardheaded.”

“I feel like it’s just me they’re bothering with this. For all they know, you are single too.”

Another pang went through your chest. Bucky had not been part of the team for long. And you had spared him all of the details about most members that Steve hadn’t already told him about. 

There was a reason why Tony and Sam didn’t suggest eligible partners to you, and that was because you had multiple suitors amongst the team and beyond already. If you wanted to have someone, they just assumed you would get them. Not to mention the total embarrassment they had witnessed when you had rejected Pietro in front of the team during movie night. You hadn’t meant to, but he had sprung it upon you without warning, and you hadn’t wanted to lead him on. 

Then there was Peter, the intern, that harbored a silly schoolboy crush on you since he had gotten his first action figure of you, and letting him down gently was harder than you had thought. Tony and Sam, especially, had gotten amusement from the frequent serenades and suggestive fan mail you received. They even suggested an “open mail + wine night” for their personal entertainment one time. And, well, you didn’t say no to wine and gossip. 

But despite all this, it wasn’t the reason why you wanted to keep your relationship a secret. Bucky had been closed up from the very first time Steve introduced him to the team. It had taken two months for him to reply to simple questions such as if he wanted coffee, too. But somehow, you had the honor of being the first person he trusted after Steve. And once you had gotten to know him better, he was the sweetest person ever. Caring, funny, charming - very touchy. But you were scared this would go away once everyone started teasing him about it. So yes, it might have been to protect Bucky, but it felt more and more like personal gain to you. 

“I want you to know that I don’t need Yoga Brenda, or Coffeeshop Mandy, or anyone else. I just wanna tell them that I’m already dating the most gorgeous woman they could ever find.”

“You are wonderful, do you know that?” Your head leaned against his shoulder when you felt Bucky smile into the crook of your neck. “And I guess I could deal with a little more PDA - warm the team up to it slowly.”

“Sounds like a great plan.” And with that Bucky turned your chair and pulled you up and towards the bed. “Until then,” he patted his lap once he sat down, “I demand a kiss for every time I had to vouch for us.”

You smirked before straddling him. “Oh, I’ll gladly pay up, then.”

-❁-

You knew Bucky was touchy, but now that he had permission to do so outside your rooms, it lit a whole new fire within you. You couldn’t reach the cupboard? He would press up against you with a hand on your hip and get whatever item you needed. You walked through a door? You bet he would hold that thing open until you were all the way through. 

But those were just the, in his way, subtle approaches for when everyone was around. When the two of you happened to catch a quiet moment, he wouldn’t hesitate to hug and kiss you in every common area of the compound. 

You didn’t mind it too much - Bucky was a great lover all around. But you were still a little nervous as to what the team’s reaction would be. You had already gotten glimpses of it. A raised brow from Natasha, who really was just surprised it had gone past her for so long. A double take from Pietro when Bucky brushed an eyelash from your face. And a knowing smile from Wanda, who to be honest, had probably known all along - your thoughts weren’t exactly subtle... or PG.

Though you had yet to see Sam or Tony react to the increase in affection Bucky gave you. It wasn’t unusual that he asked you to train or make a joke - you were friends in everyone’s eyes. But it would become obvious if he kept up the thing he was doing right now. 

Bucky had just swiped some chocolate from your face in the kitchen, and when Clint had left the room, Bucky’s hand just lingered on your face. You were staring at him. And every time those eyes gazed into yours, it was hard to remember that there was a world around you. 

“I like this,” Bucky smirked when his thumb grazed over your cheek. His mouth followed shortly and soon he was stealing pecks from your soft lips.

“It is very nice,” you admitted flustered from the kisses, your hands now grabbing at his shirt. 

“See, it’s not so bad.”

You just hummed in response when Bucky patted your ass affectionately.

“Ahhh! What did I just see?” Sam’s eyes were wide, his head immediately snapping to Tony. You just sighed as you leaned against Bucky’s chest. It had to happen sooner or later...

“Holy smokes, Barnes. Had we known you got Miss Unattainable, we would have shut up a long time ago.” Tony whistled in acknowledgment before he approached the fridge and retrieved a water bottle.

Bucky just looked at you with a lazy smile, his hands rubbing up and down your back. It was nice not to hide anymore.

“What can I say?” He was looking into your eyes when he spoke. “She likes to keep me to herself.” And when you responded with a smile, he leaned in and kissed you shamelessly.

“Geez, get a room,” you heard Sam mumble gruffly. 

But all you could do was giggle as Bucky hid his smile in the crook of your neck, his scruff tickling your skin and the weight of the secret falling from your shoulders.

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[huanted-dennys]

i find it funny that in tfp, megatron is such a big intimidating guy, he looks down on every one (either metaphorically or also physically) and it gives him an air of being powerful and unmovable

and than every once in awhile he’ll lean down to get a better look at soundwave’s mask, like a mom trying to read a meme ur showing her, i just think it’s funny that soundwave gets this dumbass to practically kneel too see what hes saying. doesn’t even tilt the visor up just feels salty like “no u tall mfer, get down here!”

#ignore me #i was looking for some good refs and i saw a couple of the scenes and couldn’t get it off my mind #my fav kinds of writing is sassy soundwave but also the fica where they show the decline of megs and soundwaves relationship #whether it’s romantic or platonic big sad to see friend lose his mind then take purple space crack #tfp #tfp soundwave #tfp megatron

[riaki]

— the warmth of a home | satoru gojo x reader jjk0 setting w/ coparent teen megumi

wc: 2.2k cw: petnames, established relationship, ur megs mother figure, reader is referred to as they but u wear perfume not proofread!!

this was just meant to be a weekday blurb like the last but oops it turned into a full fic mb

"i'm home!"

your voice rings out as you step through the threshold of your shared home, a gentle evening breeze ushering you in as you slip your shoes off sore feet and hang your well-worn jacket up, scented flowery perfume and sweet smelling cologne mingling on the thick fabric.

it's cold out; autumn is setting in, the crisp leaves that signal the arrival of fall collecting outside your doorstep as the late weeks of october wave goodbye and usher in the first days of november, followed by a drop in temperature and thin ice that begins to crust over any wet surface.

the small hallway leads into a wide, open living room, with a corner of couches and a worn tv that hasn't screened anything in ages. there's a fuzzy throw blanket hanging over one of the couch arms, knit with patterns of cute little dogs, stuck with tongues lolling happily from their mouths. a potted plant that's clinging on to a thin thread of life you can barely sustain on the days you remember to water it sits on the coffee table, bits of soil speckling the edge of the warm clay pot as the lights overhead cast a soft glow upon the ceramic. there's a pair of black socks strewn across the tabletop- you make a mental note to give their owner a good scolding and maybe a physical touch fast for the night once you find him.

you set your bag down by the door, stepping onto the wooden floor as your feet make soft thumping noises when you cross. two pairs of keen ears pick the sounds up almost instantly, coupled by two, equally loud voices that compete for your attention.

