#better days by sunrise in the desert

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 ( a collection of date locations and things to do with your date. feel free to adjust the prompts as needed! do not add to the list. )

a relaxing date

quiet night. our muses snuggle up together beneath a blanket on the couch or in bed and listens as the other muse reads a book to them. bookshop. our muses go to a bookshop and pick out books for each other to read once they get back home. console. our muses play a casual and fun game on a console together, requiring teamwork and strategy. park. our muses take a relaxing walk through the park together to talk and get to know each other better. spa. our muses go to a spa to treat themselves to a day of relaxation and pampering. movie. our muses go to the local cinema to watch a movie together, where they can snack on popcorn and be transported to another world. beach. our muses go to a warm sandy beach, where they can soak up the sun and dip their toes into the sea for a swim or a splash.

a fun date

pins. our muses go to a bowling alley together, where they can play a casual game or aim to have the highest score. wheels. our muses go roller skating together, where they can race one another or skate hand in hand for a more relaxed date. rink. our muses go ice skating together, where they can show off their moves or wobble on the ice and tumble in unison. swim. our muses go swimming together, where they can playfully splash one another, go down the slides or brave the wave pool. shopping. our muses go to the mall together, where they can shop to their hearts content and find a new thing to take home. ride. our muses go horse riding together, either separately or together, and enjoy the sights atop their horses. hole-in-one. our muses go to a crazy golf course, where they must overcome obstacles and get the ball to its end destination. laser. our muses go to a laser tag event and test out their stealth and aim as they try to hunt one another down to tag them. paintball. our muses go paintballing together and form up to be a formidable team or test their skills against each other. rodeo. our muses attempt the mechanical rodeo bull, where one muse must hang on for dear life or try to stay on together.

a delicious date

restaurant. our muses go to a nice restaurant, dressed up and treated to vintage wine and delicious food. fast food. our muses go to a fast food place, where there are no expectations and the company is all that matters. café. our muses go to a homely little café, where they can enjoy a warm drink and homemade cakes. truck. our muses go to a local food truck, where greasy but delicious food is served up right in front of them. homemade. our muses have a home-cooked meal, where one muse cooks the other a delicious and intimate meal. baking. our muses bake something together, sending flour everywhere and bringing out the playfulness of one another. picnic. our muses go on a little picnic together, a quiet patch of grass beneath the warm sun. cold treat. our muses find an ice cream truck and decide to treat themselves to a cold treat. sweet treat. our muses go to a desert place where they can get waffles, crêpes and brownies.

a nature date

zoo. our muses take a trip to the zoo where they can admire all the various walks of life and get the special privilege to feed an animal. wings. our muses visit a butterfly sanctuary, where the air is filled with colourful wings and life flutters all around them. feed. our muses visit a park with a bag of seed on hand to feed the local wildlife, getting to see them up close and personal. sea life. our muses visit and aquarium together, where they can stand beneath a tunnel of water and see sharks and fish swim overhead. sun. our muses find a clearing or a good vantage point to watch the sunrise or sunset together. stars. our muses lay beneath the stars together, where they can try to catch a glimpse of shooting star or point out the constellations. garden. our muses visit a botanical garden, where vibrant colours and fragrant flowers bloom.

an entertaining date

play. our muses attend a play at a theatre, where music fills the halls and actors perform on stage. opera. our muses attend an opera hall, where classical music takes people back to a different age. ballet. our muses attend a ballet showing, where elegance and grace captivates the audience. sport. our muses attend a sports event with the best seats in the house, where they can cheer on their favourite team and have a beer or two. concert. our muses visit a concert together, where the crowd raves to the music and joins in harmony. amusement park. our muses go to an amusement park, where they can relax on a log ride or risk it all with a daring ride. night out. our muses go to a bar where the drinks never end and the party goes well into the night. prize. our muses visit the arcades where they can try to win as many prizes as they can or jump into a stimulation game. old games. our muses have a fun and competitive go at old board games, where it could bring them together or test the strength of their relationship.

an educational date

pottery. our muses attending a pottery class where one muse helps the other to make a pot, hands on. paint. our muses attending a painting class, where they can gift one another their painting or paint one another. dance. our muses attend a dance class, where they can learn a few new moves and share an intimate moment. axe. our muses go to an axe throwing class, where a professional teaches them how to throw axes. museum. our muses go to the museum, where they can learn the earth's history, admire the artwork or venture into space. castle. our muses visit an old castle, where history lingers and people can peer into the past.

a medieval date

renfair. our muses attend a renfair event, dressed up for the occasion and enjoy the festivities. joust. our muses attend a medieval restaurant where they can dine, watch knights joust and have a medieval experience. ball. our muses attend a grand ball, where couples take to the dance floor and let the music flow through them. masquerade. our muses attend a masquerade ball, where masks shrouds faces and scandals thrive. feast. our muses attend a grand feast, where jolly laughter and mountains of food await.

an adventurous date

climb. our muses attend an indoor climbing place or brave the mountains, to put their strength and resilience to the test. camp. our muses take to the wild and set up camp in the woods, putting their survival skills to the test. sail. our muses go on a cruise together, where they can kick back and enjoy a nice cocktail on the ocean waves. lake. our muses brave the brisk waters and go skinny dipping together for some naughty fun. rapids. our muses go canoeing in the treacherous waters of a fast running river sky diving. our muses take to the skies and go sky diving, either together or side by side, and experience the world from above. slope. our muses go skiing or snowboarding together, soaring past the snow covered trees and gaining air with ramps.

an unconventional date

heist. our muses go on a more unconventional date and go on a heist together to bring home a new, shiny and expensive addition. fight. our muses attend a fighting match where adrenaline is high and cheers fill the room. rage. our muses go to a rage room and smash things together, letting out pent up rage and stress in union. graveyard. our muses visit a graveyard at night, where they can try to scare one another with a scary story or visit the dead. ghosts. our muses try to find the paranormal in an abandoned place, where spirits are said to linger. hunting. our muses go hunting together, but what exactly will they be hunting? escape. our muses go to an escape room, where they will need to work together if they ever stand a chance of getting out. sacrifice. our muses perform a ritual with the intention of summoning something, but is it for fun or is it something all the more sinister?

#date prompts #valentine prompts #rp prompts #rp memes #rp meme #inbox memes #ask memes #rp starters

[ghostinthez0nes]

Kobra Kid Headcanons lets go

Likes tight clothing, makes him feel more secure and safe.

Will teach you karate if you bribe him enough, but it takes a’lot of bribing.

Doesn’t really care about gender or pronouns, but likes xe/xer pronouns because they sound cool.

Touch his hair and he’ll bite your hand.

Motorbike stunts for days.

A short fuse but a master at keeping cool. When he’s really pissed tho someone will get their teeth knocked in.

Doesn’t admit it but relies heavily on Party to keep his head above water.

Prefers driving around at night when it’s quieter and less bright.

Loves sweet and spicy food, bonus points if its both.

Becomes aggressive when overwhelmed and scared.

Loves sunrises. He will sometimes stay up all night just so he can watch the sun come up early in the morning.

Party helped make his helmet, they’re to thank for the paint job.

Keeps a little dino keychain in his pocket at all times.

Has horrible tan lines from wearing his sunglasses too long in the sun.

Flappy hands and stompy feet when excited.

Light sensitive, thus the sunglasses. Wears them indoors and at night too.

The most anxious around injuries, he doesn’t like blood.

Snorts when he laughs.

Loves the desert and the freedom that comes with it.

Has a very keen sense of smell and is very good at figuring out where the smell is coming from.

Knows sign language and uses it instead of speaking to communicate sometimes.

Absolutely HATES powerpup but forces himself to eat it if theres nothing else even if it makes him sick. Party tries really hard to look for other kinds of food when going on supply runs so his poor brother can eat.

Chews on the straps of his leather gloves when anxious.

Really likes bubbles.

Sleeps in his jacket for security.

A troublemaker with Ghoul and always finds ways to pull off stupid shit with him.

Likes Michael Bay movies.

Hardly ever cries, but when he does it’s cathartic. The others need to intervene because he chokes up while he’s heaving.

Prefers comics over books, he likes looking at pictures better.

Only the girl is allowed to doodle on his bike, if the others try he will deck them.

Most terrified of being captured by Bli, he doesn’t ever want to go back to the city.

Can play the harmonica really well.

Loves old and broken technology because he thinks its cool and likes to fix things.

Teaches the others to read, especially Jet and Ghoul. Ghoul can read but has dyslexia, Jet never really learned how to read properly at all.

Will try to pet any reptile he sees, even if its venomous or poisonous.

Can sleep sitting up, the others sometimes need to do a double take and check if he’s awake or not since he always wears sunglasses.

Obsessed with VHS tapes and has a collection of them with god knows what on them.

Freezes when panicking, will stay in shock at something until someone needs to move him.

Likes close range combat so he can show off his karate skills.

Instead of cussing in an argument he’ll just look at someone like they’re stupid.

Makes action figures for the girl out of spare parts, responsible for all of her robot toys.

Takes AGES to do his hair, hence why he wants no one to touch it.

If he’s not in his room at night, he’s on the diner roof watching the stars.

When the girl was a toddler, she would call him Kobi instead of Kobra.

Has a wide vocabulary due to being educated in the city, but refuses to use it.

Lost a tooth after an accident on the crash track, he gave it to Ghoul who turned it into a pendant.

#kobra kid is the brother we all wish we had #posts from the zones #zone posting #danger days #danger days era #danger days: the truest lives of the fabulous killjoys #ttlotfk #mcr danger days #fabulous killjoys #the fabulous killjoys #the fabulous four #kobra kid headcanons #killjoy headcanons #danger days headcanons #mcr #mcr tag #my chemical romance #kobra kid #party poison #fun ghoul #jet star #the killjoys are not mcr #killjoy tumblr

[allmyocsarebritish]

A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

#night at the museum #natm #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #egypt #ancient egypt #history #egyptology #archaeology #natm fandom #natm fanfiction #natm fic #night at the museum fanfic #natm au #egyptian pharaoh

[familyvideostevie]

to rest for a while

you and bradley go on a road trip and the only thing you can think about the whole time is how much you love him. if only you could find a time to tell him so. | fluff, love confessions, 1.7k

The first time Bradley gets extended leave while you're together is six months into your relationship. You consider yourself pretty lucky -- he's only been deployed once for a special detachment that lasted two weeks. Otherwise, he's been a part of the training staff at TOPGUN. You get to see him as much as you want when he's not at work, which has meant lots of evenings on the couch, or driving along the ocean, or a day off spent in bed, laughing and learning each other. 

It's been the best six months of your life, falling in love with him. If only you could muster up the courage to tell him. 

The plan for his leave is to spend a week in a small town about seven hours up the coast. The drive promises to be beautiful once you get away from the cities of Southern California -- redwoods, high cliffs, beautiful views of the ocean. You're excited at the prospect of a whole week with Bradley, too. It'll be the longest amount of time you've spent together in one go. 

He picks you up bright and early in the Bronco, the skies still pink with sunrise. You meet him in your driveway, duffle in hand. He's leaning on the side of the car with his hands in his pockets. Winter in California means you're in a light jacked but your boyfriend sports short sleeves. You admire him standing there in your quiet neighborhood looking so handsome you can hardly believe he's real. 

"Morning, pretty girl," he calls to you, straightening his stance. He reaches for your bag and tosses it behind the front seats before he kisses you gently. "You ready?"

You pout because he's stopped kissing you. His sunglasses are perched on his head and despite the early hour he looks like he's been up for ages already. He probably has. "You can do better than that, Lieutenant," you tease, puckering your lips. 

"I was trying not to scare your neighbors," he mutters, lips curling into a smirk. "But, who cares." He kisses you deeper, one big, callused palm rising to cup your jaw and the other settling on your hip. You sigh into him as he licks into your mouth lazily, his mustache tickling your skin in the way you've come to love. 

You're the one to pull away, because you know you both could stand here all day if you really wanted to. "That's better," you say. "Good morning." You beam at him and kiss the corner of his mouth lightly. He releases his hold on you and opens the passenger door, clearing his throat. 

"You know, if you wanted to spend my leave just making out, we could have done that at my place." You laugh brightly and he shuts the door once you're inside, jogging around to the driver's seat. 

"But where's the fun in that?" you say. You situate yourself, pulling out your sunglasses and your water bottle and the bag of snacks you bought. Your cupholder is already full, though, with a coffee cup.

