#she should not have been allowed to say that.
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“Why’s she so rude?” (She’s Not)- Stereotypes, pt2
So I'm sure that you all thought I was going to give a blow-by-blow list of "visual stereotypes to avoid". I'm going to be honest here, I thought about it, and figured it would be redundant. My page already includes sensitivity on depicting Black people. So instead, I'm going to focus on stereotypical "character" concepts, so that you can 1) not write it in your stories and/or 2) recognize it in media (fiction and reality!) and in life!
Two major resources: the Jim Crow Museum website is an EXCELLENT resource to understand the imagery of antiblack racism in U.S. history and society. The other, White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad. The book focuses on the many racist stereotypes projected onto women of color and how that purposeful, systemic negative perception of us bleeds into every aspect of our lives- specifically by white women/white feminists who believe that they are not contributing to said oppression.
I'll start with Black women, just because I’m passionate about it (obviously) and there are so many things I wish I had and hadn’t seen growing up. We deserve better by the year of our lord 2024.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of sexual assault, assault
Misogynoir
What I want everyone to understand, before I get into this, is the concept of intersectionality, and more specifically, misogynoir. Misogynoir is the specific type of contempt and prejudice that Black women face at the intersection of race and gender. I say this because you might read these things and go “oh, as a woman, I experience these things!” I get it, but I want you to PAUSE, and remember, that right now, we are talking about Black women’s experiences. And those will often be different, due to that intersection of identities. And that understanding will have an effect on how you understand (and thus, write) those experiences.
The Jezebel
The link goes into much deeper detail, but the Jezebel is the idea that a Black woman or girl who is sexual is somehow “fast”, “salacious”, “a hoe”, “driven by desire/doesn’t understand purity”, and at its worst, unable to be r*ped/a victim because she is less valuable yet somehow inherently seductive to men.
This gets thrown around CONSTANTLY in media and life for Black women (my first experience of treated like I was ‘fast’ was when I was like… twelve?) One major, visible example is Megan Thee Stallion. Meg has a college degree, she likes anime, she’s a brilliant rapper, and has an entire personality and struggles she’s shared… But she also likes to dress scantily clad and have sex. By doing those things, she ‘lessened in value’. And because of this, when she was shot at and assaulted, even Black people questioned her character, rather than understanding that she could have been anyone, and she still wouldn’t have deserved to be assaulted. She's not allowed to be multi-faceted; she "brought it on herself".
Black girls and women who happen to take charge of their own sexuality, to the discomfort of society, are treated as Jezebels- as whores. Think about it- if one of Taylor Swift's recent boyfriends shot at her, would the media question her value or her word? Question her equivalently high ‘body count’?
Question how you write your Black woman- she can enjoy sex! She can be sexy! We love to see it! But if you're punishing her specifically, or judging her within the narrative, versus your other characters who are allowed to safely explore and act upon their sexuality… Check your judgment! Why do you feel the way you do about this character? Why do you think that your Black character is the one that should be judged for her actions. Would you feel this way if it were a nonblack character?
The Sapphire/Angry Black Woman
Ohohoho, I have infinite amounts of feelings about this one.
This is the "sassy Black friend", the "aggressive Black boss", “step on me angry mommy”, the one who does the z formation and makes everyone "uncomfortable". She’s not allowed to be confident, assertive, or self-assured- she’s arrogant, rude, and aggressive.
I discussed it in part one, but I'll reemphasize it: your Black woman doesn't have to be an ‘Angry Black Woman’ in order to be angry! Just like any other human being on the planet, we are allowed to be mad. (In my honest opinion, we have a lot to be mad about, but I digress 😅)
If the only character that ever gets angry is your Black character, I want you to consider why. What is she angry at? Was this something you wanted the reader to understand or empathize with? Are we supposed to disagree? How does everyone around her treat her anger? Is her anger righteous? Is she always shut down or dismissed for it? Is it only meant to defend her friends, but never herself? Does the narrative suggest that it’s only good in use of others and not herself? Would this be the same reaction if one of the nonblack characters was angry? Is this something you did on purpose?
Very often, we're called 'angry Black women/girls' to invalidate our emotions. My therapist once said anger is a protective emotion. We might be hurt, overstimulated, sad, depressed, frightened, anxious… But we are often not allowed the grace of others digging deeper to see that. Even if the other characters do not understand her anger, even if her motives are not meant to be understood at the moment… you as the writer should be aware. But if every time it’s time to show anger or upset, it’s your Black character… consider why this is the one you thought would best convey that message, and how your Black readers might feel seeing that this character (who may not even be the ‘bad guy’) is the one that is ‘only’ angry. No other development, no other emotions, just… there to be mad.
I take this one to heart, as someone who feels very passionately about things… this is one of those things where I wish, in life and in media, people would have more grace for Black women. We're human, too. We have feelings, too.
The Mammy
This one isn’t as visually blatant anymore in media as it was in the past (like every Mammy doesnt look like Aunt Jemima), but you may have seen this one as "the mommy figure". The "lesbian that parents the silly gay boys". The one that’s always encouraging the ship of the white boys, but never the one allowed to be in the ship (especially when her ship is canon!)
A good example of this was how people expected Jessica Drew from ATSV to be "more loving" to Gwen, rather than the mentor and boss she was (plus, as a Black woman with a Black mother… trust and believe, she was quite direct and gentle). And in comparison to her counterpart, white man Peter B. Parker, was decried far worse for similar detrimental actions.
The Mammy often serves in opposition to the Jezebel and Sapphire/Angry Black Woman. What makes the Mammy particularly annoying is that it implies that the only good Black woman character is a ‘nice’, demure, unthreatening, homely, motherly figure whose job it is to make sure to center the (usually) white ones. The Mammy is expected to coddle everyone, to her own detriment. She's a ‘good Black’ because she causes no issue, raises no fuss, never shows a negative feeling, knows that she has to ‘be strong’ but to always defer because the white characters know best. She’s ‘not a threat’, and that’s why she’s ‘allowed’ to be around. We shouldn’t have to be those things in order for our stories to be heard and understood, in order to be empathized with or treated like someone of value.
The Strong Black Woman
If I never hear this phrase again in my life, if we eradicate it from future generations for Black girls and women, I'll cry of joy lmao. I hate it, and it's not for the reasons most nonblack people would expect. Lord, this one. Anyway. The ‘strong Black woman’ is meant to protect everyone, no help needed! Whenever something is wrong and we all need a pickup, here she comes to ‘let me do it’ and everything is going to be okay! She did all the necessary suffering so that your characters don't have to! She can sweep in and save the day!
Now here's the dissonance kicks in. This one on its surface probably sounds like a good thing. She's a hero! She’s resilient! She's great! Who wouldn't want to be superwoman? Who wouldn't want to reject being a love interest, all women are always love interests! Let us be the badass that kicks ass and shows the men what for! Who wouldn’t want that, 24/7?!
The answer: US. 👍🏾🤣
This is a long, separate conversation on its own, but we have to understand that Black women (women of color, really) and White women do not always share the same end goals and understanding of "strong woman character" or even feminism. We certainly aren't always the love interest. Very usually not, in fact. We are always pushed to the side. We are already the hero in our lives, we're already the "strong woman".