"ah, they're back! hope they brought takeou— ow! megumi, don't yank so hard." satoru's voice comes from the bathroom, a little ways down the hall decorated with polaroids and doodles. it's promptly followed by a curt, "sorry." the words bring a smile to your face; that irritatingly singsong voice you love so much coupled by megumi's aloof and quiet.

you make your way to the door, a warm glow flooding out of the crack before you push it open wide enough to peek your head, catching a glimpse of the scene unfolding on the other side as you stifle a laugh.

satoru is propped on the edge of the bathtub, hunched to make his frame somewhat smaller and the top of his head accessible to megumi as he faces the wall, while the latter fastens a section of loosely-trimmed cream bandages over satoru's eyes, all too tight that it begins to cut into his smooth skin. there's a grimace twisting his soft lips (you know they are from constantly running a thumb over them) pink glistening from moisture under the soft daisy yellow light. megumi's hands are far too tight as they grip the strip of bandage, forcing satoru's tufts of white hair into a disheveled mess.

at the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, both of them whip their heads toward the door, megumi all but ditching the task before him as satoru hooks the bandages beneath his chin with one finger, expression softening into that lovesick grin that makes your heart pump faster against your ribcage.

"welcome back." megumi hums, straightening up to brush past you. a silent agreement passes between the two of you— you'll finish tying the bandages for satoru, while he gets some homework done.

"thank you, megs." you laughed, giving him a quick ruffle of his smooth dark hair as he bumps shoulders with you, slipping past and walking into the hallway with a disgruntled mumble at the touch. "go easy on this old man next time. i don't want to deal. with a child for the whole night," you called, stifling a laugh when you see the exaggerated hurt expression that finds its way onto satoru's face almost instantly.

a distant sound of acknowledgement from megumi finds your ears as you turn around to face your very mature and handsome husband, who's still hunched over the edge of the bathtub with his arms folded over his chest and a faux crossed expression on his face. you take a few steps towards him before you sit down on the tub beside him, legs turned out to make use of the space as you turn your head to get a good look. there's a pout on his lips, not giving an ounce of thought towards being subtle in a way that's so very him. his sparkling blue irises peek out from beneath his long lashes, the color of the clouds in the sky that slowly begin to paint pale under the shine of the setting sun.

"hey, satoru. what's got you looking so down?" you chuckled, scooting closer on the cold rim of the tub to reach out. your fingers card through his hair and you almost swoon at the way he leans into your touch, like a cat chasing for chin scratches. you push the mess of hair from his eyes to press a lazy, slow kiss to his forehead, bumping into his side. as soon as your fingers touch the first square inch of hair on his head, his arms find their way around your waist, pulling you close like he's done so many times before.

"you're so mean to me, pretty. did you call me old?" he whines, the corner of his lips downturned as he buried his head in your shoulder for a moment before pulling away to stare down at you imposingly. you only sighed, stroking his hair as you watch his lips curve up in a poorly smothered grin, cocky and smug in a way that he knows makes you want to kiss away until only a little awestruck gape remains in its wake.

"of course not, 'toru. you know i love you too much to curse you with wrinkles." you hummed, taking in the sweet look on his face dusted rosy as he looks at you.

"i should hope so," he grins, and in one swift motion, you find yourself tucked flush to his chest on his lap, one of his hands snaking up your arm to pull you close as he catches your lips with his in a sweet motion he's been anticipating since the last clingy smooch this morning. he tastes like the candy you hid away in the cabinet in an attempt to stop his sweet tooth from plowing through the time before his next dentist appointment, and you add it to your mental list of things to reprimand him for.

for now, though, you let yourself indulge- let your hand trail up his chest and around his neck, feeling his pulse beneath your thumb as you lean into him with a sigh of contentment. he's warm, familiar, and stable in a way that you've only ever found comfort in, and he's fully aware of the effect he has on you when he pulls away, puckered lips pecking your cheeks with unrestrained affection as you laugh and bat him away.

he soaks in the moment for a bit until he speaks again, with a heave and a sigh that makes him seem far too worn out for a 27 year old. "help me out, love." he sighs, motioning toward the loose bandage around his neck that threatens to slip any moment. your hands are already moving when he speaks, taking up the bunch of fabric in your fingers to push his hair back and fasten it around his eyes. you mourn a little over the loss of the sight-- his pretty blue eyes tucked away behind a wall of necessity, hidden away from the world. your shoulders sink a little and you melt into him some as you finish tying the knot, making sure it's securely fasten before you move your hands away.

you're caught mid-motion, though- his hand shoots up to grab your wrist gently, thumb gently prodding at your pulse as he tilts his head into your other hand.

"'toru? what are you doing?" you asked softly, staring down at him from your vantage point in his lap.

"baby," he starts slowly, other hand snaking around your waist to press against the small of your back, warm and steady as he presses you close to him. "do you love me?"

you're surprised. most of the time, he never broaches the area of emotions out of the blue—it's an area of vulnerability he's still not quite ready for; not quite healed enough to approach. and you understand, so you never push him to talk.

"of course i do. that's why i'm here." you reminded him, gaze snagging on the way his teeth catch his lip and chew nervously. a fleeting thought enters your mind, and for a second you almost think he might put up infinity.

it's quiet for a moment, then, and you take the moment to size him up, appraising as the light from the window above filters in, framing his face in some sort of angelic light. he really looks ethereal, you think to yourself.

then, the silence is broken.

"enough to buy me takeout?" he offers sheepishly, all apprehension vanishing as that easy smile creeps over his lips again and he clasps your hands in his, lithe and calloused fingers enveloping yours to dot your wrist and knuckles with little kisses.

you blinked, before rolling your eyes, laughing that sweet laugh he only ever teased to hear from you as you wriggled free from his grasp, sliding off his lap and standing up again before he could trap you in a hug again.

"no, satoru. but i'll make dinner with megumi and save some for when you get back. does that sound good?" you offered, looking down at him expectantly.

he smiles at that, swinging his legs over the tub to stand as well. he's tall, almost comically so— looking quite out of place under the fluorescent lights amidst pastel shampoo bottles. your eyes drift to the sink, where two bristly toothbrushes are tucked in the same cup, and you smile.

"anything made by you is great, sweetheart." he says with a cheeky grin, reveling in the soft flush that stains your face as he walks closer, cupping your face in one hand and leaning down to kiss the side of your head affectionately. he catches a whiff of your perfume, and his smirk only widens. before he can do further, though, someone clears their throat from the other side of the door, and you turn around to catch sight of a head of spiky black hair, an unamused look on his face as megumi eyes the two of you.

"why are you still here?" he sniffs, peering up at satoru with a frown. the latter just chuckles, reaching over to aggressively mess with his hair, leaving it even more disheveled and out of place as an angry protest leaves megumi. satoru skirts just out of reach of an irritated jab, throwing what you think is some sort of charming wink from beneath his white bandages at the two of you.

"seeya, love. hold the fort down while i'm gone." he calls, already halfway to the door. his steps echo in your ear as you just smile, opening the bathroom door and stepping into the hallway as megumi slides up to your side, a sour expression tugging at his lips. "don't let the rascal upset our haven." said rascal makes a face.

"be safe," you said softly, hoping he caught your unspoken wishes in those two words. judging by the way he paused at the door before hurrying back to your side to pepper you with four departing kisses— one on either cheek, the tip of your flushed nose, and on your lips-- he took the caution to heart.

"you're so cute when you worry, love." he chuckled, his laugh like a spring of rejuvenating running water that filled you with life. he took a moment to take you in again— hair slightly messy from the wind whistling outside, the tips of your ears a pleasant red and a look in your eyes he could only describe as adoration.