"Picked up your usual on the way over," Bradley says, throwing the car into reverse and bracketing your headrest with his forearm as he backs up. Six months of this and you're still not used to how it makes you feel. Being known like this, being cared for like this, even when it's a simple coffee order, never fails to set your heart racing. 

"Thank you," you say softly, taking a sip. "Is it too early for music?" Bradley shakes his head. You plug in your phone and put on the joint playlist you prepared for the drive as he tells you what route he plans to take and how long it'll be till you're at your destination. He keeps one hand on the wheel as he drives out of your neighborhood and through the deserted morning streets towards the highway, the other flittering through the air as he talks. 

He's nervous, you realize. But the kind of nervous he gets before he gets to teach a new drill, or when he's bought you a gift and wants to keep it a secret. He's excited. It makes your heart swell in your chest. You grab his hand out of the air and bring it to your knee, kicking your other foot up on the dash in the way you know he only allows you to do. 

"Sorry," he says, glancing over at you. "I've been up for a little bit and had no one but myself to talk to." He squeezes your knee gently and you keep your hand over his as you look at him. 

"I'm excited, too," you say. Bradley grins. "For you to steal the covers in a new bed." He barks a laugh. 

"Oh, I see how it is. We both know it's you who does that, sweetheart." Yeah, you think. You love him. 

The first few hours go by quickly until you get stuck in a bit of Los Angeles traffic. Bradley has both hands on the wheel as you crawl around the city. 

"Let's play 20 questions," you say. The car rolls to a stop yet again and he turns to look at you over the rim of his sunglasses. 

"We're been together for like, six months," he says. "Isn't it a little late for that?"

"Not if you're creative," you retort. "Just think of good questions." 

He huffs a laugh and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "Okay," he says, dragging out the word. "You go first, then. Show me how it's done."

"What was your best birthday?" you ask, without hesitation. Bradley whistles. 

"I've had some pretty good ones," he says. "The most recent one was nice." His smirk makes you feel hot. It was fairly early in your relationship, but you recall spending the entire day in bed with him. "But I don't think I've told you about my 16th, right? So, it started with a goat--"

He tells you a ridiculous story as you crawl through traffic that has you laughing and gasping in equal measure, eyes never leaving his face. You know him in the dark, by now. Every scar, every freckle, every laugh line. You want to look at him forever. 

"Do I have something on my face?" he asks wryly. You wrinkle your nose at him.

"No," you say. "I just like to look at you." His cheeks flush, a reaction you often try to pull from him because he's so pretty. 

"That's so corny."

"I know," you say, delighted. You take a deep breath. "Bradley, I lo--" 

A car cuts in front of the Bronco and he curses, slamming on the breaks and throwing an arm out to catch you as you surge forward. 

"Asshole. You okay?" You nod, you failed confession fizzling in the air, though Bradley doesn't seem to notice. Oh, well. Another time. 

The rest of the drive is easy. It's beautiful, but you find that you can't stop thinking about telling Bradley that you love him. The day flies by. Every time you pull over at a rest stop, Bradley fills up the Bronco while you go inside and every time, he's waiting just outside the bathrooms for you. He brightens like you've been gone for hours, not minutes, tossing his arm around you and kissing your temple as you walk back to the car.

When you finally get to the sea-side town you're staying in, the sun low in the sky. You're a little too early to check into your B&B, so you stop at a snack shack on the boardwalk. Bradley, ever the summer boy, gets an ice cream cone while you get a tea. You walk arm in arm to a picnic bench and settle yourselves on top of it. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, watching the ocean lap at the shore and the sun get lower and lower. 

You turn from the view and watch Bradley, instead. He's got some ice cream on his chin. He looks younger, more relaxed. 

"Bradley," you say. "Look at me?" He does, eyes soft. "Hold still for a sec." You lick your thumb and reach over to wipe away the smudge. He watches you, eyes following your finger as you pop it in your mouth without a second thought. 

He grabs your wrist gently, stroking your pulse point. "Hey," he says.

"Hey?" you parrot. He brings your palm to his face and kisses it gently, maintaining eye contact. He takes a deep breath, mouth curling into a smile you can feel on your skin. 

"I love you," he says. 

You inhale sharply. He must be able to feel your heart pick up where he touches you because he smiles wider. "Bradley Bradshaw," you say, voice hoarse all of a sudden. "I was going to say it first!"

His eyebrows shoot up, forehead creasing. "I-- what?" He sounds unbearably fond. 

You can't keep a smile from taking over your own face, though you're also kind of annoyed. "I tried to tell you earlier in the car! And I swear I was going to say it like, now, since this is the most romantic setting ever and all day I've been thinking about how much I love yo--"

Bradley cuts you off with a kiss. He curls his arm around you so you don't topple off the table with the force of it. It's bruising, passionate, and full of your combined joy. 

"You love me?" he says when he pulls back, eyes dancing. 

You laugh breathily. "Yes, I love you," you tell him. He beams and surges forward to dot kisses on your cheeks, your brow, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. "And you love me."

"So fucking much," he says roughly. His lips find yours again and he kisses you once, twice, three times, releasing your wrist to cup your jaw. "I hope to God our room is ready. If it isn't I'm going to get on my knees and beg."

"Why so desperate?" you ask, delighted. 

He trails his lips down your neck, keeping his touches innocent enough for where you are but they hold the promise of something else. "Because I need to show my girl how much I love her. Preferably on every surface in said room."

You smack his chest lightly but hop off the table and out of his grasp. "Well," you say, holding out a hand. "What are you waiting for?" He grins and grabs it before tugging you down the boardwalk. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster Bradshaw x you #bradley rooster Bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick

[hi-im-kaybee]

"All My Squad Mates are In My Head"

It's 0650, and I peer out off the skydeck into the vast blue sky, an orange band running across the horizon, the world a mile below my feet.

My stomach is in a knot - it's my initiation day. The day I get my wings and plug in. I've only been this nervous one other time, for the days before I got my placement finals report back. I bunch up my shirt and wring it with my hands, transferring my sweat to the fibers. I'm supposed to be in the mess hall a few decks down but I can't fathom the idea of eating breakfast right now. The cool metal of the handrail rung supports my cheek as my feet swing off the edge, boots dancing with the air. I used to do this in school, on the playground, to relax and find some peace. But it doesn't seem to be working right now.

I hear the door behind me clamor open, and turn around to see Lucy walking towards me. She was my friend in basic, and graduated a cycle before I did, so she's been plugged in for the better part of six months. I guess my worry isn't concealed too well because she approaches and smiles warmly, crouching down beside me. I return my gaze out towards the endless expanse. "The sunrise is beautiful today, yes? Not a cloud in the sky…" She only makes small talk like this when she wants to calm me down. My eyes dart towards the back of her head as she sits down beside me. The craterous jack in her skull is eerie, but it doesn't bother me too much since I had mine put in a month or so ago. I gulp in the cool air. "How does it feel, to be…" My words are staccato, shaky, and she knows exactly what I'm gonna say as she interrupts. "Plugged in?" she coos, "Hm…"

A hand finds its way to her chin, and she tosses the words around in her mind. "It's hard to pinpoint, but it's like we're all right there, in the same cockpit. We all know where we are, what we're feeling, how hungry we are…" She pokes me playfully in the gut, as it lets out a small gurgle and forces a smile on my face. "I'll admit, even I was a little nervous the first time, but now it's just… second nature. I don't even question it anymore." My eyes find themselves locked on her face, in awe. She continues. "Can I tell you something? You have to keep it a secret from the brass, though. This is for us pilot's ears only." I look around - the rest of the deck and walkway are deserted, the only sound in my ears being the drone of the million-horsepower turbojets keeping this massive skycarrier afloat, distant yet booming. I look back to her and nod.

She gazes out again, and smiles. "We can even kind of feel each other, even without the plugs. It's weak, at first, but they tell me it grows stronger the more you're in the system. They can probably even notice that I'm telling you this, right now." The only thing that escapes my lips is a soft "Woah…" and the knots in my stomach slowly unfurl to release butterflies. After a moment of absorbing it all, I ask her further. "Did they- er, did you all agree to tell me before I got plugged in today? Can they hear me right now, through you?" Her smile radiates the warmth of a hundred sunrises, and is just as beautiful. She finds her footing and stands, extending an arm to my side. "Come on, kiddo, you're gonna want some energy for the ceremony. Trust us." I take it, feeling my weight shift off my butt and onto the heavy leather soles on my feet. I smirk in return. "I guess the gruel isn't gonna eat itself, either, huh?" We share a quiet laugh together as we lock step, across the skydeck and back into the hall.

#microfiction #kaybee-writing #i've made a few short stories in the past few months #maybe people will like them as much as my art #i can only hope so #hivemind #mech pilot #to be continued

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Black does not become you

Summary: Some time after Ned’s arrival at Castle Black a raven comes with a letter for him. With a heavy heart he’s allowed to read what might be the last he ever hears from the woman who was once his wife.

Day 6 of @nedcatweek : Ned lives (but takes the black)

Barely did Ned have his feet on the ground again before someone called for him and he could not help but sigh. He had stood watch atop the Wall from sunrise to sunset, he wished for nothing but to eat a warm meal and then fall asleep. Rest was too much to ask for, that he had not done since… he could not even say. He could not remember a morning when he had not woken up still tired and sore. Still the bad dreams were better than the contemplation he subjected himself to when he was awake.

“Stark!” the voice called again.

He had learned to know the voice of his lord commander well. It had not been hard, The Old Bear would have been able to make himself heard anywhere.

“Lord Commander Mormont” Ned replied, dreading what would come next.

“I have a letter for you.”

A letter? No one had written to him since he had arrived at Castle Black. Who had decided to do so then?

Slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, Ned managed to make his way to Jeor. The cold was not kind to his leg, made it ache terribly. An ache from deep within the bone. He was not good for anything when he was not riding out beyond the Wall, merely limped around.

When he had finally reached his lord commander he noted that the seal of the letter in Jeor’s gloved hand was broken. Though that did not change that the wax was grey. Ned’s heart skipped a beat when he realised it had to be from Winterfell. The seal had been adorned by the grey direwolf of House Stark before it had been broken.

“A letter for me and yet you have broken the seal” he said.

Jeor Mormont gave a grunt that could have been both a laugh and a disapproving noise.

“I give it to you only as a courtesy. In truth I don’t know if you should have it, it’s enough to make the most loyal brother desert.”

A letter from Winterfell that it was better for him not to have. It was from his family. What had been his family. Catelyn or one of the children. What else could have been enough to make him desert? Perhaps it was news of another war, a letter that said the peace had been too brittle to last. Though why would Mormont not have simply said that instead of giving him the letter?

“A courtesy to the former Lord Stark” Ned said.

Had he been anyone but who he was then perhaps he would have never seen that letter. It was said names and titles did not matter in the Night’s Watch, that being stripped of all that made the black brothers equal. It was not quite the truth. He had noticed he was received with more respect than his new brothers from most everyone. Not because he was more deserving of it, but because he was Eddard Stark.

“A thank you for what you have done for The Watch.”

When Ned reached for the letter he noticed that his hand was trembling and it was not because of the cold. The mere prospect at reading something written from Winterfell made him feel somewhat lightheaded. He was not supposed to want it that much, he was supposed to have put all of it behind him.

“I advise you to read it in private” Jeor told him.

“Thank you, Lord Commander.”

He dared not look at the letter as he walked towards the Flint Barracks. Most men would be eating or seeing to their duties at that time, most likely the barracks would be largely empty.

His heart was beating hard in his chest, as if trying to free itself from his ribcage. Words from Winterfell. Words from one of those he had been forced to leave behind. Words from far away.

When Ned sat on the edge of his bed he removed his gloves before opening the letter. He could not damage it in any way, it had to remain the way it was. The way it had left Winterfell.

He could not keep breathing when he saw that a lock of auburn hair had been fastened with wax at the bottom of the letter. It was from Catelyn.

My love,

I write to you against my better judgment.

There was so much Catelyn in it that he should have felt it before he opened it. The words were written in slightly crooked letters, he wondered if they would ever return to being as neat as they had been before she had grabbed a dagger for their son.

He could not keep reading, wanted to savour every word. Perhaps it was the last thing he would ever hear from her. She still called him his love. His chest had began aching so much that he forgot about his leg.

Once again he found that he was trembling as he touched the auburn lock. The familiar feeling of Catelyn’s soft hair under his fingers made it hard to breathe. Last time he had felt that was in King’s Landing. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. His life had crumbled around him.

Though then and there he could feel Catelyn’s hair again and read words written by her. He would have liked to hear them spoken from her lips. Said gently in the darkness of her bedchamber after they had made love.