Not everyone yearns to be the Singular Hero who will Fix It All as many of us are already expected to do. It's exhausting having to swallow your own needs for everyone else all the time, especially when it's suggested that you have no value otherwise if you don't. Heroism is Exhausting, and it's something worth looking into when you’re characterizing your Black girls and women. I’m not saying that we can’t be strong! We are, and it’s impressive! But I also want us to add some nuance to that strength, the way we would for any other character. What it means to have community, rather than to do it all alone. How even if she wants to be the hero (and that’s okay! That’s fine!) how it would still wear on her. Surrounding your Black girl character with unconditional support, to have a lover that actually wants to pull some weight- that's something many of us actually would like to see, because we're usually shafted to the side as 'someone who can do it all herself' (in order to hide that no one thinks we need or are deserving of the help).
It's okay to let your Black woman and girls show weakness, to rest, to be taken care of! It's not "less feminist" to accept that we're humans that need help and can't carry it all, too. That it’s okay to want to feel valued and protected. Because god knows, I wish I didn’t grow up strong and resilient, I wish I grew up knowing that the world cared that I was safe.
Standards of Beauty
These standards are not the same! I've mentioned it before in my lesson on skin tones, but very often when we think of "beauty", it’s easy to fall into the idea of whiteness. Pale skin, thin hair textures, etc. If those are our existing standards of beauty, then it doesn’t matter what any of us look like- we’re ugly! When I was in high school, I remember a classmate saying that Swedish people were the most beautiful people because of "white hair and pale skin". Without even meaning to, that guy basically said everyone darker than a stack of loose leaf printer paper was ugly by proxy of not being Nordic White (no matter how pretty they actually might be!!) 🤣
It’s also of note that whiteness/paleness tends to be connected with innocence and cleanliness in western culture, while blackness/darkness tends to be considered dirty, sinful, fearful. Now, while the origin of this idea may not be racist itself, when you spend hundreds of years implying that Blackness is bad- to the point that, in the U.S. they came up with an entire slur one step past “negro” (meaning ‘Black’) to deem you less than- it’s hard to say that the societal connotation didn’t apply.
Now we've already discussed working on describing our Black characters better! I continually remind you all that you should be describing them as wonderfully made as you do your white characters. Keep in mind that we live in a world where from day one when we enter the world, Blackness and Black features are not seen as beautiful nor emphasized. Whiteness is the standard of beauty that we, for a long time and still, are expected to adhere to. If you'd like to do better by your characters, remember that you don't have to give them "white features" or use "white" as an adjective to do that!
Black Women as Women
“There was literally nothing, not a thing, that a white woman could ever have that was worth more than her sexual virtue, and this obligated mandatory chasteness and sexual vulnerability… If the most important thing a woman has is virtue, and only white women can have virtue, then by definition, only white women can be women.” Ruby Hamad, ‘Only White Women Can Be Damsels’, White Tears, Brown Scars
Often, Black women by definition are not included under the societal banner of “women”, from our features, to our personalities, to our 'role' in life. "True Womanhood" is denied us, cis and trans, because of our Blackness. The things that make women ‘women’, we are not included under, because systemically, the only ‘women’ that were meant to mean anything were white.
I bring up Megan Thee Stallion again. Meg is probably one of the most beautiful, feminine women I've ever seen in my life. Men still call her a man, due to her height, due to her confidence, and due to their insecurities. Same with Serena Williams; Serena is damn near built like a god in my eyes. She was told she was manly from the beginning of her career, no matter how beyond skilled she was in women's tennis. Even when she damn near died giving birth- the most basic of 'tasks' women are seen as having in this society, it didn't matter. Black women are 'less womanly', 'less valuable', 'less in need' of that protection and identity that society swears Women™ need (and not in the honest way that we do need protection).
Consider that you're making sure that your Black women have the options of range of gender expression and emotions (and if they aren't allowed to, is that on purpose). If you're only ever creating us and we're in service of some dainty white woman and never the other way around... consider how that may reflect what you think our role is in your story, and in your mind.
Adultification
“Awkward moment when Rue is some black girl and not the innocent blond girl you imagine.” twitter: sw4q
It has been shown that Black girls the same age as their white girl counterparts are deemed older and less in need of protection, and supposed to 'be more mature'. Imagine that. Deemed inherently less innocent, due to your skin color. Having to parent our siblings, get jobs to contribute, do all the cleaning, and more. Yet, when we act with the maturity that we've been forced to grow into, we're "fast". A little 12-year-old girl, now to society, the Jezebel. All because she wanted to try pink lip gloss or wear a skirt; things that little tween girls might try to understand the big world around them and push boundaries. Now she's a woman, now she can never be a victim. Now she can be beat on and hurt and it's her fault.
I explain this for two reasons: One, for you to think about how your write your Black girls, and Two, for you to hold more grace for Black girls- real and fake. Do you hold her to a higher standard than your white characters of similar age? Does she inherently seem less innocent to you for reasons outside the plot? Is she as human to you as your other characters? Is she allowed to be a child? To act like one? To make mistakes? Are you as empathetic or understanding about that childishness as you are towards nonblack characters? Do you make these decisions on purpose?
It's not like Black girls can never be YA protags or anything- ofc we can. But keep in mind that she's not somehow automatically "stronger" by proxy of her Blackness, that she'd "be tougher". She's a kid. Let her be one.
Conclusion
There’s a LOT you have to consider when writing Black girls and women. I’m not going to sit here and say it’s easy, because being Black, and being a Black woman, is not easy. If you’re stressed reading it, imagine being stressed living it lmao. It’s a constant chain of quick-time events every day of your life to prevent nonblack nuclear meltdown in response to your every single action. I’m not going to apologize for it, either.
That being said, I don’t expect you to understand everything, especially not all at once. I just want you all to keep these things in mind, to question yourself when you’re writing your character- are you treating her differently on purpose? Or are you treating her differently because of a bias you might not even notice you have? It might help to go back, to read how you treat all of your characters. Or, if you’ve never written before, to maybe outline the traits of your characters and figure out where things balance out. As always, all you can do is practice at it. Because it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers.
Whew, I'm actually emotionally strained after this one. My chest is beating fast. Let me go get some groceries now.
#creatingblackcharacters#character design#black characters#black character design#writing#creative writing#stereotypes#antiblackness#racism
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Leal and his sister: ...
Leal's sister: Brother, will they be okay?
Leal: Yes. Master Akihiko can handle this on his own.
Leal's sister: Hm. But... Isn't he afraid that his father will try to sabotage his plan?
Leal: I'll prevent that from happening.
Leal's sister: ...
Akihiko: What do you think, father? *smiling*
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: The people here are welcoming.
Akihiko: *chuckles* Right?
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: Son, are you truly going to proceed with the plan?
Akihiko: Yes. I had planned it since I was young.
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: You have hidden your true feelings well.
Yuurin's father: Your mother and I believed you were okay with everything happening.
Akihiko: *chuckles* Well, what could I say?
Akihiko: I'm a man who's been taught the virtues of a woman.
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: *smiles* I know I have no right to say this.
Yuurin's father: But I am proud of you, son.
Akihiko: ...
Yuurin's father: Anyway, here you go. I've signed everything. *He hands him the documents regarding the transfer of wealth to Yuurin.
Akihiko: Thank you, father.
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: Akihiko, when your time comes, will you promise to give me one final call?
Akihiko: ...
Akihiko: *smiles* If it crosses my mind, I will.
Akihiko: Huh? You want me to get a haircut?