"don't worry. i'll always come back to you."

and with that, he was gone.

not for long, though. eventually, he'd return home to a lone kitchen light flicked on, spreading warmth onto the table below. he'd come home to the same heart-warming scene he had so many times before— slipping his bandages down his face, taking his jacket off to spread it from one of your shoulders to megumi's— you'd fallen asleep together with the window open, a chilling evening breeze filtering in as the pages of megumi's homework fluttered in the wind, frustrated scribbles smudged against the crinkled paper underneath his elbows as he slept. you were by his side, too— cozy and exhausted, soft little breaths leaving your lips every now and then. times like this brought him a simple joy; the happiness of having a home to come back to, a family with handmade dinner gone cold on the table as it waited for him, a trio who could support one another and provide the love that each person had been missing.

there would never be anything he'd want more than this simplicity.

he ends up dumping megumi on the couch before carrying you bridal style towards your shared bedroom.

extra: u and megumi cook pasta tgt :3

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize!

#in other news furina banner drops today #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fluff #I DID NOT WRITE THIS WHILE LISTENING TO CHRISTMAS MUSIC WDYM >: #i dont know how to write for winter stuff bc i live south #im officially tired of writing gojo cus i cant get him right. megs n geto next!! #gojo fluff #billet-doux #this probably won’t be the last of jjk0 gojo cus that bandage blindfold is growing on md #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[thoughtkick]

It’s funny how you can go for a long time in life not needing someone, and then you meet them and you suddenly need them all the time.

Meg Wolitzer, Belzhar

#Meg Wolitzer #motivation #quotes #poetry #literature #relationship quotes #writing #original #words #love #relationship #thoughts #lit #prose #spilled ink #inspiring quotes #life quotes #quoteoftheday #love quotes #poem #aesthetic

[dinsdjrn]

the devils we keep | j. miller x f!reader

summary: After a messy end to things, you feel the only option left is to leave Jackson. For good. [wc: 1.6k]

a/n: this is part one of a series of standalones; they all follow Joel x same f!reader but at totally different points in their relationship.. they don't have to be read together or in any order.

content warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST with a side of ANGST, no use of y/n, established (and end of relationship), break up, post-outbreak!Joel, afab!reader, talks about loss and death, lack of communication, morning sex (blink and you'll miss it), graphic depictions of darkness, poorly edited, lmk if I missed anything <3

previous part | next part | masterlist

They always used to say that if you loved something, set it free, if it loved you back, it will return. Sometimes when you set someone free, they’ll still love you, and they’ll run as far away as they can.

The night offers some release, the darkness that surrounds you also understands you. It wraps its arms around you in a cold and unforgiving embrace, numbing your heart and soul. Momentarily releasing you from the ache that sits in where your chest meets your stomach. You thought that a “sinking heart” was just an expression, you have quickly learned, it’s a symptom.

You were not ignorant to heartbreak and pain, but previously it had come in exchange of survival. You didn’t have time to feel your heartbreak in the moment, you needed to keep moving and survive. The pain had always come later and your desire to survive always took president. So the dull ache in your chest was just a part of your daily routine.

“Movimiento es vida” your best friends voice rang in your head, movement is life. So you moved on from your grief, and moved forward to survive.

So you’ll take this pain, and you’ll push on, find somewhere new and start over.

Jackson had become so comfortable this past year you resided there. In all truthfulness, Joel had become so comfortable and he made it easy to forget a world beyond Jackson. He was someone you connected with so easily; he understood your best parts and forgave your worst.

You weren’t someone who was very good at connecting with others. Ever since you had lost your brother and best friend, you had become closed off. Maria, one of your only friends here, would describe you as a wallflower.

“Stoic and unreadable,” she would joke.

You would always roll your eyes at her. Jackson was safe but for the first few weeks you weren't convinced it was where you wanted to call home.

That was until you met Joel. He was arguably more closed off than you, but his scars matched yours. It was almost ironic how your pain matched his. You connected over the foals at the stables. Well, you and Ellie had connected over Shimmer. Joel came as a part of a package deal.

You had taught her all you could remember about horses and the equine world before the outbreak. It was what began to thaw your frozen heart; teaching Ellie how to ride, tack and untack, groom and even the different feeding protocols for the different horses. She wanted it all, and for the first time in so long you cared to share.

Your connection brought you closer to Joel, and proximity was all you needed to know that your heart matched his perfectly. You had originally planned on being two ships that had passed in the night, but life had other plans. Life with a little help from Tommy and Ellie.

None of that mattered anymore, the fondness that once sat in the memory of Joel had been buried beneath a field of darkness. Your whole life you could never seemed to pick up on when you had overstayed your welcome. Joel made it very clear that you had.

It can as a shock and surprise as you had always found yourselves talking about the future you had together. As you reflected, it was you who always brought up the future, he merely nodded along with you. Recently he had been more distant and cold, but in the moment this was a blind side.

“I think it’s time we both move on,” Joel said but wouldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you whispered.

“We had a good thing goin’, something comfortable…” he paused, “But we want… no, we need, different things.”

His gaze was on the ground.

“If you’re going sit here and tell me you need a change. And that change is to let go of me… then I want you to look me in the eye as you break what you promised to keep safe,” you seethed.

His gaze met yours, his eyes were cold as the day you had met. Secrets, pain, and distance that you couldn’t tap into were all that you were left with.

He bore into your soul as he ripped it from your body.

“We’re done here. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. You deserve more than that, but it’s all I can give.”

“Fuck you, Joel. Fuck this and fuck you,” you spat.

In some other world, you handled things more gently, but you’re certain that world beat and berate you with heartbreak after heartbreak.

So here you are, surrounded by darkness, letting the burning pain in your chest turn to numbness.

You laid in bed for a week, with only the memory of Joel to hold onto.

The way it felt to wake up late with him, when Ellie stayed with a friend and Joel stayed with you.

The way he would kiss the nape of your neck and trace his hands down the curve of your side from the swell of your breast to the top of your thigh. He would pull you in close pushing your ass against himself. Knowing exactly where to put his hands and lips to ignite a fire within you. Then he would move into you slowly, softly fucking you in then morning light. Whispering sweet nothings about how you could live in those moments forever.

All of those stolen touches, kisses, slow mornings and heated midnights. They were all ghosts of loves watermark. They drowned you, plagued your thoughts. You couldn’t escape them in this bed, this house, this city. Joel had infiltrated every corner, nook and cranny of your existence in Jackson, it made it impossible to breathe.

You hadn’t slept much since that night, because at least the darkness veiled the details of Joel the light seemed to amplify. It provided short moments where you could process half of a coherent thought. Those thoughts always brought you to the same place. Washington. You swore you wouldn’t go back after the QZ fell, but it is the only place you know you’ll find safety. Safety and ghosts from your past that wouldn't haunt you leaving you feeling cold and lifeless.

So in the darkness you packed what you would need for a few weeks travel. As the morning sun peeked over the mountains you knew what you had to do.

With your small pack over your shoulder and a backpack of food that would last a week or two if you rationed correctly, you headed up the hill to a house that was all too familiar.