I cannot know if you will ever read this letter, though I hope you will. I expect no answer, you need not concern yourself with that.

Perhaps if he asked the maester he could send her a short answer. Not a long letter, not a page of words. Merely a few words to let her know he had read it. Immediately there was a sense of guilt at that thought. He could not answer her. She was not his wife anymore.

You also need not concern yourself with me. I knew you for a long time and I expect you have not changed all too much, therefore something tells me you worry for me. That is not necessary. I live, I have my health.

He worried for her and he worried for the children. It seemed that was all he did. After what had happened in King’s Landing he knew they were on thin ice with the new king and his men. In taking the black he had avoided war, that did not change that Catelyn had become a traitor’s wife and that his children had been sired by a traitor.

The children, all five of them, mourn your presence in their lives. They miss their father. They are lost without you to lead them, and I cannot be what you were even as I try. I am only one person. Robb became Lord Stark before he was ready for it, before you had taught him all that you meant to. As I write to you he has yet to find his footing. I am certain he will one day, though he was not ready to be without your guidance. Still you would have been so proud of him. He is truly his father’s son.

His eldest boy. His son and heir. Lord Stark even as he was barely a man grown. Ned had not seen him since he left Winterfell for King’s Landing. He had still looked a boy then, with snowflakes melting in his auburn hair. Catelyn had sometimes insisted there would be more Stark in his appearance as he grew, Ned wondered if that was true. If there were traces of him in Robb that he would never see.

Benjen had been allowed south and therefore been able to visit Winterfell from time to time, he was not certain he would have that privilege. He had not chosen freely to take the black, he had been sentenced to it. It was his punishment for doing what he had done. He was chained to Castle Black to keep him from further schemes. Not that he had been scheming.

I fear Rickon will not remember you once he grows older. That the time when you were his father and not a black brother will be no more than a story to him. For now he still weeps for you. It does not seem to matter how many times I explain to him why you cannot return to us, he keeps asking.

Ned had to blink to clear his vision. The words had grown blurry. He did not know when he had last wept. Apparently it was not cold enough for the tears to freeze in his chest.

His youngest child would not remember him one day. He suspected that day would come quite soon. Little Rickon. Ned would never see him grow up. Rickon would become a man grown and Ned would never know him as anything but the small boy who always tried to run after his brothers, furious at that his short legs did not allow him to run as fast as they did.

Arya speaks treason even as I try to keep her from it. She does not see the danger, all she wants is her father. I wish she would stop, I try to berate her for it. I want her safe. Sansa is quieter. She has barely been speaking ever since she was released from the boy king’s court. I notice she weeps often even as she tries to hide it.

His girls. He wanted nothing but to take them into his arms. Comfort them, say that all would be well. All would be well for them. Arya’s anger would lessen with time, Sansa would return to what she had been before their time in the south. With time his absence would not mean so much, they would adjust. They had each other. Ned was alone. Jon was there, but with Benjen lost beyond the Wall he felt so lonely.

Bran has had strange dreams, dreams of ravens with too many eyes that tell him he can fly. I believe he mourns his legs and his ability to walk, though I cannot say. He rarely wants to speak with me and it pains me.

At least Bran was alive. Ned could not push away the vision of him in his bed, eyes closed and his little broken body limp. He had seemed so small, even younger than his years. Catelyn, so grief stricken that she seemed half a ghost, had not helped.

At times I feel anger at what you did, my love. Anger at that you could not for once turn a blind eye and return home instead of doing the just thing. That way my children would still have a father and I would still have a husband. I know you are not at fault, though you had a say in it and I did not. You acted alone and yet the children and I have to pay.

He had not known how it would end. He had believed he would return home to them. Still he did not know if he felt regret. It had been right, it had been just. He had told the world of Joffrey’s parentage, tried to protect Robert’s legacy. Then he had been forced to take back his words. He had done it for the sake of his children, for their safety. That was what was most important.

In my heart you will always be my husband. I wake every morning and look to my side, expecting to see you. The pain of seeing that my bed is empty except for myself never seems to lessen. I know you to be alive, still my entire being aches as if you were dead. My bedchamber has grown colder without you and Winterfell is less home.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he had been dead. His family would not have needed to mourn a living man, there would have been a definite end. Bones and a statue in a crypt. Something to weep over. Instead he was gone. Separated from what he had built with Catelyn. Dead to the world and still alive, they could long for him and he could long for them.

I know I have most likely caused you further pain through this letter. That perhaps you had built a happy vision of us in your mind and I have now shattered it. I apologise for that, though I had to write. I could not stand to think our last interaction after so many years of marriage would take place in a brothel in King’s Landing, and that I would never be allowed to say a proper farewell. I say farewell now. I thank you for the years we had together. I thank you for the children you gave me, the lives we made together. I thank you for every smile, for every laugh. I thank you for the sleepless nights. I never thought myself to be the kind of woman to say these things, though in the end it seems I am.

“I hear you received a letter, what news from Winterfell?”

Ned flinched and looked up from the letter, noticing that his son had entered. What little news arrived at Castle Black traveled so quickly.

Jon frowned when he met his eyes.

“Are you weeping, Father?” he asked. “Has something happened?”

Ned raised a hand to his face, found that the tears had fallen from his eyes. He took a shaky breath and attempted to dry the tears with the back of his hand. Had he ever wept in front of one of his children? He did not believe so.

“The letter is from my wif– from Lady Catelyn” Ned croaked.

His voice was barely enough to carry the words. It all hurt. He had pushed the pain so far away that he had been unable to feel it, though when faced with a letter written by Catelyn he could not do so anymore. It was like drowning.

“Oh” Jon said, and the disappointment in his voice was obvious. “Does she say anything of Robb and the others? Are they well?”

“They’re still somewhat… shaken after what happened in King’s Landing. Though well, in the end. They all have their health.”

He did not know what else to say. Could not bear to tell Jon of what Catelyn described in the letter. Perhaps one day he would, though not that day.

“I understand.”

Jon had to miss his brothers and sisters even as he did not say it. He refused to show any weakness in front of Ned, he had become so grown. Still all Ned saw when he looked at him was the little boy he had brought with him back to Winterfell.

“Are you coming to eat?” Jon then asked. “The others are waiting for you.”

Ned looked down at the letter before turning his eyes back to Jon. He had not yet finished reading the letter, and he wanted to do so in peace. He wanted no one to see the hurt the raven had brought with it to Castle Black. That letter, those words, belonged to him and him alone. He wished for solitude.

“I am not hungry” he answered.

He should have been, he had stood watch all through the day, though he could not feel hunger. The last thing he wanted was to eat.

“Alright. You know where I’ll be, should you change your mind.”

Ned looked after the boy as he left. Jon. A bastard, just as Joffrey. Hidden away because of whom had sired him.

It was hard to keep reading once he had been interrupted. He did not want the letter to end, he did not want Catelyn’s words for him to be over. He sat there and looked at the auburn lock, at the page it had been attached to. Catelyn’s hand had moved over that page, she had touched it. She had written every word and then she had cut a lock of her hair so that he could have a small something of her. How he loved her hair.

Much time must have passed before he could find it in himself to keep reading. It was hard, he struggled with every word. And the tears did not seem to want to stop. Though in the end he managed to finish the letter.

He read it again. And again. And again. He read it until he would have been able to recite parts of it from memory. He wanted more. He wanted to speak with her, he wanted to answer her. He wanted to hold her hands and look into her eyes as he did it.

By the time he folded the letter and put it under his pillow so that it would be safe he had lost count of how many times he had read it. Many. And he would read it again and again, even as it pained him, because it was Catelyn that had written to him. The woman who had loved him. The woman he had loved.

The cage creaked as he once again ascended the Wall. The stairs that led to the top of the Wall would have been a pain even for the strongest of men, with his bad leg he could barely climb up short flights of stairs. So he stood in the large cage, he felt the air grow colder and the winds become stronger as he came higher up.

Much of his day had been spent looking beyond the Wall, that time he did not. He looked towards the Seven Kingdoms. Towards the North. Somewhere in the darkness, leagues away, was Winterfell. Winterfell and Catelyn and their children. He wondered what Catelyn was doing. If she was with the children. Perhaps they were taking their supper together. To imagine them was painful.

I desperately wish you had acted differently so that it had not ended this way. I was not yet prepared, not in the least. You can be a fool at times. Perhaps one day you will wander south with your new brothers and I will be allowed to look upon your face once more. If not, then I hope to reunite with you in the life that comes after this. I will wait for however long it takes, as I have always done.

Life was not a precious thing to him, he had learned to die long ago. Though in doing so it was certain that he would never see the faces of his children again. That he would never see Catelyn again. She said she would wait for him. It seemed terribly unfair to ask that of her.

There are a thousand more things I would like to say and should we ever see each other again I will tell you as many as time allows. Though for now I will end this by urging Lord Commander Mormont, or whoever gets hold of this letter first, to let you read it. Eddard Stark will not desert even as I write him all this, he is too bound by duty and honour. He does not waver. I have both loved and despised him for it.

He would not desert. Deserting would give him nothing. All he wanted was to return to them and if he did so it would most certainly mean his death. If he reached Winterfell he would be executed, the same as any other man. And Robb would be forced to be the one to swing the sword. It would be a cruel fate for his son.

Now, Ned, should Benjen return I want you to tell him I send my warmest regards. Dream of me and the children instead of all the terrible things in the world. Avoid drowning in the darkness, I know you have close to that. Stay alive, defend the realm from what lies beyond, and I will manage Winterfell. I will be Lady Stark even as I am without my Lord Stark.

The wind howled around him. It pulled at his clothes, wanted to lift him from where he stood. If only he had had wings, if only he had been able to sail on those winds. Back to Winterfell. To the warmth of Catelyn’s embrace. Ned closed his eyes and imagined it, longed for something that could never be again.

Yours forever, Catelyn

#this was so fun to write. i love pain #nedcatweek2024 #ned stark #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned x cat #my fic

[rftwfic]

Absolutely love the minotaur brainrot occurring on Tumblr dot com rn. Please consider mated Sterek who are on one of their usual monster hunts. Word from the Hunter's mouth is that there's a monster in a maze in the New Mexico desert that needs to be put down before it finds its way out, and there's no way in hell Stiles is going to let hunters torture some poor beast that he and Derek can put down humanely.

Unsurprisingly, it's Derek who gets them through the maze. He can smell where the creature is, as well as the paths they've already taken. It still takes them a full day, but by the time the sun is beginning to descend behind tall sandstone walls they come upon the center courtyard of the maze.

There's not much there, a few ragged blankets, a couple of dry patches of grass, a muddy puddle, and a plush lamb that has stuffing spilling out of the seams. In the middle sits a creature with chubby little limbs, a dirty loincloth, and soft brown fur all over its head.

Stiles gasps. "A baby!" Before Derek can stop him he rushes forward, crouching down in front of the child. Before long he's standing up with the small beast on his hip, the baby's big brown cow eyes staring up at him in wonder. "Derek," he says, pleading.

Derek crosses his arms and simply lets this play out.

"We can't just leave him here. Look at him! He's so little. He's not gonna hurt anyone."

"And when his horns come in and he grows bigger than both of us?" Derek asks, as if doesn't already know what his answer will be.

"Who better to teach him control than a werewolf?" Stiles beams.

"And where are you going to keep him? We can't exactly put him in a stroller and walk through town."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "We live in the middle of the woods. It's not like I plan to send him to daycare. We can homeschool."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Oh can we? You gonna teach a cow to read?"

Stiles huffs. "He's half man, too. You don't know what he's capable of."

"I'm sure you'll surprise me, like always." Derek leans down and picks up the stuffed lamb, brushing off some of the dirt. When he hands it to the baby his little fingers clutch at the matted wool. "Come on. We need to get going if we're gonna make it out of here by sunrise."

Stiles leans in close, kisses him on the cheek, and follows him out of the maze.

#derek x stiles #sterek

[cmyknoise]

if i could change the ending of cwilbur, what i’d do

Almost every part of the beginning and middle is the same, all the talks and concerns and especially the way c!Tommy talks and reacts to wilbur.

The part that differs is, well, the very ending

The Utah bit sure exists, however; I’m not entirely mad that it exists, it’s a pretty funny bit and revelation. If I could change it, I’d make it less of the focus of that end, and it wouldn’t be where Wilbur returns to, it’d just be his funny offhanded backstory. 

Here’s the biggest change: Wilbur doesn’t leave to a different world/dimension/Utah/etc. 