Yuurin: Yes. It's fair, don't you think?
Akihiko: ...
Akihiko: *chuckles* Hm. What kind of haircut do you want me to get?
Yuurin: I think any haircut will suit you.
Akihiko: Bald?
Yuurin: ...
Akihiko: *laughs*
Akihiko: I'm just kidding, bluebell.
Yuurin: *sigh* We should go together with Leona-senpai.
Akihiko: Okay~. I think we should do it on your weekend off.
Yuurin: Sounds good.
Akihiko: Alright. I'll talk to you again, bluebell.
Yuurin: Take care, Aki.
Akihiko: You too, bluebell~. *hangs up*
Leona: *sitting next to her and listening to their conversation* Why the hell would he suggest bald?
Yuurin: I'm not sure...
Leona: ...
Leona: I think Leal's a bad influence.
Yuurin: Huh?
Leona: Just think about it, did he use to have a broken sense of humor?
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin's mother: Welcome home, dear. How was your trip to Sunset Savannah?
Yuurin's father: *smiles* It was great.
Yuurin's mother: That's good to know. Oh, by the way, do you want to see my journal? I had so much fun writing on it that I failed to realize that I've written on all its pages.
Yuurin's mother: All I have to do now is pray to Goddess Mnemosyne to watch over our son Yuurin and grant my wishes.
Yuurin's father: *nods*
Yuurin's father: *has waited for his wife to sleep* *holding the journal in his hand*
The servants serving Yuurin: Master? Are you sure about this?
Yuurin's father: Yes. Light up the fire.
The servants: *do as told*
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: Burn everything from Yuurin's childhood. Nothing shall remain.
The servants: Yes, master.
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's father: *watches as everything that can remind his wife about Yuurin burns*
Yuurin's father: ...
Yuurin's mother: Men who show weakness will face discrimination, while strong women will be torn down. We cannot allow such injustice to befall our children.
Yuurin's father: What do you mean by that, dear?
*Akihiko was already born around that time.*
Yuurin's mother: We will raise this child as a girl.
Yuurin's father: ...
The servants: Master, this is all.
Yuurin's father: ...
Akihiko: Destroy the journal. By the next morning, Mother will have no recollection of Yuurin.
Akihiko: She will only remember having a daughter, who is me.
Yuurin's father: *to the servants* From tomorrow onwards, no one should utter a word about your Master Yuurin, especially not to your Madame.
Yuurin's father: Do you understand?
The servants: *bows* Yes, master.
Yuurin's father: *throws the journal to the fire*
*A figure resembling smoke emerges from it, fixing its gaze directly on him.*
Yuurin's father: *bows to it respectfully*
*The figure then heads to where his wife is.*
The servants: *looks at each other; understanding the situation*
Akihiko: ...
*The figure shows itself to him.*
Akihiko: *smiles* Thank you. Thank you so much.
*The figure nods then disappears.*
Akihiko: ...
Akihiko: I hope this will bring you joy, bluebell.
Leal: ...
Leal: Master Akihiko.
Akihiko: ...
Akihiko: I can enjoy my remaining years with Yuurin now. *chuckles*
Leal: ...
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The Tower of the Wolf
Description: You, one of the last remaining ladies of Dowager Queen Alicent are brought before Cregan Stark, acting Hand of the King.
You attempt to cling to the former Dowager Queen like a child, your nails digging into her skirts. The fabric once beautiful, a vibrant green now dirtied and torn, her pale shaking hands holding your wrists trying to keep you with her. The both of you sobbing as Northmen pull you from her, ignoring your tears and your lady's pleas for your life. Your lady was good, she cared, she fought for you, even now in chains she fought for you, not only because you were her niece, but for you were a cherished member of her court
“She has done nothing wrong, have you no compassion, you beasts?” She spits out the word like it is poison, her nails digging into your skin, leaving raised marks as they drag you from her grip.
“Please, do not take me from her, she is my lady, my duty is to remain by her side!” You try to fight against them, clawing at the man's face, neck, hands, any skin you can reach, you will not leave your lady. Not when she is all you have left, not when you fear what they will do to her if she is alone. The Brothel Queens.
That horrid fool Mushroom had spread the tale, laughing at the way all color drained from your face. It had not been done, the usurper Rhaenyra had died before it could be, but who is to say it could not still be put in place? There are cruel men that remain within the Keep, cruel men who would see your lady punished for the Greens’ actions.
The Northmen clearly grow tired of your protests, and one backhands you. “Waste of time trying to reason with Hightower whores, Lord Stark should just get rid of them.” The force of the slap sending you stumbling into the wall as your lady cries out, tugging at the chains that keep you beyond her reach.
You hold your hand to your cheek, trying to scramble back to her, but you are caught before you can take a step.
“Quit struggling.” Another man snarls, before he flings you over his shoulder, your chin slamming against his armored back, the metallic taste of blood blooms on your tongue, and your vision blurs as more tears pour forth.
You can hear Lady Alicent’s cries as they carry you away. The agonized screams tear at your heart, echoing in your ears even when the door to the dungeons is slammed shut, and you find yourself back in the relative quiet of the Keep’s halls.
The Hour of the Wolf, that is what they are calling it, and you curse the whole of House Stark. How dare they, how dare they come here and act as saviors? You have not even seen Jaehaera since you were thrown in the dungeon with your lady, is she even alive?
You try to calm yourself, focusing on the floor, counting the marble tiles as your captor takes a brisk pace through the halls, muttering to himself in that barbaric northern way. He is taking you to the Tower of the Hand, and your stomach lurches. The screams of your cousin Helaena, sweet, kind Helaena return to your mind, the blood, Jaehaerys’ little body. It was beyond cruel that plot of cursed Daemon Targaryen, beyond cruel that Princess Rhaenyra would go along with it having lost her own son. How could she wish that pain upon sweet Helaena, a girl who had done her no wrong?
Finally, your captor lets you down, dropping you like a sack of potatoes, pain flaring through your body at your ungraceful landing upon the hard stone floor. Someone had removed the carpet, perhaps it had been dirtied. The remainder of the decorations were still present, the rounded window letting light spill in, the hearth empty and boarded up to prevent any assassins from sneaking in. Besides that, it was pristine, untouched by the havoc outside its walls. Though you and Lady Alicent had been allowed to bathe—to walk towards the Stranger in rags, but not filth—before Lord Stark had sent word that you both would be moved, you still felt dirty. Still felt as though the stench of death, the filth of grief, clung to your skin and hair.
“Lord Bolton, I asked you to escort Lady y/n, not drag her here as if she is a common criminal.”
“Apologies, My Lord, but she attacked my men.”
“Attacked?” You can hear the suspicion in his voice, picture the raised eyebrow.
“She attempted to claw their eyes out.”
He laughs, the damned Stark lord laughs, as if it is humorous that you feared so greatly for your life. “If your men are so easily caught off guard perhaps, they need to spend more time training, it does no good to have an army so easily defeated by a single woman.”
You bite down on the inside of your cheek, uncaring if more blood fills your mouth, you cannot stand to hear his voice, cannot even raise your head to look at him. Will he kill you? You were not a key player in the war, merely a lady-in-waiting, a loyal one, a third daughter of a second son who did not leave her aunt even when she ordered you to. Perhaps you can make a deal, offer yourself as a bedwarmer while the Stark lord is here? Attempt to convince him your lady should be sent back to Oldtown to remain under house arrest with what little family you and her had left. Though he is a Stark and their honor is known, he would not take a mistress…
Bowing your head, you take hold of the seven-pointed star around your neck, a gift from Lady Alicent. You swear that you will go with him, back to the frigid North, if it means your lady would not die in a cell haunted by the ghosts of this cursed keep.