You knocked gently on the door and it had opened a few moments later revealing a man, that you thought would be easy to say goodbye to. You were wrong.

“Tommy,” you whispered.

“Fuck,” he said, “I thought you were Joel.”

“I know you have patrol soon I won’t be long. Just had something I needed from you,”

“What is it?” He asked, dreading what the response might be.

“I need a gun and horse, to get me to Washington,”

“I was worried you might say that,” He raked his hand through his hair.

“I have to go. I can’t stay here any longer. Please Tommy, I can’t take it,” your voice broke as you pleaded.

"C'mon now is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?"

"I can't keep feeling this way Tommy. I've lost so much so quickly and had no choice in whether or not they left. This though? It's almost worse, he chose me and kept choosing me. Until one day he didn't anymore and I still have to face him. To face this town, it's tearing me apart. He chose this, he chose to lose me, and now it is my choice to keep moving, keep living." Tears threatened to break and you could barely speak above a whisper without your voice cracking.

“I understand,” he said putting his hands on your shoulders and pulling you into an unexpected hug.

“Let me get something for you and get you on your way,” he said.

“Thank y-“

“Under one condition,” he said.

“Anything,” you said.

“You find a way to tell me you’ve landed somewhere safe,”

“Promise.”

So you went to the stable to tack your horse, Blues, and secure your cargo. Tommy followed a few minutes later with a shotgun, ammo and hunting blade to get you through to Seattle.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you said offering him a smile.

“Hey, be safe out there, alright?” He pulled you in for one final hug.

“Tommy, uh, one more thing?”

“Shoot,” he said.

You pulled a clip from your hair. It was a tulip hair clip that Joel had found for you. The gold of the metal clip began rusting over at parts and the pink wasn’t as bright as you’re sure it had once been. Joel had found it for you when he learned how much you loved tulips and their sign of new life in the spring. How they came and went before all the other flowers and their was beauty in their brevity.

“Can you give this to Ellie? She won’t wear it it’s way too girly, but I just need her to know I’ll be with her aways,” you placed the clip in Tommy’s palm and he put it in his pocket.

“Go on now, before everyone’s up and tryna stop you,” Tommy nodded toward the door.

You mounted Blues and off you went through the gates of Jackson for what you were sure would be the last time. Not even a glance over your shoulder, if you looked back you’re not sure you would’ve made it past the tree line.

next part

comments, likes and rbs are so greatly appreciated

tags: @undrthelights @pedgeitopascal @tightjeansjavi @joelsversion & lmk if you would like to be added or removed in future <3

#joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x y/n #meg writes things #devils we keep: series

[novlr]

“No one can take writing away from you, but no one can give it to you, either.” — Meg Wolitzer

#writers #creative writing #on writing #meg wolitzer #author quote #writing #writing community #writers of tumblr #creative writers #writing inspiration #writeblr #writerblr #writing tips #author #authors of tumblr #writer #book writing #writing advice #writing resources #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writing life #author quotes #let's write #inspirational quotes

[quotefeeling]

The term "forgive and forget" doesn't make sense to me. Forgiving does allow us to stop dwelling on an issue, which isn't always healthy. But if we forget, we don't learn from our mistakes.

Abandon by Meg Cabot

#Abandon by Meg Cabot #motivation #quotes #poetry #literature #relationship quotes #writing #original #words #love #relationship #thoughts #lit #prose #spilled ink #inspiring quotes #life quotes #quoteoftheday #love quotes #poem #aesthetic

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Three - Your father has taken notice of your blossoming interest in a certain dark-haired northerner.

Ch 4

“The boy is looking at you again.” Your father drawls, moving his elephant across the cyvasse board with disinterest.

You take a sip of your wine and hum in response, moving one of your trebuchets forward.

He clicks his tongue. “Bad move, little lion, that leaves me free to attack your king.”

You glance at the board and curse internally; you have been far too distracted by Jon’s barely subtle stares to properly play the game. “Perhaps I am simply letting you win, you are getting older, Father, it is only the kind thing to do.”

Your father raises an eyebrow and delivers his final move. “Ah yes, it is kindness that distracts you, not the strapping lad who seems he will burst into flames if he does not look at you every three seconds.”

You glance over at Jon, who swiftly turns his attention back to Arya, correcting her stance out in the training yard, the ground freshly cleared of snow.

You and your father have taken a seat on one of the benches within one of the entrances to the guest chambers that spills out into the yard. It’s the perfect mixture between the warmth inside and the crisp morning air outside.

“I have not the faintest idea what you speak of.” You say, popping a grape into your mouth and chewing slowly, trying to hide your smile from your father.

He sighs and shakes his head. “All those years spent teaching you to mask your emotions, to have the perfect expression that never reveals anything, gone with the simple presence of a dark-haired northern boy who does naught by train and brood.”

“He reads as well.” You say, unable to stop yourself from defending Jon.

“Oh, does he now? Someone send word to the Grand Maester, we have found his newest acolyte.” He snorts, taking a drink from his glass.

You wrinkle your nose in response. “You are quite humorous, Father, truly you could put the court fool out of a job.”

He sets his wine down and heaves a heavy sigh. “You know I only ever wish for your happiness.”

“Yes, it is why you are my favorite father in the whole continent.” You smile teasingly, pulling your cloak closer around you as the wind picks up.

“But he is a bastard—”

“You said all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes, and yet you are still a man worth respect and titles.” You cut in, surprising even yourself with your outburst.

“Y/N.” Your father says sternly, laying his hands flat on the table.

You duck your head. “Sorry, Father.”

“He is a bastard, he cannot be your husband, a lover, or a guard, yes, but not a husband. If we were not Lannisters, if our house was not as it was, then perhaps it would be allowed. Gods know I do not wish to force you into a marriage you despise, but you are still a lady, still have the potential to win over great victories for our family.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning his words over in your mind. “Are you suggesting I proposition him, like Queen Rhaenyra did Ser Criston Cole?”

“I am not suggesting anything, I do not wish to think of my only daughter as a lady grown, but if you must follow Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps…perhaps it is a Lord Harwin Strong you should seek instead.” His tone is careful, teetering the line between fatherly advice and the words of a Lannister.

You toy with the edges of your cloak. “Jon cares much for his honor, it would be shameful to even ask him such a thing.”

Your father’s hand covers your own. “That bleeding heart of yours, it comes straight from your mother.”

You smile. “And you, as well, do not downplay your kindness. An unkind father would have shipped me off to the richest man who asked for my hand the moment I first bled.”

He shivers in disgust at the thought.

Your eyes drift over to Jon and Arya, the latter who has been distracted by the appearance of Sansa and Joffrey.

“Perhaps a guard then, you could do worse than a guard you have grown alongside, it breeds loyalty.” Your father muses, watching how Jon shifts to put himself between Arya and Joffrey.

You cringe when Joffrey challenges Jon to a playful duel, ignoring your father’s words. “This will not go well.”

“Perhaps it will be good for your cousin’s ego to be beaten into the ground by someone he deems below him.”

You meet your father’s eyes and you both burst into laughter.

“Y/N, Uncle, stop laughing and come, all must witness this display of skill.” Joffrey calls, beckoning you both over.

“I cannot, Nephew, I must meet with your Uncle Jaime.” Your father calls back, hopping down from the bench.