Wilbur Soot gets in the boat, turning to Tommy, then out to sea. It’s raining, cloud cover is heavy and thick but it breaks in the distance.

“I got here while sailing during a storm, you know.” 

He looks on at the horizon, the sun is setting. His sunrise is over. It’s sunset. There’s always tomorrow. 

“If you need me, ever, find me. This direction, straight on towards the sunset, just keep going. You’ll find me.” 

Tommy hesitates. He rushes and wades into the water against Wilbur’s boat. ./hugs in chat. 

“Fucking Utah...” 

They somberly laugh.

No more words are spoken between them, there’s nothing else to say. Wilbur’s book said enough, at least for now. 

With a salute, Wilbur is off, he sets sail, on into the far off distance, Tommy cries and curses. 

The screen fades out. It fades in again, Wilbur’s boat bumps into the sandy shores of a distant desert, a real desert. Not fake like Quackity’s, it reminds him of home. It’s his new beginning. 

It fades out again, and this is where the real footage of Wilbur in a desert in Utah, except they just use it as Wilbur-in-a-desert footage. He can start a new here. 

I think, something like this, leaves it open ended enough so that characters, like Tommy, who would chose to want to have him in their lives, can still do so. One day, Tommy could sail out and stumble onto that distant shore and see an oasis in the distance, see what his brother has built since. 

It leaves opportunity for him to move on without completely shutting all doors. 

It also doesn’t slam doors in fans faces. 

It’s open ended, it’s bittersweet, and there’s room for fan interpretation. That’s what I think would make this better without changing it entirely. Just that bit of still ending in the minecraft world instead of leaving it entirely.

#dsmp #dream smp #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #lemon's stuff #ask to tag

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [22/22]

As it turned out, destroying mountains didn’t make Vegeta feel any better. Any stronger. Any more confident. Any less like his whole world was shifting beneath his feet and he was hopeless to change it. 

It was all that wretched woman’s fault. 

Beneath a blazing desert sun he kicked and punched at nothing but his own demons until sweat poured off of him like a waterfall and sand clogged his eyes and nose and mouth. The sun sank, the moon rose, and the sweat dried to him until he shook with every movement from the chill of the desert night. Then the sun rose again. 

This was her fault for being so irresistible. If any fault at all lay with him, it was his own weakness in his experience with women. If he knew what they were capable of - capable of making him feel - he would have avoided her better. 

She’d made him stupid enough to call her his. To let her call him hers. 

Now look at this tangle she’d made. 

Vegeta didn’t stop for five days, at the end of which he collapsed at twilight with gaping, gasping breaths that drew from his entire body. His legs twitched and shook on the ground. So did his arms. His stomach was a hollow chasm, and he burned everywhere from sun and sand. 

This tangle: Bulma was supposed to have cried when he told her he was leaving. He’d expected begging, even her hitting his chest in protest. But icy indifference? 

“See if I care.”

“Don’t you?” 

“Do you?” 

After sharing a bed for two months, he’d expected her to care. To have emotion about his departure beyond bitter resignation. She should have yelled and screamed until all of Capsule Corp had been roused. He was used to that. 

But her response…it cracked something in him. Something deep inside he didn’t even know the shape of, something with new, hairline fissures spreading painfully throughout his chest and beginning constant, stinging agony whenever he remembered how her teal eyelashes caught the sunrise or the echo of her easy laughs, the shape of her mouth. 

His resolve wasn’t what it should be. When his thoughts lingered on Bulma instead of his Ascension, he couldn’t be the true Saiyan warrior he was born to be. That he already was.

Eventually Vegeta moved again, numb and erratic until he was on all fours, spitting sand-soaked saliva onto the ground. The heat. The heat was getting to him. 

So, when he could fly again, he went north. 

Ice was easier to shatter than rock, and when shards flew in his face they burned just the same. 

This was all her fault. Her fault. Her fault he hadn’t ascended yet, her fault he couldn’t focus, her fault he was so weak. 

If King Vegeta were alive, he was be ashamed to have a son so ninny-headed. 

Her fault.

Her fault. 

Her fault. 

A glacier exploded beneath his fist. Vegeta’s eyes wanted to close, to block out the ice chips flying at his face at a hundred miles per second, but he didn’t let them. No, he wanted to see the fracture of the ice beneath him, feel the shards sting his eyes and melt the moment they came into contact with his red-hot skin. 

Her fault. 

If this was her fault, she should fix it. Yes, that made sense. Bulma had unwound him completely, and if she didn’t want her world destroyed by androids, she needed to put Vegeta back together so he could destroy them properly. The howling in his veins for her and her touch would serve no one in a fight, especially not a Saiyan. He couldn’t think of two things at once. He couldn’t train properly when he wanted her so badly. 

So he needed to stop wanting her. 

It wasn’t really a plan, just a convoluted mess of angry, half-formed accusations that might form a defense at the best of times. It wasn’t the best of times. Vegeta set off for West City soon after, blasting things that got in his way instead of going around them. As if that release would relax him, make him ready to face her. 

When the sun dipped below the horizon a few hours before he arrived, he decided it was for the better. No daytime scenes (he still half-hoped for a sign of her passion - a sign that he mattered, that she didn’t want him to go) to cause gossip through the compound. The moon rose steadily behind him, and finally the pale domes of Capsule Corp appeared between the sky-reaching buildings of the city, reflecting the light for him to see his way back. 

Silently he drifted around the dome before stopping at the windows of Bulma’s bedroom. They were dark, which meant she was either sleeping or somewhere else. Watching television, perhaps. Or maybe she’d given up the habit. Vegeta only needed to tilt his ear to the glass to hear through it, her soft, even breaths inside. 

His heart unclenched. She was there. She was well. 

Vegeta landed on the balcony, unsurprised to find the door unlocked. A few stories up, she’d never had fear of an invasion. His brave, foolish woman. Who evidently hadn’t been sleeping deeply, or her hearing had gotten better: he heard a gasp and saw her dark shape bolt upright in the bed. His eyes adjusted to the dark until he made out the pale hand clutching blankets to her chest, the limp hair falling around her shoulders. 

“You,” she breathed out. “You - you smell bad.”

He probably did. He’d been sleeping outdoors for days, and training every second that he didn’t sleep. 

“I should have known you’d come skulking back,” Bulma said, pinching her nose. Her voice turned nasal. “I can’t even look at you until you shower, let alone tell you to screw off properly.”

“I’ve never felt so welcomed,” Vegeta snapped, shutting the door behind him. 

“You weren’t invited.”

Her words hurt, but not as deeply as they should have. He knew he deserved it. He began to yank off his tattered clothes, not bothering to care if she minded the intrusion. “Your shower is closer,” he said. “I’ll bathe there.” 

“Wait just a - ”

He ignored her, shutting the bathroom door behind him so he couldn’t see her indignant expression. After so many days in the wilds, the fluorescent bulb burned his eyes, so Vegeta flicked it back off before turning on the shower. She wanted a sweet-smelling man? He’d give her one. Even if it meant wearing down her soaps to get all the grime off of him. 

Every second he lingered beneath the hot water, the stronger the tug tightened in his gut, leading to Bulma in the other room. If that tug was a Saiyan thing, Vegeta didn’t know. He knew Saiyans mated for life, he knew they weren’t easily distracted when they got into a passion of lovemaking or fighting or eating, and he knew…he knew little else. His education hadn’t extended so far. Not when he’d been so young, not when his father had been so preoccupied by Frieza and other political issues. No doubt King Vegeta had focused on teaching bloodlines and battle lines. Everything else could have waited. Should have come later. 

There was no one to ask now, anyway. 

Bulma stood in the center of her bedroom when he walked out naked as the day he was born. The lamp was on, which bathed her like an angel, and she wore a dark blue nightdress that Vegeta couldn’t look away from. Or stop his mouth from filling with saliva. 

“Why are you here?” she snapped. She’d been waiting for him.

“To,” he licked his lips. The nightdress had been a cruel tactic. “To get my fill of you so I can focus on training.” 

“What? To get your fill of me?” Bulma’s brows knitted together. “I’m not a drink of water.”

I’d like to drink you up all the same. The words knotted his tongue. Vegeta swallowed. “This…single-mindedness that Saiyans have,” he said. “It’s good for battle and breeding. It’s not good for…this.”

“This?” Her mouth widened, descending into the start of a frown. “What is this, then?”

He shrugged, because he didn't know. Not really. Not in a way that he was willing to share, or try to stumble through an explanation. In the silence he could hear the clicking of her clock on the wall. 

“What makes you think I still want you, anyway?”

That was easy. “You didn’t leave,” Vegeta said. She readjusted her stance with several blinks and a tiny hmph that was very, very Bulma. 

“I can’t,” her voice cracked on the words. “I can’t…I can’t be left behind. It used to be okay, but…” 

“But you think me equivalent of your earth men,” he finished. Unreasonable anger made his face hot. “You think because I train, I won’t return.” 

“You did this time, but who’s to say what will happen next time?” 

Bulma didn’t know how badly he yearned for her. 

He couldn’t tell her. Let her gain that leverage. 

“What do you want?” he asked sharply. “A dog of a man, always yipping at your side?”

“Oh, finally you ask!” She threw her hands in the air, radiating with irritation that he could feel from five feet away. Irritation tinged sweet with that intoxicating scent. He’d forgotten how delicious it was. “Finally, someone stops telling me what they want and they ask me what I want!”

“Answer the question!” 

“I want you to never leave again!” Bulma said it with a stomp of her foot. “I’m not just - I won’t be available whenever you want! That’s not who I am! I have my own wishes and dreams and I won’t just be a sideline to your glory!” 

“You do want a dog,” Vegeta said. 

“No. I want you.” 

That was true. He could smell it on her, leaking out of her body like the headiest, most sensual scent he’d ever felt in his life. So thick he felt coated in it, like he could bathe in it. Vegeta drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs. It was even more potent than it had been when he’d left, sweeter with a hint of sour that he wanted to lap up. 

But Bulma crossed her arms again. “Never leave again,” she said again, but this time it was accompanied by a salty scent of tears, the words wobbling as they left her lips. Vegeta frowned. 

“I can’t promise that.”

Her lips trembled, but her eyes shone like steel. “I know.” 

A flash outside the windows preceded a clap that shuddered the dome. He hadn’t smelled a thunderstorm on his way in; then again, he’d been focused on Bulma and only Bulma. 

She was making him a rotten warrior. 

He took a step closer. She didn’t move, didn’t retreat. He took another step. 

“Bulma,” he said. Then, “My Bulma.”

“That’s the thing,” she whispered. “I can be yours but are you truly mine?” 

“Yes.” Vegeta was near enough to touch her. But he didn’t, instead lowering himself to his knees to gaze up at her astonished expression. After a bracing breath of her scent, he reached to grip her by the hips, holding her still. “I cannot always stay, Bulma. But as long as you’re here, I cannot stay away, either.” 

Her palm touched his jaw, thumb brushing over stinging cuts from his training that hadn’t healed yet. The tenderness of her touch, coupled with the sweet sadness in her eyes, cut him more deeply than any sword. 

“I suppose that’s all I’ll ever get from you,” Bulma said, lips twisting in a wry smile. “A promise that’s not really a promise.” 

“I can only offer myself the way I am, not the way you want me to be,” he told her. At that she nodded, her shoulders dropping forward as the tension slacked through her body. 

“I’d rather have you imperfectly than not at all,” she admitted. 

“But when I’m here,” Vegeta fiddled with the hem of her nightdress, slipping his fingers beneath to press against the soft flesh of her hips. “Is it not…a little perfect?”

She smiled. A sincere smile. “Try to make it perfect and then I’ll decide,” she challenged, and he grinned. He found the satin ruching of her underwear. 

“You should know better than to challenge a Saiyan warrior,” he warned. Her panties slipped over her backside, sliding down her legs. “We are not easily bested.”

“Oh, Vegeta.” Bulma carded her fingers into his damp hair. “I don’t want to best you. I just want to love you.” 

When he pushed her skirt up, the full force of her scent almost scent him staggering. If he hadn’t been on his knees already, he certainly would have fallen. Recently Vegeta pushed his nose into the creamy flesh of her abdomen, murmuring something in his native tongue that he didn’t have the wits to understand. He kissed and kissed and kissed her skin until she was squirming, angling away with protests of “Hey! That tickles!” He just growled and held her tighter, keeping his mouth on her as his head moved down, desperate to get to the very core of her. 

“V - Vegeta. I…I can’t stand!” 