You are too lost in your thoughts to notice that Lord Stark has dismissed Lord Bolton and is kneeling before you, his eyes fixated on the blood trickling from your lip, the ever-forming bruise on your cheek.
“Lady y/n?” He asks softly, much too softly for a man in his position.
You swallow hard and force yourself to raise your eyes, your mouth still tastes of iron, and you know you must force your spine to be made of it as well.
Lord Cregan Stark is handsome, strong jaw, dark hair, eyes like storm clouds, full lips and a scattering of stubble and roguish scars. But his handsome looks do nothing to dampen the raw strength, the aura of a warrior, a man who has killed and will again, that cannot be hidden beneath cloaks and clothing. Broad shoulders, large, calloused hands, and arms that tell of training and hard work, he towers over you even as he kneels, and you are terrified.
“My Lord?” You answer his question with a question, unwilling to give anything away to this beast.
“Are you hurt? You are bleeding.” Cregan says, reaching inside his cloak and pulling out a handkerchief, gently dabbing at your wounded lip.
You flinch back, and he pulls away slowly, his hand still outstretched, leaving the handkerchief between you. “I did not mean to hurt you, my apologies.”
“It was not your fault.” You say quietly, your eyes downcast, focusing on the handkerchief, the pristine white cloth marred by scarlet, blood scattered amongst snow.
“I will have those men disciplined, you are a lady, and should be treated as such.” He sounds earnest, you can detect no falsehoods, but still you are wary.
“Thank you, My Lord, but it is not necessary. I am a prisoner of war; I do not expect to be treated as an honored guest.” You say demurely, clasping your hands in front of you, wincing when you see the blood that covers them.
Cregan takes a waterskin from the desk behind him, the very desk Lord Hightower used to sit at, and wets his handkerchief before gently reaching for your hands. You watch as he cleans the blood from them, using soft circular motions, his calloused hands warm against your much smaller ones, and he does not release them until they are clean.
“This is your home, is it not? You should not be treated as such in your home.” His voice is warm, warmer than his hands, and if you close your eyes you can pretend. Pretend he is a brave knight who has rescued you, not a barbarian from the North who aided those who keep you prisoner.
“This is my lady’s home as well, and she is treated far worse than I.” You protest, praying that he will not grow angry and strike you.
“Your aunt—the Dowager Queen has been sorely mistreated; I arrested the men who cast her into those foul dungeons, and she should be returned to her chamber by the time we have finished here.” Cregan says, folding the handkerchief and setting it with the waterskin on the desk behind him once more.
“I am glad to hear that.” You say, finally able to meet his eyes.
“I am honored I could lighten your spirits.” He says, a wolfish grin gracing his lips, his gray eyes flashing with an unreadable light.
This is what you have prepared yourself for, you must do it, for the good of your lady, for Jaehaera if she still lives, for the realm. All women know a satiated man does not wage war, does not continue the fight when it has been won, he simply takes his prize and returns home. You gather your courage and place your hand upon Cregan’s, looking up at him through your lashes, hoping you do not look as horrid as you feel. “Perhaps you would allow me to show you how glad I am, My Lord?”
He sucks in a breath, almost imperceptibly, a blush blooming across his face, his eyes widening a fraction, and for a moment he does not seem so beastly.
“I cannot imagine you had many comforts on your journey, it is such a long way from Winterfell, is it not? And now after all that fighting you must hold a war-torn city apart until others come to a decision, how awful.” You pout at him, for him, and allow one of the torn sleeves of your gown to slip off your shoulder.
“Aye, it was a long journey.” He manages to say, his fingers twitching beneath your hand, his breath catching in his throat when you move your hand to his wrist.
His shuttered breaths embolden you, and you shift forward, placing your other hand on his thigh, the muscle is firm to the touch, you note. “Such things must weigh so heavily upon you…if I am able to lighten that burden, I would be more than happy to.”
“You do not need to.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your hand on his thigh. “Truly, Lady y/n, I would never press myself upon you, I am not that kind of man.”
“But I want to, I want to help.” The lie rolls off your tongue easily, for it is half-truth. You cannot deny Cregan is attractive, but he still holds your life in his hands and could easily crush it at any time. There is something dangerously appealing about that, though, and you find that despite the dangers, you are desperate for the warmth he radiates.
Cregan’s eyes darken, and he groans low in his throat, closing the distance between you, stopping a hairsbreadth from your lips. “Tell me to stop, push me away, scream, slap me, I will not fight you, I will have you seen back to your lady, there will be no punishment.”
Liquid heat rolls through your veins at the sound of his desperate rasp, the restraint he possesses to not surge forward and claim you as his own. “Lord Sta—”
“Cregan.” He corrects softly, “I wish to hear you say my name.”
“Cregan, I do not wish you to stop.” You tell him, head spinning with the way his mere presence overwhelms your senses, the scent of pine and campfire smoke, his warm hands, his eyes, so dark, so deep you may drown.
Cregan’s lips meet yours, tasting of salt and honey, an oddly pleasant combination, his hands on your waist, beacons of warmth and civility, as his lips take you under, whispering heated words every time you part for air. “Say it again, I beg of you.”
“Cregan, please, do not stop.” You oblige him, grabbing at his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate for him to do something. Like sully that Stark honor and bind himself to you forever, giving you some kind of foothold in this new era that he has helped usher in.
He pulls back, breathing ragged, and he looks at you, truly looks at you. “If I do not stop now, My Lady, I will not be able to stop at all and I—”
“I wish to hear you say my name.” You echo his words from before, threading your fingers in his dark locks, and guiding his lips back to yours, but turning at the last moment and pressing your lips to his jaw.
“Y/N, please, if you do not stop me”—he lets out a strangled curse when your lips drift lower finding a seemingly sensitive spot, your teeth making a home there—“I am a man, an honorable one, and I have fought and won a war, and I am tempted, by the gods I am tempted, but I do not wish to view you as a prize.”
“Why not? I wish to be your war prize.” You press the words into the skin of his neck, reddened marks blooming in your wake, his grip on you tightens at your words, his head falling back exposing more of his skin.
“Others take me, will you truly have me live up to their stories, the barbarians of the North who steal innocent maidens away from their homes?” Cregan asks, even as he leans into your touch, moaning when you shift in his lap.
“My home is where my lord husband is, wherever he will have me.” Your words drip with implications, your lips pressed to his ear.
He shivers at the sensation, his eyes impossibly dark, his voice low, heady with lust. “I will have you in Winterfell.”
TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri
#meg's writing#cregan stark x you#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark x y/n#cregan stark imagine#hotd#hotd fanfic#team green#fey's brand of stark rizz#cregan stark#hightower!reader
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First Meetings
Elena attends her first football youth team camp, and meets someone who, though she doesn’t realize it at the time, will become a very important person in her life.
(a/n: I must admit this is probably one my more favorite Elena stories I’ve written, so if anyone has anymore ideas that involve older Elena and this new OC we meet here you’d be my new best friend cause I wanna write more about them 🥹)
The first national team camp Elena was ever invited to was when she was only fourteen years old. The call had been to Ingrid, who was then immediately turning to Mapi with a huge smile on her face.