“Father.” You hiss, silently begging him not to leave you with Joffrey.

He pats your hand. “You will be fine, stiff upper lip, little lion, remember?”

You groan and pout at him, but he shoos you forward.

Sansa crushes your hand as you watch Jon and Jeffrey spar, it’s clear Jon is holding back, you’ve seen him training, he puts more effort into hitting the dummies than he does attempt to hit Joffrey.

“Should you not cheer for your cousin?” Sansa asks.

The thought has never crossed your mind, and now it makes your stomach turn. “I would not want to break his concentration.” You say gracefully, trying to keep your eyes on the clashing swords and not Jon.

“Who cares?” Arya cheers, “Go Jon, knock him flat.”

Jon flashes her a smile, one born of confidence and the rush of near victory, and your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can imagine him competing in a tourney. His polished armor flashing in the sun, ripping his helmet off and letting it fall to the ground, his curls set free as he directs that smile towards you, the crown of roses in his hand naming you his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Good work, My Prince, hit him hard.” Sansa cheers in direct opposition of her sister.

Joffrey turns towards Sansa, basking in her praise. A fatal mistake, his distraction allows Jon to knock him to the ground.

The action rips a gasp from you, not many aside from your Uncle Jaime would dare to knock Joffrey off his feet.

Your cousin lies there stunned, then he darts up, sputtering, his face turning red as he hurls insults at Jon, before storming off, Sansa jumping up to follow after him.

You catch her arm. “Lady Sansa, I would leave him to his solitude, my cousin is not fond of sharing in his embarrassment.”

Sansa looks as if she wishes to argue, but relents and turns to scold Arya for her cheering.

Jon’s gaze falls upon you, he hasn’t even broken a sweat, his eyes the color of a winter storm in the sunlight.

Perhaps a guard then. Your father’s words echo in your mind. You didn’t need to follow in Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps, you could follow in Queen Alicent’s. Your maester had spoken of the pure and courtly bond between her and Ser Criston Cole when you were young, and you had been enraptured by the devotion Ser Cole had to his queen.

“Well done, Lord Jon.” You say, giving him a smile and a slight nod of your head as you take a step forward, then another until you are standing before him. Then you lean in, “though I would not have protested if you bruised his jaw when you knocked him flat.”

A slight smile tugs at Jon’s lips, and your eyes dart down to them.

He sucks in a breath, then takes a step back, putting more space between you, an overly appropriate amount of space. “Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“Y/N, or if we must use titles, Lady y/n.”

Jon swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat. He has a nice throat, well-formed, pale with a smattering of dark stubble where it meets his chin. He must be freshly shaved, there’s a slight nick near his right ear.

You must get a hold of yourself, a nice throat? Y/N, you are shameful. You chastise yourself internally, tearing your eyes from him.

“As you wish, Lady y/n.” He whispers, his voice nearly stolen by the wind.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss

#meg's writing #jon snow x you #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagines #jon snow imagine #jon snow #lannister!reader #tyrion lannister #tyrion is such a good dad #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #asoif fanfic

[lazuliquetzal]

I keep on telling people you're the only one who knows how to plot. Can you teach all of us how to plot, please? I love you.

I AM SUMMONED? PLOT BRAIN SUMMONED?

I love plotting. It's my favorite part of the writing process. Plot is "things that happen" and the best part of writing is imagining things that happen. I'm going to assume that whoever may be reading this knows how to imagine The Happenings, so I'm gonna be talking more about structure, but in like, a kinda abstract sense.

A good plot is a little bit more than a string of events. Plot is like music: there's variation in rhythm and sound and melody, but ultimately there's cohesion, because it's all one song. You can have a bunch of wild things happening, but no matter how strange, there should be something that links them all together, because you're telling one story.

Plot structures are patterns in stories. I'm pretty sure most of them were developed as analysis tools (as in, story already exists > look! it follows this pattern) rather than as writing tools, but people use them as writing tools because it's a neat little way to organize the chaos that is "shit happens." Stories follow patterns for the same reasons music follows patterns: we enjoy the certainty of hitting certain beats. But we also like being surprised. A good pop song doesn't sound like a random collection of sounds, but it also doesn't sound like the middle slider of other songs.

There is this shared concept in both music and writing: the idea of tension and release. Basically, you're playing with reader expectation: there's an imbalance in the experience (tension), and we want to see that imbalance resolved (release). All the common plot structures deal with this basic pattern:

You set an expectation

There are complications to the expectation

You meet the expectation

And this rhythm is happening on multiple levels in writing. Scenes follow this structure (we're gonna get past that door, we're gonna find the murder weapon, we're gonna collaborate and come up with a plan) and all those scenes feed into the overarching expectation (we're gonna solve this murder!). I usually think of chapters as their own mini-story, part of the larger whole. And I think of scenes as their own mini-story, part of the larger chapter. I have engineer brain. I see the gears spinning in the clock. That's why all my chapters have at least One Important Thing happening, because that's that particular chapter's Step #3.

And One Last Important Thing:

In music, a delayed resolution is almost always more interesting than the standard resolution. In writing, that means you wanna drag out Step #2 for as long as you can. That's where the bulk of the story is happening, that's how you build tension, that's how you get people to turn the page.

So when you write a fake dating fic, those bitches better not get together until the very end. I came here for fake dating, not for real dating, damn it. If you resolve that expectation early on, you better replace it with a different expectation that's just as engaging.

But also don't drag it out for too long. Sorry. The hard part of writing is learning the difference between too short and too long. Writing is unfortunately a nuanced skill which is why my advice is like "do this but not too much teehee." But tension and resolution is just rhythm, you can build a sense for it if you engage with enough stories.

#asks #yellowocaballero #writing #writing advice #THANKS FOR ASKING ME THIS MEG I LOVE PLOT I WILL TALK ABOUT HER ALL DAY AND I LOVE YOU TOO #i haven't read a fake dating fic in a long time i just brought it up because it was the first Trope Thing that came to mind #i didn't go into different plot structures because i was trying to boil them all down into the very basic building block of question-answer #but if anyone's curious i usually favor a circular plot structure #the ending reflects the beginning. the song loops: the same beats but with new perspective. cycles. #and by that i mean 'story starts with dink being mean to time' and 'story ends with dink being mean to time (but now it's affectionate) #lazuli talks

[takecareluv]

oooh how about a rapper says something in his song abt reader and jack would not be amused

my girl || jack harlow x reader

you knew how it went in the industry, you’d heard it plenty of times before. there were countless amount of songs where rappers had thrown shade or called out exes and enemies alike. it was all apart of the game.

but you never once expected to hear your own name while casually listening to a song on the radio; especially by someone who is or more like was a friend of your boyfriend.

the very same boyfriend who was sitting next to you in the car and clearly heard the same lyrics you did.

you watched as his jaw clenched and he began gripping the steering wheel a little harder, driving slightly faster towards the studio you were en route to.

instinctively, you reached out to place your hand on his thigh, feeling him noticeably relax at your touch. you didn’t know what to say in that moment; you too were feeling hurt over the crude lyrics that were not only extremely false and out there for millions to hear, but sang by an individual you had been nothing but kind to in the past.

you knew not to take it too personal though. your boyfriend, however, did not seem to feel the same way.