Panting, having helplessly coated his tongue on her slick, he only just managed to pull back in time to see how badly her legs shook. Bulma’s cheeks had turned a feverish pink, staring down at him with boggled eyes. 

“Well, I’m not done yet!” 

“I’m going to fall - ”

Impatiently he wrapped an arm around her knees, lifting her a few inches off the ground and walking forward on his knees until he could dump her on the edge of the bed. She bounced with a relief sigh, legs falling open, just as he’d intended. 

“Now don’t move again,” he ordered, hands on her thighs to hold them open. 

“Oh - oh - ooookaaay…”

Her words drifted into aimless whimpers and the occasional gasp. Vegeta, on the other hand, set out to drink his fill of her, just like he’d dreamed the entire time he’d been away. 

I have to have enough. And then I can train again. 

Her first orgasm gushed sweetness all over him. Not satisfying his eagerness, but increasing it. He reached up to fondle her breasts through her nightgown, giving up after a few frustrating moments before yanking on the thin straps that held it to her shoulder. 

“Don’t break it!” Bulma snapped, but it lacked her usual verve. Sex made her misty-eyed, and this was no exception. 

“Fine!” Vegeta yanked the neckline until her breasts popped out, filling his hand with her supple, rounded flesh as her back arched with a moan. He couldn’t help moaning, too, right into her sex. “You taste good,” he muttered, because it felt polite. She didn’t respond, and he flattened his tongue against her to drag it slowly upwards, savoring every last bit. 

She had her fill of his mouth before he had his fill of her taste, wrenching away and giving him a kick in the shoulder. “Enough! I can’t take anymore!” 

Vegeta sat back on his haunches, staring at the slope of her backside. She’d collapsed face down after twisting away, a boneless heap on the bed. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he considered taking her from behind, but before that thought could properly form she sat up, hair sticking out and face flushed. 

“Get on the bed,” Bulma told him, and he almost tripped over himself to obey. 

Watching her ride him was just as sacred an experience as worshiping her. The straps of her nightgown had fallen over her shoulder, the swells of her breasts still spilling from the front. He held her by the thighs for a while, riveted by the way she licked her lips, parting them to breathe soft, pleasured moans. Vegeta could touch as much as he wanted; her arms, her shoulders, her throat. Her breasts, her waist, her hips, helping her to move on top of him when her pace faltered. 

“Oh!” came the telltale sign of her climax. “Oh - oh - ”

The way her sex clenched on him would have driven a lesser man mad. Or maybe he was mad, and simply blissfully ignorant to the fact. He didn’t care. Vegeta groaned at each pulsing squeeze while she slowed before stopping. 

He didn’t wait. Sitting up, he grabbed her by the waist and tilted her onto the bed, lining up their bodies at the perfect angle while her giant eyes blinked blearily up at him. She looked as dazed as he felt, and with a smile that surprised him, he kissed each of her eyes. 

“My Bulma,” he murmured, holding her chin in his hand. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead on hers for a moment to let her catch her breath. Then he felt her arms around his neck. 

“Will you look at me while you make love to me?” 

It was a small thing she asked, wasn’t it? Vegeta opened his eyes before realizing he was frowning. “Yes,” he said. Bulma’s smile appeared at once, dazzling and sweet while her fingers scraped lightly at his scalp. 

A few thrusts had him fully seated inside of her. He swallowed a groan, aware of how her eyes flicked to his throat at the action. Wasn’t she going to look at him too? But she just kept smiling, holding him tight while he moved slowly in and out, in and out. Nothing wild. Just…tender. Fond. 

“You can move faster,” Bulma whispered. “I won’t break.”

Her eyes swam like an expanse of ocean; twin planets of serene seas and endless skies. Vegeta obeyed, focused on keeping his promise more than he was their mutual pleasure. It came, anyway, without his attention: first her lashes fluttered, then he felt her straining beneath him. Wasn’t long after that that he felt her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and this time, when she held him fast he didn’t resist, spilling into her at the tail end of her climax and stopping as soon as her moan turned to a sensitive squeak. 

Her palm cupped his cheek, her smile wide. “That was pretty perfect.” Her breath ghosted his lips. Everything about him was her: their scents mingling, his tongue and lips tasted like her, his eyes saw nothing else but her face. His skin touched hers everywhere, warm and cozy and a little damp. 

“Perfect enough for you to release your hold on me?”

Her arms drew away from around his neck. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Vegeta said, hating the loss of her touch. 

“You want to train more,” she said. “Here isn’t enough.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded. 

“I must.”

“I’d rather have you imperfectly than not at all.” This time when she said it, her voice was sad. Bulma leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth. “You said you’d come back.”

“Yes.” 

“You can’t stay away.”

“No.” 

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Finally she whispered, “I believe you.”

The tenderness so common in their lovemaking was strangely lacking in their farewells. Bulma disappeared from the room in a robe for a few minutes while Vegeta washed his face (he couldn’t bring himself to wash his body of her scent all together) before returning with new training clothes. 

“Be safe,” was all she said. 

He almost kissed her again before going to the balcony doors, but got caught in a half-embrace with a gloved hand against her back. Clearing his throat, he pulled away. 

The night air was fresh and cool. A few hours earlier it had felt thick, flying through to get to his woman. Now it was full of possibilities and a clear head, whispering promises of his destiny in each beam of light from the stars and moon above. 

Vegeta turned on his heel and went back inside. 

This time he kissed her with all the passion he had left, everything he could possibly pour into her. His lips numbed and her tiny gasps filled his ears while she clutched at his chest. He couldn’t figure what to say; no promises he couldn’t keep and none of the romantic drivel she probably would have liked. He could only give himself as he was: troubled at the choices that dug needles into his skin, pulling threads apart one by one. Determined to find his destiny among the stars, one way or another. Lost, a bit, too, and maybe because of her - but it didn’t feel so bad anymore.

~

Bulma waited until Vegeta was no longer visible in the sky before she let herself cry. 

For all the tears that had come since he’d left the first time, this felt different. Unending, but in a different way. Instead of spilling from a pool of grief, it was a pool of desperate hope. 

He said he’d come back. 

When her tears were spent she watched the spot where he’d disappeared. A hand drifted down to her belly, fondling stroking where her baby wouldn’t be able to feel his mother’s touch. Not yet. 

“He’ll be back,” she promised him. A father’s promise that the father couldn’t give. Only the confidence a lonely mother could. 

Vegeta wouldn’t have stayed for his child. If he couldn’t stay for Bulma, he couldn’t stay for anyone else. So for now, he wouldn’t know. That single-mindedness he cursed so much could return to his training and they’d be waiting, when he returned. 

The moon cradled her sadness until it sank beneath the city buildings, and Bulma turned to go inside.

fin

A/N: That's all, folks! I hope you liked it! I certainly loved writing it. Vegeta and Bulma (and baby Trunks) have a special place in my heart. Thank you to everyone who has reached out to let me know that you enjoyed the story. Your kindness warms my frigid heart &lt;3

#vegebul #dbz fanfic #bulma x vegeta #dragon ball

[vivid-badsquad]

if i cant draw them.

then ill explain them. (GET READY FOR A SEMI-SIZED, NO TYPING QUIRK POST UNDER THE CUT BECAUSE I LOVE THEM. im pullin out the proper grammar n all man.)

Kohane's family go on holiday(/vacation) one year to a seaside town. In the town, a fairly famous painter and his family live, the Shinonomes. There's Akito, who is normally found with another young boy and a young girl (all around Kohane's age) (Touya and An, if you couldn't guess) while the older child of the two found herself mainly by the shore, painting until dusk. Ena.

Kohane, one night, decides to sneak out of the house when she sees the moon shining down upon the sea in such a way that she had to take pictures of it to show her dad when she got back. So, taking her camera and and bundling up (it's cold. of course she's not just gonna go out in her pyjamas like in the movies, she's not gonna go and get a cold just for a few photos!) she left, shutting the door of her parent's holiday home behind her to venture out to a cliff by the building. That was always a good thing about where her parents' had bought the place, it was so close to a cliff side that they didn't have to go far to take breathtaking pictures of the sunrise or sunset.

However, the moon wasn't the only thing that caught her attention. There was a figure laying upon the shore, an odd shape where it's legs' should be flapping in front of it. The silhouette was familiar to Kohane. Long, wavy hair, two buns either side (she could only assume. why would anybody only put one bun up in their hair??) and an easel not too far from it. Was that... No. It couldn't be, right? It couldn't be Ena...

During her time away from her real home, Kohane had gotten to know Akito and his friends', and the four of them had created a small group together. With this, Kohane had also got to know Akito's sister better. The two had a lot in common, and would find themselves drifting towards eachother when Akito wasn't around. They frolicked across the edge of the sea. Or, well... Kohane did. Ena never stepped foot into the water, constantly making excuses about how cold it was or that she needed to finish a sketch so badly that she couldn't just leave it for a few minutes. It all made sense to Kohane now.

She found herslef wandering down the stony path that lead to the actual beach, walking across the sand barefooted, holding her sandals in one hand with her camera secured around her neck, calling out to the brunette. It was almost like magic the way Ena's legs rebuilt themselves so that she was bipedal again, standing up and rushing to Kohane with a look of terror on her face. She warned Kohane of her misfortune, about how if she told anybody in the small town about her, that she would be shunned for life. Kohane stuck to that promise, vowing never to tell a sould about what she saw.

It seemed the two only got closer from that day forward. Kohane started hanging out with Akito much less, now focusing on Ena more than anything. A lot of her cameras storage seemed to be taken up by the brunette, not that she cared. Candids of the girl painting by the shore into the twilight and blurry photos in return of Kohane herself filled the camera. A picture or two of Ena could be found deep in the storage of her in the water, hair splayed around her as if she were an angel.

The day that they first kissed was a surprise to nobody. The sun was going down and the beach was deserted apart from the two girls. They were laying against the sand, Ena picking up a shell once in a while and throwing it across to be swept away by the tide. Kohane rolled onto her side, admiring the older girl. The way her hair formed a dark ring around her head, her chestnut eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Her cheeks flushed with the thought of her lips on Ena's, heart pounding and brain turned to mush. Ena noticed the girl's trouble. Of course she did. She was good at picking up on that kind of stuff.

To the surprise of nobody in the town, Ena had fallen head over heels for the blonde girl, constantly doodling her in her sketchbook, only to be flustered and rub the drawings out.

(ILL FINISH THIS LATER I PROMISE IVE WRITTEN SO MUCH MY BRAIN JUICES. ILL PUT A SUMMARY 4 THE REST OF IT THO. basically they kiss and they are really really gay until Kohane has to go back home boom done i just need to... write all of that. eventually.)

#maintagging LISTEN TO MY THOUGHTS FANDOM. #project sekai #ena shinonome #kohane asuzawa #enakoha

[laceyjane44]

GaaSaku 2023 FanFest Day10

Prompt: Desert

(Day 1: Prequel)

Before the sun had risen, Sakura slipped from her sleeping mat and, in the dim light cast by the remaining stars, she quietly tiptoed passed those sleeping in camp and made off for a nearby trail. No one stirred in the encampment, though the woman bed down next to her did turn away at the disturbance when Sakura pulled closed the zippers on her shoes. She’d forgone her blanket for her cloak, it was thicker and would provide better warmth when she left the windbreak of the large dune and stepped out into the open skies of the desert.

Nearly unnoticed, there had been only one that witnessed her departure from camp, and he soon followed a good distance behind her.

With quiet footsteps, her shoes found the hard-packed earth of the trail and she pulled the deep hood of the cloak over her head. Stepping off the winding path, she was now exposed to the winds whipping across the open landscape as she hiked up the side of the towering dune it encircled. She clutched the stiff fabric of the cloak tightly around her as she ascended. Her feet sunk into the sand as the slopped edges of the dunes adjusted to bear her weight, and she huffed quietly as she climbed the few hundred feet to the top. It was exhausting to travel with the ground constantly slipping away under her feet and, ever since they entered this land of endless dunes, she’d wondered how the ones to call this place home managed on a daily basis.

Their hosts had insisted that they have adequate gear for their journey out and, even so, they’d been given a few top rank guides to help them along the way. She had thought it overkill at first, the insisted upon gear alone was twice what she brought with for missions back home, but after their first afternoon of glaring sun, followed by a sudden windstorm kicking up a milewide cloud of dust and sand, and the jarring temperature drop when day shifted to dusk, she began to have a new appreciation for the weight that she carried.