Partly because it was their daughters first call up, and partly because it had been Norway who had come knocking on her door.
Mapi and Ingrid would always argue (playfully, most of the time), about which country their daughter would represent, should she choose the path of becoming a professional athlete.
And while it didn’t matter in the end, for their daughter chose instead to become a doctor as opposed to an athlete, she did spend a good bit of her youth playing both football and handball, very competitively.
She had been in La Masia, and showed great promise as a future defender, so it really wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone involved when Elena was selected for Norway’s U16 camp, despite the fact that she was only fourteen.
And though both Ingrid and Mapi were excited (once a certain Spaniard got over being butthurt that it wasn’t Spain who had come calling), they left the ultimate decision up to Elena on whether or not she wanted to go.
“Mi sol, at the end of the day the choice is yours. You are allowed to do whatever you would like, your Mama and I would always support that,” Mapi reassured gently, and Elena nodded her head slowly, but she still looked rather unsure.
“Thank you Mami, I appreciate it, I really do. I just…is there any way I could have a minute before I decide?” The teenager asked gently, and her mother nodded easily.
“Take all the time you need, there is no rush,” Mapi promised, squeezing her daughter's shoulder gently before the girl slipped away. But instead of heading for her room as the Spaniard expected her to, she headed for the balcony instead.
Elena pulled out her phone carefully from her pocket as she shut the door behind her, staring at it for a few moments before clicking open to her contacts. She hit dial before holding it up to her ear, listening to the line ring before it clicked, signifying that her godmother had picked up the phone
“Elena, pequeña! What have I done to deserve a phone call from my favorite goddaughter?” Alexia practically yelled into the phone, not exactly helping the argument that she ‘wasn’t old’ and ‘understood technology completely.’ The girl rolled her eyes at her godmother's antics, even if she knew to expect them.
“Tia, I am your ONLY goddaughter,” Elena reminded her, but there was a smile on her face regardless.
“Ah semantics semantics! What is up pequeña, how are you?” Alexia asked, her voice a little more soft and gentle now. It wasn’t exactly a common occurrence for the green eyed girl to call the blonde like this out of the blue, so the former Barcelona captain made sure to seem extra attentive.
“Oh I’m good,” Elena said carefully, before she went quiet. Alexia didn’t respond, sensing that there was more the younger girl wanted to say.
“I got invited to a U16 camp, with Norway,” she finally forced out quietly, bracing herself for the former Barcelona captain to gasp, to scream, to get all excited. She had been preparing herself for Alexia to lose her mind, to be so excited that she wouldn’t even listen to Elena’s concerns.
But it never came.
“You don’t sound excited pequeña,” Alexia commented lightly, her tone filled with more protectiveness than excitement, and no judgment whatsoever. As much as Alexia wanted her goddaughter to be a footballer, same as her mothers, she cared far more about her well-being than anything else as trivial as her career.
Elena sighed, fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she tried to organize her thoughts appropriately, in a way that was understandable.
“I am excited, but I’m also…I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I want to be a footballer, is it silly of me to consider even going?” Elena asked, her insecurity poking through in her tone.
“Oh course you can still go, even if you are not sure. There is no requirement, it is not a contract that states that if you go now, you are obligated to become a footballer,” Alexia reminded gently. Her words were soft, and Elena clung to how secure her tone was, as though she held all of the answers to every problem the teenager had ever had.
It was one thing for her mothers to tell her, but for Alexia to? It was somehow better, hearing it from her mouth. As biased as Alexia was, because she loved her, she had always been honest with Elena too.
“Yes but…well there are people like you who are or were SO sure of what they want to do, and would I be taking up someone else’s spot by committing when I’m not even sure football is what I want to do? I love it, I know I do, but I’m just not sure that it’s what I want for the rest of my life,” Elena explained, and it was not a new thought in her mind but it was still hard to say, because she’d never spoken the thought aloud to someone. Not even her mothers, who were inside the living room trying very hard to pretend like they weren’t eavesdropping on the entire conversation.
Mapi was practically sitting on Ingrid’s lap, she was leaning so far over her wife as she angled her body and ears toward the balcony, even if she couldn’t hear much with the door being closed.
“Elena, for as many people who are sure, there are a hundred more who are not. You are fourteen, you are not supposed to have everything figured out right now. Look at people like Salma, she couldn’t decide until she was practically eighty years old what sport she wanted to do!” Alexia exclaimed, and even though Salma had picked her sport at nineteen and not eighty, it still managed to elicit a small laugh from her goddaughter.
“You deserve to be there, that is why they called you up! This is a chance for you to go and see if you like it. That’s what youth team camps are all about,” Alexia insisted, and there was a pause on the line before the teenager spoke again.
“But also…what if they don’t like me Alexia? What if I am not Norwegian enough for them, or not good enough at football, or I’m weird and young and I don’t make any friends?” Elena said all in a rush, dumping out the bucket of her worries to be sifted through by her ever loving godmother.
“Oh Elena. They are going to LOVE you, because you are kind and considerate and compassionate. The rest of it isn’t important, you just need to go in there and be kind and you will make friends, I promise. And hey, who knows, some of the girls there might be international as well! Some of your mothers old teammates have children, many of whom were all raised in different countries,” Alexia rattled patiently, remembering acutely how worried she had been when she had begun to be called up to national team camps. She tries her hardest to tell Elena what she needed to be told when she was a young girl, with nobody to give her this advice first hand.
“I remember when I was younger, god I was a disaster at youth team camps! I was so awkward and shy, but the girls were still always so nice and welcoming, I didn’t have much time to feel self conscious about it,” the midfielder remembered fondly, chuckling to herself as she thought back on the memory.
Oh, if only I had managed to grow out of my social anxiety as I got older, she thought wryly, before focusing back on the conversation.
“And hey, at the worst? It’s only two weeks. Two weeks of just giving it a try, and then at least you can say that you did it. If you don’t like it, nobody will force you to go back,” Alexia promised.
“And you’d still…still be proud of me? Even if I hated it and never wanted to play football again because it was so terrible?” Elena asked quietly, her voice soft.
“Elena, I would be proud of you if you went on to win the Ballon d’Or, or if you never touched a football again in your entire life. I will always be proud of you, no matter what you do. But for the record, I don’t think it’s going to be that bad, but even if it went terribly, I will still love you,” Alexia insisted, and it’s the truth. Years later, when Elena graduates from medical school, it will be Alexia who skips the Ballon d’Or ceremony that she had been invited to present at, in order to sit in the front row with Mapi and Ingrid’s family, screaming when her goddaughter walked across the stage to receive her degree.
But for now, she is content to love the teenager in whatever way she needs, including when she is just trying to figure out what she wants to do in life.
“Thank you Alexia. I love you,” Elena whispered, her throat suddenly tight with how grateful she is to have her godmother in her life.
To the rest of the world, Alexia might be the terrifying former Barcelona captain, one of the best players of their generation, but to Elena? She had always been the woman whose face lit up when she walked in the room, the woman who adored spending time with her and reading stories and gave her the best hugs.
“I love you too pequeña, always,” Alexia insists, wishing her goddaughter goodnight before they hung up the phone.
With a renewed sense of sureness, Elena marched back inside with determination and right over to where her mothers were sitting together on the couch, pressed up against one another as they tried to pretend that they weren’t entirely focused on the balcony.