…

when you finally arrived at the studio, jack was quick to get out of the car, slamming the door shut, and storming into the building the rest of his team was currently waiting for him in.

you could already hear him yelling from down the hall as you slowly lingered behind.

“who the fuck does he think he is? talk about me, i don’t care, but about my girl, my fucking wife. are you kidding me? i’m gonna kill him.”

“j, you’re not killing anyone so please just sit and calm down.” you stated softly, feeling all eyes turn to you as you made your appearance in the room known.

“but baby did you hear the disgusting things he said about you. it’s not okay. no one talks about my girl like that. he deserves to have his ass beat.”

you sighed, making long strides towards the small couch in the corner of the room where jack had been sitting. “i know, bub. i heard what he said and i won’t lie, i’m hurt someone i considered to be a friend would say such awful things about me.” you shifted onto jack’s lap before continuing to calmly explain, “but i know and you know what he said isn’t true, and that’s all that matters. i don’t care what anyone else has to say.”

“i’m sorry i put you in this situation. i feel like it’s all my fault. if you weren’t with me, you wouldn’t have to deal with this sort of shit.”

“no, baby, don’t say that. don’t even think it.” you grabbed his face with both hands, turning him to look up at you. “it’s not your fault, and i don’t think it’s your fault at all, so get that out of your head. he could write a hundred awful songs about me and it wouldn’t change the fact that i want to be with you. you’re stuck with me, do you understand?” you affirmed, using your thumb to softly stroke his cheek.

“yes, ma’am.” he quickly answered.

“good. now give me a kiss,” you cheekily replied, intertwining your hands around his neck before leaning down until your lips brushed against his.

jack, like always, didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss and proceeded to move your body to lay flat on the couch, with him on top, pressing kiss after kiss to your cheeks, neck, lips, anywhere he could reach.

“yeah so i think we’re just gonna head out…” you heard urban say before the rest of the group rushed out of the room.

you smiled into the kiss, trying to hold back your fit of giggles. “i love you, jackman.”

“i love you too, baby. never believe what anyone else has to say about you. you’re the most amazing girl i’ve ever met.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fic #meg writes : ♡₊˚𓂃⠀◟

[espinosaurusrexex]

Bucky and presumed dead 🔥🔥🔥 you can chose if he thinks y/n is dead or y/n thinks he’s dead

You already know what I had to go with ahah. This was fun! 💗

Presumed Dead (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst, language, fluff, some fighting, mentions of blood and injuries

part one | part two (each can be read individually)

“Sergeant Barnes, the Mountain Base Mission Jet just arrived in Hangar 3.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoed through the room and Bucky was quick to push himself off the sofa and head towards the door. He was excited to see his teammates again. You, Steve, Natasha, and Clint had been sent out to raid a Hydra Base hidden in an Alaskan mountain eight days ago. And even though Bucky had missed you a lot these past days, he knew that it was part of your job. Just as it was part of Bucky's. You occasionally checked in with each other every other day when missions lasted that long, but when things got difficult, it was common for either of you to stop communicating to focus on the mission. And that was okay. Of course, Bucky still worried about you and his friends, but he also knew that each and every member of the mission team was a capable agent that knew how to handle difficult situations.

It had happened this time as well. The last time you had contacted Bucky was about three days ago. Which was why he was all the more excited to finally hold you in his arms again.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal the Quinjet Hangar. The hatch had not been opened yet, as the jet was hooked onto fuel and checked by the crew. Bucky stood by the metal reiling leading up to it with a big smile on his face and soon, the team appeared one after the other. First Clint, who was supported by Natasha as he limbed across the bridge. They were both covered in soot and blood. And as they weakly smiled when passing Bucky, his heart sank, smile fading slightly as well. He nodded in their direction.

Then Steve appeared with an equally devastated look on his face. But Bucky was still hopeful. He had yet to see you, and he knew your presence would light that positive fire within him like it always did. Steve hugged Bucky before a couple agents crowded him with paperwork and signatures. 

“How’ve you been, pal?”

“Oh, you know... bored. Stark covered me in paperwork.”

Steve just hummed in response and Bucky peaked behind him to the open jet. Where were you? He was nervous, he always was. But this time, it felt different. And when Bucky's eyes wandered from the jet back to Steve who was still signing forms, uneasiness pooled in his stomach. 

“Where’s my girl? She already inside?”

That’s when Steve excused the agents and pulled Bucky aside. His hand was still lingering on his arm when he spoke again. “She’s not here.”

“What? Why?”

“We needed to regroup. We’ll go back to get her in an hour.” Steve’s eyes were drilling into Bucky’s when he said it. Bucky swallowed thickly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why hadn’t you come with them in the first place?

Steve nodded sternly once and then he stepped aside and made his way to the medical wing. Bucky followed him hastily. There were still too many questions swarming his brain. 

“An hour? It’s freezing up there!” He stumbled behind the blonde until he finally caught up to him. Goddamn it, you hated the cold. Bucky despised the feeling of panic surging up his spine. He pictured you hurt and alone in the snow - lost and thinking that your team neglected you, which they had!

“We had complications. It was the only plausible move.” He pushed past the double doors and into the room Clint was being treated in. 

“Complications? What complications?”

“They knew we were coming. A bomb detonated when we pulled the files from their servers. Y/N was hurt. We barely made it out of the base,” Natasha spoke up when Bucky’s eyes searched the room in a panic. 

“Then why didn’t you bring her home?” His voice was shaken but he willed himself to calm down. There must have been a rational explanation for your not being here. Steve didn’t just leave people behind. Not unless...

“Buck..,” Steve reasoned, but it brought an uneasy tension into the room. The way they were all looking at him - looking at each other. It was dead silent. Clint pushed a nurse away when she approached him and Bucky knew something was very very wrong. “The explosion caused an avalanche that separated us. We looked for four hours, but we couldn’t keep going without putting the rest of the team in danger.”

Bucky clenched his jaw in the small pause Steve made. “Her wounds were fatal. She most likely didn’t make it… We’re going back to recover her body.”

Everything muted when Steve’s little speech was over, and Bucky just stared ahead. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be. You were tough. You didn’t just die on a stupid mission. Not when Bucky had so many memories to make with you still. 

“No...” He whispered sorely, the lump in his throat growing as he watched the faces in the room sadden around him. “You just didn’t search properly. Maybe she hid away. She’s smart. She thinks tactical.” 

“I told you we will fly back in 55 minutes. ETA 1300. If she is alive, we will find her.” If she’s alive.

Bucky’s heart was racing. He felt it pulsing in his neck, along with a strong urge to punch a hole in the nearest thing around. “Why are you all so calm?! 55 minutes is too long! The damn flight there is too long!”

“Bucky-” Steve laid a hand on his shoulder.

But Bucky whipped around with vigor, stern eyes staring down his friend. “She’s not dead, Steve.”

They held eye contact for a solid minute, but the urge to hurry passed over Bucky again. You didn’t have time. Steve was staring at him with those stupid captain eyes. Those might have worked on others but not Bucky. Not him, he had always respected him - he just wanted a little of that back now. But Steve was too stubborn, and Bucky couldn’t grasp why. 

“I can’t believe this.” Bucky shook his head and then turned to suit up. He would definitely not wait 55 damn minutes. 