Sakura sat with her cloak pulled around her knees at the crest of the dune, nose going a little pink from the chilly breeze of the early morning, and she looked out to the east. She wondered if the sun had already risen over Konoha, they had come so far in their journey to Suna for the chunin exams, everyone back home was likely already starting their day. She smiled to herself, hoping to return with a new title and a boastful tale or two to regale her parents with. As for now, though, she simply wished to see the sunrise.

At the base of the dune, standing in its shadow, Gaara watched as she huddled in the breeze. He’d been perplexed to see her leave camp and didn’t want her losing her way, but she hadn’t gone far and figured he could let her enjoy the sights that morning in the desert had to offer. He of all people understood the desire; he’d seen nearly every sunrise out here during his lifetime, they were one of the few quiet moments of beauty he’d been privileged to.

Far off in the distance, with no tree lines to obscure the horizon, the dark blue skies began to lift. Overhead was still a kaleidoscope of stars; twinkling, dazzling, illuminating the black backdrop until the light of the rising sun began to snuff them out one by one. Once cool tones of blues and purples, the horizon now began to shine in a pale yellow, chasing away the stars and casting immense dune shadows across the undulated landscape. Yellows turned to oranges turned to reds, a blended swath of masterful design set alight.

Brighter and brighter still, until suddenly the fiery orb of the sun broke past the horizon and the desert that stretched out before Sakura glowed warm and golden. Blazing, obscured by the atmosphere, she watched it ascend in a swift and smooth trajectory, passing behind the wispy faraway clouds and setting their edges aflame. Bewitched, Sakura removed her hood from about her face, wanting to feel the light of the morning grow warm against her skin, wanting the refreshing breeze to blow through her hair.

The frazzled strays from her bedhead caught the sun and, just as the clouds had, the pastel pink of her hair glowed in haloed welcome of the oncoming day. Gaara felt his sand stirring at his feet, a compulsion to weightlessness, and then all at once and without sound, he was standing behind her watching the same sunrise that had beckoned her away from camp.

She must’ve been used to his presence by now, she didn’t seem to notice him at first, and he was able to silently observe for a moment as she pulled some of her windblown locks behind her ear.

“Is it to your liking?” he asked, enjoying the way her eyes widened and swiveled around to look up at him; the fiery red reflection of the sun contrasting vividly with a bright emerald green.

She flinched back and gasped. “Gaara – I mean, Lord Kazekage,” she floundered, surprise and mild embarrassment evident on her face as she glanced down the dune behind him. She cleared her throat, not expecting to use her voice yet. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said back, his own voice a little groggy after rousing from his meditation, and he took a moment to ponder her greeting before offering, “It’s just us, it will be all right if you call me by name.” She nodded, securing her cloak around her once again. “So?” he continued. “How is it?”

She laughed a little nervously to herself at being taken by such surprise, and looked back out to the ocean of sand glittering like gold under the growing light. “Amazing, I’ve never seen a sunrise quite like it,” she said quietly after a moment, gripped by the devastating and raw beauty of this landscape that had evaded her until now. “The sights are stunning out here.”

Gaara looked out to the desert she admired, his desert in a way, it always gave him a feeling of being at home and at peace, even as a little blip in the vastness of it all. “There is a certain charm to it,” he had to agree with her. “Those lacking in discernment struggle to see that, though.”

Sakura smiled at this. “I’m glad I’ve had no trouble, then.”

True, he’d been noticing the same ever since he rendezvoused with the oncoming contestants from the east so that he and his siblings could escort them safely to the hidden city. A bit perplexed but accepting of their extensive precautions, she had welcomed every challenge of the desert with a wide-eyed excitement and wonder for a world so unlike her own. In the sweltering heat and glaring afternoon sun; she had been awestruck, when he’d conjured stillness in the presence of the windstorm; she’d grinned with excitement at the monumental force of it overhead and all around, and here she sat in mesmerized appreciation of the artful gift gracing the desert skies each morning and each night.

Looking over her shoulder, she caught his gaze and asked, “Will we be leaving soon?”

Gaara shook his head, studying the way her skin glowed in the unobstructed light. “The camp hasn’t woken yet; enjoy the sunrise.” She looked back out to the landscape before her and shivered a little as a gust flew past them. “May I join you?”

She didn’t look back up at him after his question, but she gave him a nod. “Of course,” she said pulling in the side of her cloak, offering him a spot next to her. “It’s beautiful.”

He took a second longer to study the way the warm gradient of light painted a perfect backdrop for her silhouette, musing that he never thought something so light and delicate looking; like the flower of her namesake, could look so perfectly bathed in the morning glow of the arid landscape that he called home. Peculiar thoughts swam about in his head; skin in the sunlight, hair in the breeze, eyes quietly aflame.

“Yes,” he muttered quietly, the rising sun all but forgotten to him. “It is.”

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501

#gaasaku #sabaku no gaara #sakura haruno #ao3 #fan fest 2023 #gaasaku fan fest #gaara #gaaraxsakura #sakugaa

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

to ashes, admission

Clint Barton x F!Reader

To Ashes, Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Summary: two months after the attack on fisk tower, you’re still struggling to move on from what you’ve done. clint has continued on with his personal mission, but he can’t keep his worry for you to himself any longer.

Warnings: angst, softness, mentions of vomiting.

Word Count: 2,341

follow my fanfiction blog

prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23

Days Since the Decimation: One Year, Three Hundred and Five Days

“We’re going out.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, looking up from the few dishes soaking in the sink. The water was cool against your hands as you let them hang limply in the sink, but you could still feel them sting from what had previously been almost scalding temperatures. You realized that you had no idea how long you’d been standing there.

Clint was standing in the kitchen doorway to your left, his hand clenching and unclenching by his side. You were sure he didn’t even realize he was doing it, but it was a gesture you’d long since recognized as a sign that he was agitated, frustrated at being stuck idle in close quarters. Odd, since he’d been out until sunrise almost every night in the two months since you’d arrived in Moscow.

He cleared his throat when you didn’t answer. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine.”

He gave you a pointed look; you could see it out of the corner of your eye. ‘I’m fine’ had become your automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction. “I didn’t ask.”

“Oh.”

“We’re going out.”

“I’ve got work to do here,” you said, busying yourself with the dishes again. The two of you had taken up residence in an abandoned flat in what used to be one of the low-income neighbourhoods of Moscow. The area had, for the most part, been deserted as the people who had survived the Decimation had been shepherded by the Russian government closer to the city’s centre in a bid to reduce the strain on the police force still recovering from significantly lowered numbers.

Most citizens had taken it as an opportunity to upgrade into better homes, and for the most part, it was just the two of you. Still, some had stubbornly remained, and criminal groups had decided to use the now-empty buildings as a chance to expand their bases of operations.

Either way, it was quiet. And you didn’t leave the flat very often.

“The dishes can wait,” he said patiently. A little too gently.

You swallowed the painful knot suddenly lodged in your throat.

*              *              *

“The news is saying it was some kind of concussion grenade that blew out the windows,” Clint said as you finally stepped out of the bathroom. The two decade-old alarm clock still plugged in by the bed told you you’d been in there for hours, and maybe only Clint knew how long you’d been in his arms.

He’d sat with you until your entire body had felt numb with the cold, never stopping those same whispered comforts despite the way you heard his voice tremble as he shivered. You hadn’t even heard most of it, the words drowned out by the pounding of water against the tiles and your own sobs wracking through your chest, but the smooth, soft tenor of his voice had been enough to slowly calm you.

Eventually, you’d just sat there in silence, curled up in his arms, your body aching but still unwilling to let go. You’d reached up to turn off the tap above you, and you’d felt his lips brush against your hair one last time before he’d finally stood again.

He’d set a pair of sweats and a tee shirt from your bag on the bathroom sink before leaving you to get dressed in private, and his own now-soaked clothes were in a pile in the corner, slowly spreading a wet stain across the carpet. You could feel your hair soaking through the back of your shirt.

He’d redressed in sweats, and he held out a hoodie – one of his you realized dimly – and you took it silently. Your hands were shaking. He had to have seen it.

“Your work with the cameras means no one has any idea it was us. At least on a local level.”

A compliment on your pseudo-spy work would have ordinarily thrilled you, but now, it felt hollow. And you took the meaning of his addendum. Local police might be satisfied with the story they’d come up with, but certain members of the Avengers might poke holes in the story if they showed the damage on the news. They’d seen what you could do enough times that they could tell the difference between a concussion grenade and the aftermath of one of your rogue shields.

You nodded, pulling on the jacket numbly and zipping it up with trembling fingers. The skin of your cheeks felt tight, your back aching from sitting on the hard tile for so long. Your voice came out hoarsely. Worn. “So, what are you going to do?”

Clint sighed, running his hand through his hair. You wrapped your arms around your middle, fingers curling in the soft fabric of your sleeves. “We’ll do what we planned; I’ve got flights organized. We won’t be able to take all your meds with us, but we can take a bottle each, and that should—”

“You’re still taking me with you?” you asked, finally meeting his eye.

He gave you a small smile. His expression was soft, almost touching on amusement at your surprise. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

*              *              *

“Why’d you bring me here, Clint?” you asked, your hands wrapped around the mug in front of you despite your untouched coffee. Clint had ordered it without asking what you wanted.

The two of you were tucked away in a small café closer to Moscow proper. The noise of customer chatter and the clink of china against china was enough to set you on edge in your self-imposed isolation, and you sank further back against the wall beside you as a waitress passed.

“You needed a break,” he replied, pushing his fork through the stew and potatoes on his plate. The two of you had been sitting in silence since you arrived, but he seemed unsurprised by your sudden question. He reached across the table to take a piece of dense black bread from the plate beside you, mopping it through the sauce on the side of his plate before taking a bite.

He’d also ordered you a plate of syrniki – little pancakes drizzled in honey – but they were untouched. The delicate scent of them teased at your senses, but your anxiety made your stomach churn. You pushed the plate further away from you.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Clint met your eyes from under his brow, taking the time to eat another mouthful, before casually replying. “I know what you meant.”

*              *              *

“We can’t take the cash,” Clint explained, handing you your duffle bag before shouldering his own. It felt light, but then, you hadn’t brought a lot with you to begin with. He held out a small key, a ID tag hanging from it. “It’s in a bus locker downtown. Tony gave you the money, not me.”

You nodded, tucking the key into the pocket of your hoodie. “When do we leave?"

“A few hours. We should go now…” he glanced towards the window; a habit built into his brain by years as a spy. “We’ve got to fly commercial – anyone I have who could get us out of the country privately would be on ‘Tasha’s radar.”

*              *              *

You didn’t say anything, waiting for him to speak again. He ignored you and continued eating, his expression playing on innocent as he met your eye again.

“Clint.”

He nodded pointedly down to the food in front of you, and you sighed, sinking back in your seat. When his expression didn’t change, you rolled your eyes, picking up one of the pancakes. You held it up dramatically before taking a bite. You chewed, swallowed, and threw it back on the plate. “There. Happy?”

“Starting to be.” he replied, unamused. “You need to eat, Y/N.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“No?” At this point you were starting to think he was eating so much just to prove a point. He’d spent months eating only when you brought him something, and even then, you’d find half of it in the trash more often than not. He pushed the plate back towards you. “What was the last thing you ate?”

“I…” you couldn’t remember. “You made me that sandwich.”

Clint set his fork down. “Y/N, that was two days ago.”

*              *              *

Shock. Fear. Horror. And that sound, that sickening, hollow sound of bones cracking and skin splitting as they were crushed under the force of—

You woke with a start, bile rising in your throat as the memory of it clung to the inside of your skull. Throwing the blankets off of yourself, you managed to stumble into the bathroom and fall in front of the toilet before heaving up bile.

“You’re having headaches again,” Clint’s voice sounded quietly behind you, and you closed your eyes, reaching up to flush the toilet. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you filled the cup by the basin with cold water, avoiding his eye as you stepped past him and returned to your bed.

“Y/N.”

You sat cross-legged on the mattress, pulling the blankets back up over your lap. The room was dark, curtains drawn stubbornly against the morning’s first light. You shivered; Russian winters were less forgiving than what you were used to, even now that spring was only a few weeks away. “You were supposed to wake me before you left.”

“You needed the rest,” Clint replied, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He was still dressed in his Ronin uniform, his mask, hood and gloves gone. The faint but familiar scent of sweat and blood hung around him, and he looked tired, older, in the low light. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

The sound… the looks on their faces when you—

“I’m fine.”

“You’re having the migraines again.”