The dark haired teenager raised her eyebrow slightly at the upside down crossword Mapi was pretending to complete and the fact that Ingrid was staring at her wife like she was trying to memorize the silhouette of her face despite the fact that they spent every single day together. She knew they were just doing their best, and that they were both far too nosy for their own good.
“I would like to go to the youth camp,” she declared, and both Ingrid and Mapi smiled brightly at their daughter as they nodded their agreement, happy to see that she was so sure of herself.
—
Ingrid had flown out to Oslo with Elena, but she only stayed long enough to drop her off at the hotel and check her in with the staff members. The players were going directly to training, where parents really weren’t supposed to go, and Ingrid hadn’t really planned to spend a whole ton of time around unless Elena needed her to, for some reason.
It wasn’t the first time Elena had said goodbye to her mother before they separated for something like this, but it did feel weird to know that she wouldn’t see either of her parents for a whole two weeks.
She clings to the Norwegian for a hair too long, her grip tighter than it’s been in awhile. She feels young again, much younger than she actually is. Luckily, Ingrid’s love is readily available, and she doesn’t comment on her daughter's slightly desperate grip.
“You’re going to be just fine, Elena. I love you, you call me if you need anything okay? Your Mami and I will call you once a day at least but if you need us more than that we are only a phone call away. And we can always hop on a flight if you need us!” Ingrid rambled, knowing that when she stopped talking she would have to leave.
“I will be okay Mama. I’ll be sure to call you and Mami a lot to tell you about everything. I love you!” Elena called out as she finally forced herself away, leaving with one of the trainers to get settled in her hotel room before training commenced in a bit.
She got her stuff settled in the room, noticing that another girl had already placed her luggage on the opposite side of the room. The green eyed girl wondered briefly who her roommate would be, but she didn’t have much time to think on it when someone came to get her for training.
She was one of the last to arrive, and therefore by the time she had arrived out to the pitch, all of the girls were starting to warm up.
Most of the girls are older than she is, standing in groups as they all laughed and chatted in a variety of languages. Elena was generally a pretty outgoing person in most circumstances, but this admittedly made her more nervous than usual.
A lot of the girls seemed to already have groups of friends, and seemed older than her. It felt awkward to go up and introduce herself to these random people who already had a set friend group.
She could see Frida and Emma’s daughter Kajsa in a group with a few other girls. Her mother had told her that Kajsa would be there, but the two didn’t know one another, because Kajsa was nearly two years older than she was.
She noticed a few of the girls were standing by themselves off to the side, and she surveyed them quickly to determine who to walk up to. Most of them looked pretty focused, staring intently at the ball they were working with, clearly deep within their thoughts.
She clocked Valeria, Marta and Caro’s daughter, but the look on her face is dark and filled with a determination that offsets Elena from feeling willing to go up to her.
When she turned to her right, there was a girl who looked to be a little younger than the rest, much like herself, who was juggling the ball off to the side of the group. She had light brown, almost mousy hair, and unlike the other girls who were by themselves, she had a bright smile as she looked down at the ball.
She actually looked like she was having fun, and Elena isn’t entirely sure what makes her feet start moving, but all the sudden she’s standing right in front of her, clearing her throat and greeting the girl.
“Hi,” Elena said softly as she walked over, a wash of nerves. The girl looked up at her in surprise, her mouth forming a little “o” as she stared back at the other girl. The ball fell listlessly at her feet, and she offered a slightly shy smile of her own back.
“Hey,” she replied, her voice soft and calm. She seemed quite nervous, her outward behavior a direct reflection of what Elena was feeling on the inside.
“I’m Elena,” the teenager introduced, and the girl seemed to perk up slightly. She seemed very shy, and if there was one thing the green eyed girl was good at, it was getting introverts out of their shell.
“My name is Kaia,” she echoed Elena’s greeting, and the Barcelona native couldn’t help the grin that broke out onto her face at the flush that was peaking through Kaia’s cheeks.
The taller girl's accent was strange, no matter what language she spoke. Her Norwegian was accented, and so was her English, and Elena couldn’t put her finger on it until they were hanging out in their room later that night.
The two had been selected to room together for the two weeks, so it really was serendipitous that Elena had chosen to go up to Kaia as opposed to any of the other girls who were by themselves.
They were sitting in their respective beds in their hotel room later that night, when the taller girl turned toward Elena with an air of nerves around her.
“Is it okay if I call my mums?” She asked, and the Spanish Norwegian immediately furrowed her brows. Kaia clearly takes it as being more malicious and less as the confusion it really is, as the dark haired girl tried to figure out if what she had said was the truth. Kaia had experienced plenty of teasing in her youth from her peers about her two mothers, and she immediately draws back in on herself as a result.
“Yeah I…I have two mums,” she said softly, but the confusion shifted to her when Elena smiled brightly at her sentence.
“Me too!” She exclaimed, and Kaia’s mouth flopped open, her reservations fleeing her with the drop of a hat practically.
“Really?!” The taller girl asked in amazement, her whole face lighting up in relief. She didn’t often meet many others who could say this.
“Yeah, I do! They used to play on the same football team together, that’s where they met,” Elena explained, and once again Kaia looked at her new friend in complete surprise.
“That’s exactly what happened with my mums too! Do you want to meet them?” Kaia asked earnestly, and Elena nodded before she bounded over to the other bed, stuffing her smaller body close next to Kaia’s as the girl FaceTimed her mothers.
“Hello darling!” Elena recognized Fran Kirby by both her appearance and accent in half a second, understanding settling over her. She remembered her mother telling her that Maren and Fran had a daughter her age, but she didn’t know that Kaia would be here.
Suddenly, Kaia’s English accented Norwegian, and Norwegian accented English were starting to make sense. The accents made sense when she could place exactly where they had come from.
“Mum, this is my friend Elena,” Kaia introduced, and the dark haired girl watched in amusement as Maren poked her head into the camera frame as well, a big smile on her face.
“You’re Ingrid and Mapi’s daughter, right?” Maren asked kindly, and Elena nodded eagerly, waving hello to the older woman she had met several times.
“You guys have met each other before, but only when you were babies!” Fran recalled, a statement Maren agreed with readily.
Ingrid is equally as excited about Elena’s befriending of Kaia when they call her and Mapi right after, the two girls regaling their day at training in long detail.
Okay, it’s a lot of Elena talking in long tangents as Kaia listens patiently, adding in a few details here and there. But the older girl seems completely content to listen to Elena speak, capturing every small detail and little moment.
For the two weeks they are at camp, the fourteen and fifteen year old are entirely inseparable. They eat together, train together, and when one of them gets lonely, they crawl into the other's bed to hang out and talk far past when they were supposed to go to bed (neither of them are aware that when they are older, they’ll spend every single night like that, together).
Kaia followed Elena around almost like a lost puppy, and the dark haired girl happily drug her everywhere she went. It was easy for Elena to pull Kaia out of her shell, natural really, and they clearly fit together really well.
It’s clear to anyone with eyeballs that Kaia has a crush on Elena, but neither of them are quite old enough to pick up on it. All they know is that they both loved spending time with one another, although neither of them realized just how much until later in life.
But as relationships usually are when you are young, when the two girls leave camp, despite having exchanged phone numbers, they fall out of touch with one another. Kaia lives in England, and Elena still lives in Barcelona, and the opportunities for them to see one another in person are rare.