-❁-

Surprisingly, Steve had gotten the Jet ready when Bucky arrived at the Hangar in his suit, along with a change of clothes for you and some other necessities he thought he’d need. And when the two friends started their journey to Alaska, it was dead silent in the aircraft. The only noises were the initial communication with the compound and the constant whirring of the quinjet.

They were flying on autopilot now, sitting in their seats, keeping quiet as if it were a contest. Bucky actually had worrying thoughts about you that would occupy his brain for the remaining hours of the flight. He had to keep himself from crying when he packed up some clothes for you earlier and, to be honest, it wasn’t easier now. He hated that he didn’t know where you were, or what you were doing - how you were doing, most importantly. And he also couldn’t believe Steve would just leave you behind like that. Because Bucky knew for sure that his best friend was just as protective of you as he was himself... at least he thought so.

Steve watched him from across the room, his hands folded in his lap, a sorrowful look painting his features. And if Bucky weren’t so angry at him, he would have comforted the poor fella in front of him. But what he had done was unforgivable. He had left his girl to die. 

“What?” The brunette spat after another thirty minutes. God, the time was passing in slow motion. 

“I just want to say I’m sorry.” Steve looked up. “I know you’re angry and worried - I would be too - but you also need to understand that I have to think about the whole team in these situations. She would have wanted me to keep the others safe.”

“Are you kidding me right now? Why are you talking as if she’s already gone?!”

“Because she-” But Steve stopped abruptly, his mouth shutting, jaw clenching. The silence took back over and it was unbearable this time. The worrying, the anger, the fear - it was all too much. 

“Fuck!” Bucky shouted as he buried his head in his hands, body folding over. The tears were brimming in his eyes, and his breath was shaky. “I can’t do this, Steve. I can’t lose her. She’s my- I can’t lose her, Steve...” By the end, it was only a whisper. One that held the most painfully truthful words he’d ever said. And when the first tear fell between his legs to the ground, Steve laid his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“We’ll find her, pal. We will...”

-❁-

Icy winds were whipping in their faces as the two super soldiers trekked over the mountain. They had already swept the place the bomb went off at, just to find the site was impassable. A little down the hill was where the debris had settled and beyond another elevation, was the place Natasha had last seen you.

Bucky was cold and drenched, but he wouldn’t stop searching until he found you. He had sworn himself that and he had made Steve swear on it too. There was no way he would leave this mountain without you, this much was clear. Whether he would die on the journey there was yet to be discovered. 

They passed another ice plane before Bucky finally stopped. Steve caught up to him and together they took in the new territory before them. It was hopeless, daylight was fading but Bucky wouldn’t relent. Not when your safety was on the line. Their view was obstructed by the grey sky and stormy clouds, and the high altitude made it hard to catch enough oxygen. Bucky swept the snow-covered landscape a second time. His eyes wandered over a rock to the valley.

“Bucky!” A fist met his shoulder and then pointed ahead into the snow. And upon further inspection, Bucky caught a spot of deep red disrupting the harsh white. 

He surged forward, stumbling down parts of the mountain with the newfound energy this sliver of hope it had given him. And when the men finally arrived, the big spot had already been covered by a thin layer of new snow. Blood.

“She went this way,” Bucky shouted over the wind as he trailed the growing accumulation of blood along the hillside.

It took another hour of stomping through the deep snow until Bucky and Steve finally came along a caved-in rock deeper in the mountain. Here, where the snowfall wasn’t as heavy, the blood was more visible. Bucky swallowed thickly before moving inside. He wasn’t prepared for finding your dead body - he couldn’t possibly. Because up until this point, he could still pretend you were alive. If he would find you now... there was no denying the worst outcome he could have possibly imagined. 

For the umpteenth time, Bucky felt his best friend’s hand squeezing his shoulder. But this time, it gave him the strength to finally move forward. Together, they went inside and followed the narrow gap between the rocks, their board shoulders barely fitting between the stones, But there was no way they would turn back now. They were close, Bucky knew it. 

When the cave opened up again, Bucky immediately called your name. The echoes bounced back strikingly loud in the opening, but nothing else reached his ears. He tried again, and again, each time moving deeper inside, his hand guiding him along the walls of the dark place and then, suddenly, his feet hit something soft - softer than stone. 

He leaned down, his hands immediately feeling up a body he was all too familiar with. But this time, cold and lifeless. A little clicking went through the cave and Steve’s flashlight turned on. 

“Doll, thank god!” Bucky shook your frame. As if in trance, he felt your weekend pulse. He moved you, called your name, anything to get you to wake up. But your face looked lifeless and cold, your suit covered in blood and drenched in ice-cold water. 

A pained moan left your lips, suddenly, weak and quiet, but definitely there. And Bucky felt his heart start beating for the first time since he set foot on Alaskan soil.

“Oh my god, Angel. You’re safe now. I promise you’re safe. Thank god!” Tears streamed down his cheeks when he turned to his friend again. 

“Steve, help me. Help me get her out.”

Together, the friends carried your body outside into the biting cold, over ice and snow, hills and debris until they finally reached the quinjet. And when Steve started the aircraft, Bucky cradled you tightly in his arms and rocked you, while he tried to warm you as best as he could. He had changed you out of the wet tactical suit and tended to your wounds as well as possible. His hands never left your body. Not when he changed into dry clothes, not when he got you blankets, not when your beautiful eyes finally opened and met his. 

“I knew you would make it, Angel. You’re a fighter. I’m so glad you’re alive.” He whispered to your temple after pressing hundreds of tiny kisses to your skin. 

He would never let you go again. Not now, not ever.

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#1k follower celebration #writing challenge #megs imagines #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagine #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic

[blighted-lights]

slaughterhouse posting part 2 that isn't going to be polished at all and has been sitting in my drafts for days, but this scene is so interesting to me because i genuinely have no idea what megatron wants from ravage in this interaction- and i don't know if megatron knows, either.

megatron starts out by saying that the decepticons' loyalty isn't to him- its to the cause. ignoring how this is immediately striking me as completely, blatently wrong due to the times we see megatron rallying the decepticons around himself when other leaders fail to do the same (nevermind the fact that he started the cause in the first place), he then gets angry with ravage when ravage confirms that- yeah, actually. you're not the cause anymore. we have moved on with someone new. megatron gets so angry he stands up, he looms over ravage, he raises is voice and balls his fist- and why else would he do this if he wasn't upset that they're moving on without him?

which would, of course, make megatron a hypocrite. he left the decepticons and refused to take any effort to rejoin them- he clearly doesn't actually want to return to the fold. but when the decepticons unite themselves and move on from him, it's different. i can abandon you, but you cannot abandon me.

i've always took this reaction as being an immediate, no thinking, gut reaction to finding out the decepticons are moving on without him. he's angry, potentially feeling betrayed by them, when he... doesn't have much of a right to feel that way. and it's not like megatron wasn't given an option to join the decepticons again if that's what he actually wanted.

he was given a choice. he turned it down. he could of turned it down for any number of reasons, but no matter the reason, the point remains that he turned it down.

going back to panel after megatron snaps, ravage clearly takes megatron's outburst as him being upset that they've moved on without him. despite the aggressive way this interaction started with ravage attacking megatron, ravage spends most of this conversation attempting to reassure megatron. megatron gets angry that galvatron took over and they're moving on without him? okay- so then he wants to come back, right? he's upset he's been replaced?