“No, I’m—”

Clint nodded to the bedside table, still littered with the collection of pain killers you’d pilfered from abandoned apartments. Heat flooded your face as you realized you’d forgotten to stash them away again, and you opened the drawer, sliding the lot of them off the tabletop and closing it again with a snap. “I’m fine, Barton.”

“Yeah? You had a nosebleed yesterday, and I know you’re running out of your prescription.”

“How would you know—”

He tossed something gently to you. You caught it automatically, turning it over in your hands. Your prescription bottle, light now that only a few pills remained. You hadn’t been able to bring much at all thanks to customs; the rest of your stockpile was tucked away in the same bus locker as the cash.

“When was the last time you released it?”

“It’s…” Your gaze remained in your lap, your fingers picking at the bottle’s label. “It’s been a while.”

Clint sighed. “Y/N…”

“I’m not doing it, Clint. I can’t.”

He shifted closer to you, turning to face you properly. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Y/N.”

Better you than someone else.

His face came into clearer focus in the dim and your response died on your lips as you noticed the dried blood on the side of his face. You moved automatically, reaching out to touch concerned fingertips to his cheek. There was a cut, a couple of inches long, by his brow. “Clint, you’re bleeding!”

He smiled, the expression one of rueful amusement. He covered your hand with his, fingers curling around your own. “Figures you’d ignore what’s going on with you but panic at little bit of blood from me.” He pulled your hand away gently. “I’m okay. It’s just a little nick.”

*              *              *

“Clint… why did you bring me here?” you asked again. “Why did you bring me to Russia with you?”

Clint didn’t meet your eye, poking his fork through the last of his meal. “You know why.”

“Because we had a plan?” you said sceptically, setting your coffee mug down on the table. “Clint, I blew it back there. We’re lucky Steve and Natasha didn’t track us down at the airport after the… after what I did. I’m not even doing my job anymore. You saw me afterwards… I’m not…”

You swallowed back the tears lodged in your throat. “Clint, if this is some sense of obligation—”

“It’s not.” he said immediately, meeting your eye. There was a kind of guarded sincerity in his gaze; he was certain. About you. He set his cutlery aside.

“I’m not okay, Clint.” you said, eyes closing for a moment as you steadied yourself. You could feel a tear lingering at your waterline, threatening to fall against your cheek. “So, if you—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I can’t even—”

“I need you, Y/N.” Clint said, his voice soft with his admission. Still, the words… his tone… made you stop, your fingers freezing where they’d been twisting together in your lap. “I need you here. You’re the only…”

Clint exhaled, looking up and shaking his head. It was as though he was annoyed with himself. Or maybe that actually he had to speak the words out loud.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sane, Y/N. I can’t do this without you.”

Your lips parted as you tried to find a reply. “Clint… I’ve seen you take out rooms of men without—”

“I’m not talking about the…” Clint sighed, and you felt your ribs tighten around your heart as you saw tears well in his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do any of it without you. Every day, I wake up and my family is still gone and you’re the only thing I’ve got that I—”

His words washed over you, and you pressed your lips together as you steadied yourself. Wordlessly, you picked up another one of the syrniki, popping it into your mouth.

A small, amused smile touched the corner of Clint’s lips despite himself as he noticed, and he breathed a soft chuckle as you chewed and swallowed, reaching for another. “Thank you, Y/N.”

.

.

.

tags:   @lovely-dreamer19​ @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @glossyloner​ @january-echoes​ @capitalnineteen​ @youclickedthislink​ @s0ftness​ @castieltrash1​ @absolutly-me @sara-ravenclaw @drakelover78​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @lol-you-thought​ @ruderavenclaw​ @startrekkingaroundasgard​ @notafraid-bitch-igot9lives @enna-core​ @akumune​ @xxboesefrauxx​ @hearmyharmony​ @katsies​ @lipstickandtanqueray @youralphawolf72​ @whovianayesha​ @fanofalltheficsx @bradfordbantams​ @alice-the-nerd​ @rimaries @ace-fandom-dumbass​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @twsssmlmaa​ @earth-pig-fish​ @meeksmusic83​ @hallothankmas​ @multiyfandomgirl40 @fallinginlovewithqueue​ @justanothermagicalsara​ @fandomfangirl4ever  

#clint barton #clint barton x you #clint barton x reader #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton x ofc #clint barton x oc #clint barton x original character #clint barton fanfic #clint barton imagine #clint barton reader insert #hawkeye #hawkeye x you #hawkeye x reader #hawkeye x original character #hawkeye x oc #hawkeye x ofc #hawkeye imagine #hawkeye reader insert #hawkeye fanfiction #hawkeye fanfic #mine: fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu reader insert #mcu imagine #marvel reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

[jewishzevran]

9 Ship Songs

I technically wasn't tagged by anyone specifically but @isayashai did a catch-all tag, and I'm finishing up a big project which means I'm getting back into the writing headspace, which inevitably means more Pippa/Fenris content. So let's rock and roll. If you want to listen to their ever-growing playlist, it's available here.

1. Sea Meets Earth // Fever Fever

Your skin touched my skin And I could feel the breaking of my cold, stone heart Was about to begin The moment that we Locked eyes

2. Fascination // Nat King Cole

It was fascination, I know Seeing you alone with the moonlight, above Then I touch your hand and next moment, I kiss you Fascination turned, to love

3. House a Habit // We Are the Guests

Wide open skies ahead Here's where I lay myself down and Wait till rivers rise up over my own head Oh please don't imagine a life without me at least not yet This house is a habit and it's lovely to live in it Comfort stirs inside my bed

4. She Knows // John Fullbright

Where could she go that I would not follow Leaving my sorrow behind She knows a thing or two about love She learned long before me The day is already done before it has begun She's the only one that commands the sun With her I will be She knows a thing or two about me

5. Stayaway // MUNA

No one ever told me leaving was the easy part I gotta stay away Leaving you was easy, now I gotta do what's hard I gotta stay away Any little misstep I'll be at your doorstep Talking 'bout forgiveness Giving you my heart back

6. Paperweight// Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk

Been up all night staring at you Wondering what's on your mind I've been this way with so many before But this feels like the first time And you want the sunrise to go back to bed And I want to make you laugh

7. About You Now // Meadowlark

All that it takes, one more chance Don't let our last kiss be our last Give me tonight and I'll show you I know everything changes I don't care where it takes us 'Cause I know how I feel about you now

8. Nebraska // Oh Wonder

Been to Nebraska, I've been to Rome I've walked the desert and swam below Climbed many mountains, traveled the skies I've been to Heaven, oh, how I've tried To get you out my mind but You're still home

9. Things Are Better // Tyler Lyle

You are my sunshine You are my red wine You are my reason to sing And if that day comes, when a song is not enough I will learn to paint

#music #pippa x fenris #my ocs

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 18, 1973

Daniel isn’t a morning person, but he’s so alert when the alarm goes off.

Still dark out, which he wanted. Promised himself he’d get up. Final gift to himself that he can look back on later. 

And still dark when he’s dressed, when he gets a free cup of coffee from the hotel lobby, when he gets in his car. The roads are empty and quiet as he weaves across the city, wondering if he’ll still be here this time tomorrow.

He finds a spot in Audubon Park, the place Louis mentioned. Sits in one of the benches by the water to watch the sunrise.

Something serene had come over him last night, after he had found the address. And he drove by it again afterwards to put his eyes on it. Parked across the street and watched it for a while. The Daniel that had driven across the United States in a frenzy would’ve gone inside immediately, would’ve been banging on the floors trying to wake him, but he feels okay now. Thinks he should be patient, he should try to have a nice dinner, take this moment. 

One more day.

So the sun comes up. He closes his eyes as the warmth hits his face. He breathes the humidity, the taste of the river on the air. He wants to keep this moment, to remember it.

He’s kind to himself, all day. This final day. 

Treats it like a vacation, trying the food New Orleans thrusts upon him. Beignets and muffuletta and gumbo. Praline for desert. Sazerac. 

He watches the sunset in Jackson Square and there’s a jazz band playing in the restaurant where he has dinner. He imagines interviewing the trombonist afterward. Something about him. 

But that was another life. 

Kind to himself, because he knows this is it. 

He heads back to his hotel once it’s dark out, to pick up the tapes. He wonders if he should call his mom, but doesn’t feel bad when he decides not to. 

One day, if his parents ask the right people, they’ll trace him to New Orleans. They’ll figure out he was working for the radio station, that his last known call was to leave the number of the hotel. No guilt, just serenity, happy to leave it behind as he leaves for Lestat’s.

Like he’s a new person, shedding a skin, as he cuts through the vines on the front gate. It’s not even locked. The front door is in such a state of rusted neglect that it breaks right open. 

Moonlight comes in through the windows, through the oak branches, enough to spill across the rows and rows of books, stacked to the ceiling. Sick to his stomach as his eyes sweep across, as he digs a flashlight out of his bag to see better. 

Not sick with dread, the way it’s been cycling through him since he met Louis. No, maybe something like butterflies. Something he can’t quite place. It’s more proof, he thinks; no human could have done something like this. Something this mad, this methodical. He remembers his tape collection, back in San Francisco. Each labeled, just exactly so, in the order he wanted them, perfectly aligned. The only thing in his life he had any control over, that he had the patience for. 

If these are Lestat’s books, if he’s done this, Daniel thinks he understands something of Lestat���s soul. 

He does a circle through the rooms on the first floor. Hundreds of books. Thousands, actually, he’s sure. In both French and English, and sometimes he isn’t sure what language, and so many of them are damaged so badly he can’t read the spines. The ones against the back wall of the dining room are covered in mold, near a broken window, and Daniel wonders how long they’ve been here.

The wood creaks beneath him as he heads upstairs. Slowly, trailing one hand along the wall, unsure if he should trust the bannister. Too dark to make out the paintings on the walls, but his fingertips graze across their heavy wood frames. He wonders how long Lestat lived in this house, if it had ever been a real home to him. If the art was incidental. If he’d truly read all these books.

It’s enough to stop him, at the top of the stairs, wondering how this could happen. 

Thinking about everything Louis had to say about his vampire nature, about his senses, about his perception of pleasure. 

Daniel’s dad used to have those fits sometime, the nightmares. And Daniel felt the heaviness now and then. His mom used to call it the blues, but shooed him out of the bed anyway. Made him go to school. 

And he never really told them why he dropped out. 

Working for the station let him live outside that box, let him sleep in, gave him some breathing room. But he had those days in San Francisco, too. Like when he finally tapped out, knowing he’d never make up all the school he’d missed last time he had an episode.

What about vampires, though?

Do you stay in your house for decades, and surround yourself with books, until you bury yourself in the ground? Do you obsess until you’re completely walled in?

Lestat, are you here? he thinks. He tries saying it loud, but his voice is swallowed by the dust and mold.

Forward, into the darkness. Into a bedroom with the skeleton of a four-poster. The window is broken out, moonlight filling the room with a white glow, roses crawling in over the splintered wood. Something shining on the floor, in the middle of the rotting carpet, and he points his flashlight, kneels to touch.

He feels like an explorer as his fingers caress the smooth gold, like he’s been pushing through a jungle, like he’s finally found the temple. More evidence, even if no one else believes him. He turns the watch over to see the Lestat de Lioncourt carved in delicate letters.

This was Charlie’s problem, maybe. Not that he didn’t have proof that someone else might believe, but that he cared if someone else believed. Daniel rubs his thumb across the gold, swiping away the layer of dust, and knows this is enough. Other people don’t factor into it anymore, not really. Not for Daniel. He’s not sure humans matter anymore. 

He rises, breathes in the dust and mildew. It’s a soft smell, cozy in its own right. Comforting, to be here at last. This close.

Did Lestat ever use this room? He wonders again if this place was ever truly a home. Or was it just somewhere he stayed, the way Daniel stayed in all those gross motels. 

The armoire in the corner groans as he opens it, the wood swollen shut. Full of moth eaten clothes, but they look like they could be from a fairy tale. Yellowed lace and stale velvet, and a black frock coat that falls apart when he touches it. 

He can see Lestat in these clothes, just like Louis described him. Convinced still that he can imagine Lestat’s face, that Louis had transferred it to him somehow. Too radiant, the way Louis was. But maybe he’s beneath the house, hurt and tired, as dusty as everything else.

A car passes outside, splashing light into the room, the shape of the window dancing across the ceiling. And Daniel tries to remember what day of the week it is. What year. He watches a spider on the windowsill and for a moment he feels like he can hear all the creatures in the house; rats beneath the floor and snakes in the garden. Even the termites, chewing through the walls of books. He sets his bag down and sits on the floor, near the window, in a pool of moonlight, and tries to listen for Lestat’s heartbeat.