They still follow one another through social media, and the occasional texting conversation. When Kaia gets her first Lioness call up at just 17, Elena is one of the first people to text her congratulations. And when Elena graduates high school, Kaia of course texts her to congratulate her as well, thrilled for her friend.
But nothing feels quite the same as when they were younger, and Elena tried to accept that. She tried to move on, unsure of why she was so stuck on some two week friendship that, in the grand scheme of things, shouldn’t really have meant anything.
Or would it?
Luckily, their distance wasn’t something she’d have to accept for forever.
—
Elena had just gotten out of one of her university classes when she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket, and she reached down to fish it out.
The dark haired girl couldn’t stop the shock she felt traveling through her when she saw the name on her phone, and the contact pictured attached, signaling who was calling her.
It was an old photo, one from four years ago in fact, and it felt like a time capsule, pulling the green eyed girl back to a time of football camps and giggling under the covers with one of the funniest people she had ever met. A time of spending two weeks attached at the hip with a shy girl who blushed when she held her hand to drag her toward the gym, who always passed her the ball even though she clearly wasn’t the best player at camp.
She stared at Kaia’s picture for so long she almost forgot to accept the phone call, and she scrambled to do so before the ringing ceased.
“Kaia?” She asks into her phone almost breathlessly, despite the fact that she’s standing still. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she’s not entirely sure why. Her and Kaia haven’t spoken really since they were fourteen and fifteen, and they were eighteen and nineteen now.
It was too long for her reaction to be this visceral, but it still is, for some reason. She can’t explain it, she doesn’t want it to ever go away, though.
“Hi Elena,” Kaia says softly, and her voice is lower and more mature, but it’s still Kaia. It warms Elena’s heart immensely, and she smiles despite the fact that the English footballer can’t see her.
“How are you?” The dark haired girl asked, genuinely curious. She could have picked up the phone and called, she knew that, but for some reason she hadn’t.
It felt even more strange for Kaia to be calling. Shy, quiet, sometimes awkward Kaia, who sometimes people thought was mean, but Elena knew it was really just that she spent far too much time in her own head.
Although, she didn’t look all that awkward when she was on a football pitch, scoring goals like she was born to be a nine. She was brilliant, if a bit inexperienced.
“I’m, I’m good. Really good actually. But I, well, I need your help with something,” Kaia explained quickly, and Elena raised her brow but asked what the striker needed all the same.
“You spent last summer in Sweden right?” Kaia asked, and when Elena confirmed it, she continued. The green eyed girl had gone to spend the summer with Frido, and even Ingrid and Mapi had come for a few weeks on holiday as well. “I’m going on loan to Hammarby for the season to get some more experience, and I was hoping you had any some tips on how to get around, or your favorite spots. Or any of the slang they’re using nowadays, it’s been an embarrassingly long amount of time since I’ve been back to Norway, and the only Norwegian I’m speaking nowadays is with Mom,” she revealed, and Elena felt her heart flutter in her chest.
If she were thinking about it logically, it would be a little suspicious. Plenty of the girls who they played with in the youth teams were actually playing in Sweden, and probably knew much better than Elena did from just a summer spent with Frido in the countryside.
And there was always the fact that her mother probably knew dozens of Swedes, who again would know better than the Barcelona based Spaniard.
But she doesn’t care, because Kaia is calling her, and suddenly she has an excuse to talk to the girl who she’s been unable to get out of her head for years. She hadn’t realized until an embarrassingly long amount of time after the fact that it was a crush she had on Kaia back then, but as soon as she had realized she had been unable to let that go.
Would things have been different, if they had stayed in touch afterward? She wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t matter. Maybe they could be friends now, if nothing else.
Even if it isn’t going to turn into anything, she’d rather have a tiny bit of Kaia than nothing at all. She doubted Kaia would ever feel the same about her, and how could she? Sweet, brilliant, talented, soon to be famous Kaia, who would never fall for the university student who had little interest in the fame and money that football wanted.
(Oh, if only she knew that Kaia wanted every single part of her, wholly, completely. She always had, even when they were kids.)
—
Elena rolled over in her sleep, and unlike usual, there was an object blocking her from doing so fully.
An object that smelled like jasmine and everything safe in the world, and the dark haired woman instantly turned to burrow into it, clinging tightly to the woman in her bed.
Strong arms pulled her in tightly, and she blinked her eyes open sleepily to find that Kaia was smiling down at her, before the hazel eyed woman held her face gently in her hands, leaning forward to press a resounding kiss to her forehead.
“Good morning,” she said softly, before she moved to bring Elena further into her, pressing their bodies together as she had longed to do for what felt like years. The smaller woman allowed her body to be moved easily, wrapping her own arms around Kaia and holding her close.
“You weren’t supposed to get in until later today?” She says in lieu of a greeting, her voice raspy and soft as she allows herself to stay nestled against her girlfriend. It's been over a month since they last saw one another, with their respective busy schedules.
“I took an earlier flight. I wanted to see you sooner,” Kaia admits sheepishly, her nose twinging with pink as it gives away how clearly besotted she is. Elena’s eyebrows furrowed adorably in confusion as she leaned back to look her girlfriend in the eye, and the brunette reached forward to press her thumb to the space between her eyebrows and smoothing the crease, just because she could.
“I was asleep! That can’t be exciting enough to move your flight to get in at seven in the morning,” She protested as she looked over at the clock with a wince at how early the time was, but Kaia just let out a small laugh.
“I firmly disagree, you are completely adorable when you are asleep, and you get all clingy in the mornings. I couldn’t stand to miss another morning of it if I didn’t have to,” Kaia argues good naturedly, and Elena smiles before she presses forward, finally kissing her girlfriend for real. She loved this version of Kaia, the one that was all soft and giggly and gentle.
It was the version of her that only existed for the green eyed woman, and nobody else. And as much as Elena loved seeing her girlfriend score buckets of goals on the pitch, this would always be her favorite version of the woman.
“You don’t have to miss it anymore,” the Barcelona native whispered against her lips with excitement, and could feel the curve of Kaia’s own lips as she echoed the dark haired woman’s smile.
“Not anymore, no. I’m going in at two today to sign the contract and take photos, so you need to help me with my hair and makeup,” Kaia explained, and Elena let out a sigh of relief as she nodded, more than willing to do so.
After her one year loan spell at Hammarby, Kaia had returned back to Chelsea until she was twenty two years old, when she had made a move to Atletico Madrid for a year. All the while, she and Elena had never lost touch after that initial phone call about Kaia’s ‘Swedish questions.’
While she was at Hammarby, Elena had come to visit her several times (as much as her school schedule allowed), and the more time they had spent together the more the two had realized that what they had went far beyond the bounds of a normal friendship. By the time Kaia was set to go back to Chelsea after her loan, the two had begun dating.
Elena’s six year medical school program was in Barcelona, and when Kaia went to move clubs to Spain when she was 22, the only offer closer than England had been for Atletico Madrid. The couple had figured that it was better than nothing, and Elena had argued that it would give the Barcelona staff a chance to see how brilliant the English player was.
And sure enough, she was right, because it was not more than a few months into her contract that they reached out, asking to sign the Lioness after the expiration of her one year contract with Atletico Madrid.
All of which led them to today, after nearly five years of dating, when Kaia signed her first Barcelona contract, which would keep her in Catalonia for the next four years.