well, galvatron isn't permanent. say the word and you'll be back in charge. megatron says that the decepticons aren't loyal to him, ravage reaffirms that they were loyal to him but now they've chosen a new leader since he left, megatron gets angry that they're moving on without him, and then ravage reinforces their original loyalty to him by saying if he wants to come back, they'll follow him.

and then megatron turns it around; yes he was just angry that the decepticons were no longer loyal to him, but now that same loyalty is toxic, actually. and it is! it absolutely is toxic. but i think ravage backed him into a corner here, even unintentionally. he can't sit down and actually address why the decepticons moving on makes him angry without admitting some part of him wants to return to the cons. or at the very least he still feels possessive of them and doesn't want them to function outside of his influence. when given the option to rejoin, he responds by insulting the decepticon's (and ravage's!) sense of devotion/loyalty and then quickly changes the topic to seawing and the trial. he doesn't say a solid yes or no answer because he doesn't actually have one to give.

ravage nails it down anyways. megatron has no idea what he wants from ravage in this interaction because he doesn't know where he stands anymore, let alone what he wants for himself. before ravage was revealed to be on the lost light, megatron was captain. he even seems content to BE captain- but ravage makes it complicated. ravage is a direct reminder of who he used to be and the people he used to surround himself with. worse, people he's abandoned and hurt in order to get to where he is as captain now. megatron left the decepticons behind with no command structure, no guidance, no plan- and ravage's mere presence is a bitter reminder that even if he's run off to the autobots, he can't escape that.

he's settled into a state of stagmentation with the autobots. one he's content with, maybe- at the very least one he can live with where the guilt isn't as heavy. it is the easiest way out megatron saw for himself.

but if anyone can get him to doubt himself, well.

who else better than ravage to stir up the past?

#blight rambles #blight's meta #transformers #maccadams #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #transformers idw #idw transformers #idw tf #tf idw1 #transformers idw1 #idw2005 #tf idw #ravage #mtmte ravage #tf ravage #transformers ravage #idw ravage #megatron #idw megatron #mtmte megatron #tf meta #transformers meta #this post is very messy and i debated a lot on posting it bc. idk if it even reads well or if my view on this scene isnt completely biased #because of how much i like ravage #but uh take it anyways. i cannot stop thinking about the slaughterhouse scene #i WISH. i wish their dynamic stayed fucked up. i wish they stayed angry and uncomfortable with each other #i wish ravage having to reassure and comfort megatron while ignoring his own pain was an intentional writing choice and not just #well. what we got in canon. where ravage is megs' support and thats it

[whenmegfallsinlove]

PAPER HEART

jack hughes x fem!reader

overview: in which an attempt to learn more about jack backfires.

author note: this took longer than expected to write, but i think i’m happy with how it came out! i’m so grateful and excited to publish the first chapter of my au! i hope you like it! { my sunshine masterlist }

your attempts to befriend jack or even just talk to him hadn’t gone well. it had been a week since you declared you would charm jack into being friends with you, and your longest conversation with him was two minutes long with you doing most of the talking. this all made it incredibly hard to complete phase one of your masterplan- learn more about the brunette boy.

you tried not to get discouraged. i mean if you were persistent, soon he wouldn’t have a choice but to talk to you. right…?

you knocked on luke’s apartment door, ready to have some fun to take your mind off of the grueling challenges of befriending the middle hughes.

“come in!” luke yelled from inside the apartment. luke has told you countless times that you didn’t need to knock on his door, you could simply just walk in like everyone else does. however, that always fell on deaf ears, it just felt more polite.

as you entered the apartment, you immediately spotted luke. his hair was still wet from the shower he took minutes ago and he was clad in sweatpants and a devils’ sweatshirt.

"hey, y/n!" luke greeted, a wide smile on his face as he turned to face you. “i’ll be ready to leave soon, just give me a few minutes.”

"hi, lu!" you replied cheerfully, returning his smile. "don’t take too long or all the hot men will have already left the bars.” he rolled his eyes, disappearing into his room to finish getting ready.

as you looked around the living room, you saw jack reclining on the couch, engrossed in his phone. summoning your courage, you walked over to him, “jack!” you beam, plopping down beside him on the couch.

he glanced up, his eyes wandering up and down your body, "hi.” his tone was cold and short, he certainly wasn’t in the mood to have a ‘heart to heart’ with you.

“how’s my favorite player's day going?” you asked. it wasn’t technically a lie. of course luke was always your number one player, but you always admired jack’s talents and gameplay.

"fine," he replied curtly, his gaze returning to his phone. you’ve never wanted to grab a phone and throw it across the room as much as you did now. as always though, you managed to keep composure and smile.

“that’s great!” your voice is bubbly and happy, the polar-opposite of the boy next to you. silence filled the room. the only sounds to be heard was luke’s terrible singing voice and jack’s phone as he clicked through various apps, trying to keep himself busy.

jack felt your lingering gaze on him as you admired him, almost as if you were trying to solve a puzzle and he had the key clue on his face. he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks as you continued to stare. truthfully, you hadn’t even noticed the holes your eyes were burning into his face. you had only noticed his somewhat pretty side profile and his freckled cheeks which carried a slightly red color.

“didn’t your parents teach you not to stare? it’s rude.” he spat, snapping you back into reality. your eyes went wide as he caught you red handed. you could’ve acknowledged his rude remark towards you. instead, you recognized how this was the first time he purposely struck up conversation with you. progress.

“didn't your parents teach you it’s rude to stare at your phone while you have a guest.” you retort and for the first time tonight, jack shut off his phone, placing it in his lap, and turning his attention towards you.

he shot you a tight lipped smile, “no, they did. it’s just that i don’t care enough to be nice to you.”

you scoffed, your face shriveled with disgust as you thought of every single name you’d like to call jack hughes. “god, you’re such a-” but before you could respond, he interrupted.

“i’m such a what?” a devilish smirk graced his perfectly plump lips. “finish that sentence, sunshine.” and suddenly, you were speechless. every rude and cruel name slipped off the tip of your tongue, getting caught in your throat- along with your breath.

you were so taken back. who did he think he was? in hindsight, you wish you would have slapped that smug expression right off his face.

“cat got your tongue?” he teased, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. “too bad.” he fake pouted. you felt every emotion from rage to embarrassment go through you in about one second.

“ok, i’m ready to go.” luke said, not realizing what he had just walked into. you immediately shot to your feet, scurrying over to take your place next to luke. observing the suffocating tension, he could only guess what his brother had said to you. protectively, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the apartment.

as you walked out of the apartment with luke, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of disappointment and determination. interacting with jack hadn't been as smooth as you hoped, but you weren't one to back down easily.

back in the apartment, jack remained on the couch, his thoughts unexpectedly lingering on the short and heated conversation with you. he found himself replaying your attempts to engage him in his mind, a soft curve appearing on his lips. the way your brows furrowed, creasing your forehead when he teased you. or the look of accomplishment on your face when he began responding to you.

he didn’t know what was happening to him, but you were flipping his life upside down as he knew it.

#my sunshine au ☼ #meg’s writings #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes au #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nhl x player