Daniel isn’t sure how long it’s been since the night he met Louis. Maybe a week, maybe two. His hands move over the tape deck the way they have every night, and he’s so reverent in the way lines the tapes up in the correct order. The stiffness of the plastic case is so familiar now, and then schick as he sets the tape inside. And the way the play button clicks, the tiny squeak of the gears as it begins to roll.

And the static, the room tone from the recording. 

“You weren’t always a vampire, were you?” his voice asks. 

Or, someone’s voice asks. Daniel doesn’t think he’s that boy anymore. Sounded nervous already, unsure if he’d made a mistake, if the interview was safe.

“No,” Louis answers. “I was a twenty-five-year-old man when I became a vampire, and the year was 1791.”

“1791,” Daniel repeats, on the tape. And no one likes their own voice, but Daniel doesn’t mind because it’s not his anymore. But the boy sounds like he’s out of breath, and he’s stuttering a little as he asks the follow up. “How did it come about?”

“There’s a simple answer to that,” Louis says gently. So gently, and his voice is so soothing, even through the tape. Daniel turns the volume up, hoping Lestat will hear it. “I think I want to tell you the real story.”

“Yes.”

Daniel has listened to this a dozen times by now, each time further away from it, less and less the interviewer. He pats his pockets down for his cigarettes, lighting one as he stares down at the little speaker, letting Louis’s voice soak into him with the nicotine.

“There was a tragedy.”

[previous day] | [next day]

#vamptember #vamptember 1973 #vampire chronicles #daniel molloy #stuff i wrote

[mizumech]

Day 3: Saplings/Puppies

Hey, it’s mizumech and this is my submission for Day 3 of Treebarkweek! For this work, I used the prompt ‘saplings’ and combined it with Day 7’s ‘death’. The name of this work is ‘stationary nostos’ and it is 1110 words long. I reserve all rights to editing :)

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts. 

By now, Dogwarts is no longer the great nation it once was. It is but a crumbling temple. Flat slabs of stone make some sort of altar, rainwater anointing it in its own sort of way.

Villager belief on the myth of this once-glorious kingdom differs.

Some say a divine woodspirit beheaded the Red King under the full moon.

Some say it was a ritual for power, to gain the blessing of a rabid God.

Some say it was a bandit who unknowingly mugged the king under cover of night.

The truth is…far from that.

But nobody knows what it is.

Sometimes children slip away from their mothers to play in that mist-shrouded castle, and come running back.

A ghost, they cry, he looked at me!

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and it becomes harder and harder to deny.

People do still tell the story of the Battles of the Banner, of the king and his loyal hand, bouncing children on their knees as they do.

People whisper that a whimsical tree grows from the blood of the Red King where he died; twisting itself in wait of a new woodspirit to crown him.

“Where was his rider-hand,” grandmothers laugh as the rhyme comes to a close, “Where is your rider?”

“Dead in the sand!”

The children laugh as they are tipped off their laps, because they know they are safe. 

Someone will catch them.

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and he despairs in his loneliness.

The descendants of the sand hold onto an axe inscribed with archaic language not their own.

It’s one of their greatest war prizes, a symbol of strength and a beacon of hope and courage. 

Wandering traders tell tales of the snowy north as they offer cacti and live saplings for emeralds, and scoff at the axes of the blacksmith.

They have a better one back home that will aid them should war come to them.

Descendants of the sand know of a huge chasm in the middle of the desert that they will never fill. Although they will never tell as to why, they do say it would be a cruelty to do so. 

Their obelisks are carved with eyes, and the twilight dusk washes them purple.

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and there has been for a long time.

It’s not strange, really.

Martyn will never leave the love of his life.

Well, maybe that’s not true.

Dogwarts has never been the one he has loved most.

It would be better to say that he cherishes Dogwarts. He cherishes every stone and every moment he has spent with it.

But this is not Dogwarts.

A lifeless pile of stones does not make up what he remembers so clearly in his mind's eye.

A cracked altar does not constitute the bond he has felt and the life it has given him.

A once-dead farmland that now bristles with new life is closer, but could never compare to the days he spent in the sun with his lover, scattering wheat and planting carrots.

The habitual offerings of poppies and cherry from the villagers hoping to appease the ‘woodspirit’ within will never match up to the mead the kingdom once made and shared.

A tapestry woven of the tale hung on the wall will never, ever be a match for the love of his life.

Ren.

He mostly hisses at people for fun nowadays; just like the old times.

Killing someone from beyond the grave would be funny, if not impressive.

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and he paces the halls every day in search of the king.

They both died in Dogwarts, so how can it be that only he remains?

Martyn wishes on every sunrise and every sunset that it’s not true that Ren is trapped somewhere in the desert waiting for him. 

He’s tried to leave Dogwarts once, only to be pulled back immediately once he reaches the border.

It’s a far cry from the wandering past he used to live.

It’s him and Ren forever. Through thick and thin.

What even is forever?

They’ve been apart for so long. Are they still together?

Are they?

Will they?

…forever?

His hands have been empty for so long. No warmth to them, no hand to hold. No blood on them, no axe to wield.

With every day, the throne gets colder, and his heart breaks a little more. 

Forever, he thinks, as the sun goes down. 

Forever, he pleads as the stars shine above him.

-

The Watchers eventually figure out that there is a ghost that dwells in the heart of Dogwarts.

They do much to make him leave.

They tempt him with the promise of the axe returning back to him.

But what is the point of an axe when there is no one to protect, he asks, why should I be content with an axe?

They make a ludicrously pathetic offer of a sapling.

The monopoly is long over, he says, why should I leave my vigil for a mere sapling?

They offer him the enchanting table. pretty much a collector’s relic in this time.

He hesitates.

I can no longer don armour and I have no need for money, Martyn says eventually, what can I do with an enchanting table? 

The Watchers turn away from him.

“Ren,” he murmurs, “could you give me Ren?”

They ruefully shake their heads. One ties a sash of Dogwarts banner around his waist and one pushes a coral crown onto his head.

There, they say, that is your king.

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and none could possibly move him.

Villages come and go, and the kingdom’s well water swirls with copper coin tarnish.

Moss grows over the cobblestones and the earth slowly reclaims everything, and saplings pop up and flowers blanket it in the spring.

Go, the Watchers urge him, go. You will never find Ren anyways.

Martyn is stubborn. He will not be moved.

Forever is forever.

It’s not right, they say, it’s not right for a ghost to want to live.

My king lived, and he wanted to die to protect his kingdom, Martyn counters, is that any less right?

They have no answer for him, and so Martyn stays; Guardian of the Blackheart Altar and Hand of the Red King.

-

There is a ghost in the heart of Dogwarts, and Hand as he once was, he has now become the Heart of it.

Is it so wrong for a ghost to love?

#treebarkweek2023 #treebarkweek #martyn inthelittlewood #i don’t think this fic is qualified enough for a rendog tagging #tw: death #trafficshipping #3lshipping

[future-boi]

Doctober 2023 Summary

Completed 24/31 prompts!

List of all the prompts I did for Doctober 2023 below

So happy to be done 🥳🥳🥳👏👏👏

1. Sunrise: Tbh I don’t feel any which way about this one and I think it’s because I created it to be a companion piece to Sunset. So its like lowkey half-assed but also far from it. I’m very happy with how that turned out so that’s something…

2. Desert

3. Gun Fight😜🤧☠️: Ah, the first meme post. I felt shaky posting this. Cherry, I hope you know I did it for/because of you

4. Light Blue😈: Ah yes, the first Hell Valley angst post. I’ve always been super proud of it and I’m really happy that others are still liking/reblogging to this day! Almost a month later

5. Alarm Clock😜☠️: AH YES, the first post to really give me anxiety about posting. I was like this ain’t a SIMPLE meme anymore, ITS GOT COMPLEXITY.

6. Ticking Time Bomb  

7. Family😇: This one was super wholesome and the first time in a long while drawing Jules and Verney!

8. Outatime😜💛: This one was a fun one! There was a moment where I wasn’t sure if I should do a background… I’m glad I still had fun with it, it took a lotta work hahaha

9. Zipline

10. Nuclear  

11. Briefcase😜☠️: We back doing goofy shit again… but I really liked this one and had a lotta fun with it. definitely up there with Rear View Mirror.

12. Train Tracks  

13. Photo Album😜: This one was fun and gave me a break from drawing (aside from the days I didn’t do anything…)

14. Coffee😇💛☠️: This one’s so wholesome. But Im biased af

15. Invention😜🤧: This is the first certified half-assed art piece LMAO im sorry to admit it but I gotta speak the truth

16. Stage

17. Einstein😜: This was really fun, I love poking fun at Biff but who doesn’t?

18. Letter  

19. Memory 😇😈: Didn’t like the linework on this one I think that’s why I was feeling so negative about it… or maybe the composition… overall, I think I can do better.

20. Rearview Mirror😜💛🔥☠️: This one’s definitely the funnest one I’ve worked on and still makes me giggle.

21. Improvement😇: I was stressing over trying to finish it so I don’t have the happiest memories of working on this one…

22. Constellation😇💛: This one’s special to me so I was gonna love it no matter what lmao. I really enjoyed working on it even though I wish I had more time.

23. Nostalgia😇💛: One of the faves and always will be. The vibes are on point.

24. Record Player😈: The return of Hell Valley angst

25. Café😇: I’m happy with the color palette. I want to revisit this one some other time cuz I feel like I could do more if I had more time. Not sure if I should categorize this under half assed attempt or not.

26. Anniversary😇🤧: Yeah this was another half assed one, sorry

27. Thunderstorm😈: Angst and Hell Valley are synonymous at this point. I really liked this one, especially how it transitions from colored to black and white

28. Metallic😜☠️: Nimona. That’s all I gotta say. Nah jk I wasn’t going to do this but the no pines timeline was really interesting to learn about… and by interesting, I mean scary. But hey, it gives us another angle to the bttf storyline.

29. 2023😇😜🤧: Talked about the musical. Drew a few doodles. Hair style reveal?

30. Sunset😇⚡: Gives all the warm fuzzies, how could you hate it? Very happy with my use of color here.

31. Free Day (Halloween)😈🎃☠️: We don’t talk about this one… It’s the number one rule of the club 😉

What the emojis mean:

🤧 Half Assed

😜 Funny/Meme

😇 Warm Fuzzies

😈 Angst

☠️ WHO LET ME COOK

💛 Top 5

🔥 Funnest Prompt

🎃 Spookiest

⚡ Personal Fave

My goal for this prompt list challenge was to focus on quality over quantity. There’s a few half-assed art pieces that snuck in, but it could have been worse. By quality, I wanted clean line art, backgrounds, and if I have enough time, color!

What drove me to create art: Showing other people that are in this fandom (most notably ⚡@cheriboms). I’d love to interact with other mutuals on here. Shout outs: 💛@bttf-dork 💛@synthsays 💛@alex-a-fans. I feel like I’ve been doing that more towards the end of the challenge, but yall give me motivation! And sometimes, inspiration!

What I learned:

🤔 I can actually draw backgrounds if I actually try [wowowow who'da thunk] It’s much easier to draw a background from a reference rather than coming up with one on your own. So I need to keep that in mind whenever I feel discouraged.

🤔 I feel like my work is very dramatic. Like melodramatic fr. Or at least it can be... I blame watching those tv dramas with my mom when I was a kid. But then again, if you want to incite emotion out of an audience, you gotta know how to frame stuff and do all the fancy cinematography work. So you gotta be dramatic to an extent. I got really really bored with my ideas that weren’t telling a story(or rather a more interesting story…). And that effected my motivation.

🤔 Looking back at the list, I noticed that my top 5s are all either silly or wholesome and I’m glad and relieved about that. I said that I’m really dramatic and there’s quite a bit of angst in there, but ig I’m not THAT edgy (or maybe the prompts didn’t allow me to be🤔👀)

Things that I want to improve on: COLOR THEORY. Brush theory/line weight. I’ve been experimenting a tiny bit with this throughout the month, but I want to delve into it. Since I didn’t work on something for more than a day, I felt like I was throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks.🤪I didn’t get to really study what colors work well and why and experiment with it.

A lot of the ones that I’m not very proud of could be chalked up to not having enough time to work on it/make it better, so that’s an interesting dilemma.

TL,DR; I talk too much. Gotta work faster smh git gud 🙄

#doctober 2023