“I love you so much,” Elena murmured as she tucked herself back into the striker, allowing herself to collapse into the sturdy arms that are wrapped around her.
The brunette deposited a resounding kiss to the crown of her girlfriends head, cuddling closer to Elena and relishing in the closeness that they never seemed to be able to get enough of.
And while they don’t know it at the time, they’ll never have to be without one another for the rest of their lives, luckily.
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love you, miss you, mean it
*this is a two part series, read part two here!*
**I recommend listening to 'love you, miss you, mean it' by luke bryan. it's a slight inspiration for this story and it's part two. (sorry, my southern roots are showing oops) **
pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky!reader
word count: 2.6k
summary: before the daggers, before the uranium mission, before even top gun and 'bob', there was just young bobby floyd, finding himself at the doorstep of the kazansky household, year after year, finding family between a father and daughter, and a new understanding of true love.
(based off a request, but i'll post it when i'm finished with both parts, it will give too much away! <3)
warnings: lots of sticky sweet fluff, I accidentally made Ice a single dad??, 'Bobby' as Bob's civilian name, most likely military inaccuracies
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The very first time Bob Floyd found himself standing on the Kazansky's front door, he was seventeen years old. He had parked his hand-me-down pickup truck on the street in front of the house, crossed the yard in record time, and rang the doorbell. He was standing on the welcome mat in a spiffy black tux, his sweaty palms clutching a plastic box that contained a corsage made of light purple flowers. Bob had no idea what kind of flowers they were, more than happy to leave that to the florist, but he knew they were the same color as the bowtie that seemed to be choking him. He was incredibly nervous, pushing his glasses up his nose in a repetitive nervous habit. His sapphire eyes caught a tall shadow approaching the door, and Bob felt his spine straighten, his heart hammering in his chest. Bob had heard the stories of Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander (and more importantly, Y/N's dad) but now, as Iceman stared down at him, he began to realize he certainly lived up to his callsign.
The Admiral's eyes were a cool blue, piercing through the teenage boy's frame as he looked him up and down. He had seemingly only just arrived home from work, still in his Navy attire. His well-pressed, wrinkle-free Navy uniform made him appear taller than he was, a looming presence that demanded respect. The flat, stoic look on his face seemed permanent, only cutting into a small upturn as he spoke.
"You must be the Bobby I keep hearing about."
Bob nods, letting out a measly, "Yes sir," before sticking out a clammy hand to shake Y/N's father's hand.
The Admiral shakes his hand with a firm grip, squeezing Bob's hand so tightly that Bob swore his blood flow had been cut off. Finally, he opened the front door wider to allow Bob in, speaking as he shut the door back into the frame.
"You should probably take a seat, get comfortable. She's been giggling upstairs for hours now, but I doubt she's ready. You'll get used to it, waiting around until she's ready."
Bob chuckles nervously, sitting stiffly on the couch as he watches the Admiral stomp about the kitchen, seemingly making a cup of coffee. The silence is deafening, Bob is too nervous to say anything, but the man's booming voice soon cuts the quiet with ease.
"So, Bobby, Y/N says you're a military brat too, is that right?"
"Uh, y-yes sir, my father, he's in the service as well, my grandfather was too, sort of the Floyd family legacy."
The Admiral nods, absorbing the information.
"What about you, do you have any plans to-"
"Dad!" Y/N's annoyed voice broke the Admiral's sentence. Her heels clack down the wooden stairs, her dress whooshing in the wind created by her motion. Bob turned his attention in the direction of her voice, standing promptly, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of Y/N. She was dazzling in her pastel purple gown, a slight smile on her face as she spoke. "Stop trying to recruit my prom date."
Y/N and her father shared a look, seemingly speaking without having to say a word before she broke out into a smile, matching the wide toothy grin of her father, before turning back to Bob, a slight pink blush forming across her cheeks. Bob blushed as he saw her walk into the room, making his way over to her.
"Y-You look," Bob swallows thickly, gaining his confidence. "You're beautiful."
Y/N blushes fiercely, straightening the lavender bowtie around Bob's neck.
"You clean up pretty well yourself."
The teenagers' awkward gazing is cut off by Ice clearing his throat loudly, his mug of coffee in his hand as he approached them.
"C'mon, kid. Your grandparents'll kill me if I don't get a thousand pictures of you two before you leave."
Y/N cut her eyes at Bob as he stuck his arm out for her to take, helping her over the threshold of the door and into the yard, the Admiral standing in front of them with his camera ready. They all went through the motions of a typical prom photo shoot-the corsage exchange, the awkward photos in front of the house, the send off.
Finally, she and Bob were down the road in his truck, Y/N smiling in his passenger seat, Bob's shoulders much more relaxed, not feeling nearly as tense in the presence of her looming father.
"Sorry about my dad," Y/N speaks over the music playing in the truck, squeezing Bob's hand where their hands intertwined on the console. "He's just a little protective, and, not very good at small talk." She chuckles lightly.
"No, no, it's fine. He was nice. Intimidating for sure, but nice. Made a joke that you take too long to get ready for everything."
"Of course he did," Y/N smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Bob's arm. The high school juniors had been dating for a little over six months, but both of them were head-over-heels.
The couple arrived and carried on as usual for teenagers on a prom night-mingling with their mutual friend and indulging on PTO-mom made snacks. As the night wrapped up, the last slow song of the night had Bob and Y/N swaying under the sparkling disco ball in the middle of the gym. Bob's tux jacket had been discarded on a chair hours ago, accompanied by Y/N's heels, both tossed about carelessly in favor of running back to the dance floor. Her head rested on his chest, his hands around her waist sweetly. Neither of them were paying much attention to the song playing, or the other numerous couples swaying next to them. Bob's blue orbs were focused entirely on the girl looking up at him from his chest, his hand moving to brush stray curls that had fallen in her eyes. As he looked at her face, his chest filled with warmth, a funny feeling erupting, one he had never felt before. His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing.
"What's the matter, B?" Her voice came soft, just loud enough for both of them to hear.
"I love you," It came out blunt and honest, with no hesitation. Neither of them had said it before, and he watched as Y/N's face went from one of confusion to one of pure elation, a wide grin forming on her face as Bob lightly pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a kiss more meaningful than their previous ones.
That night, when Bob dropped her off back at her house, with the figure of her father sitting in their living room, he smiled as he helped her out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He walked her to the front door and kissed her again before saying goodnight, a permanent smile etched on his face. He watched her get into the house and waited for the porch light to turn off before peeling out of the driveway, his face aching from his never ending smile.
When he got into his own house for the night, his tux coat thrown over his shoulder, bowtie undone and his feet aching in his dress shoes, he collapsed onto his bed with a content sigh. His phone dinged with a new message, and he smiled as he saw Y/N's name flash across the screen. He opened it quickly:
I love you, too. I miss you already. Mean it.
A blush sprouted across his fair skin, typing back a reply as his heart soared.
-
Over the next few years, Bob found himself on the Kazansky doorstep hundreds of more times-weekend dates, barbecues, birthdays, study dates, movie nights, senior prom, just because, forgetting his house keys in Y/N's room, graduation parties, the list could go on and on forever. He had grown to find the Kazansky household his second home, Iceman's walls slowly melting towards the awkward boy his daughter loved. Y/N's father would allow him to stay over on long weekends and holidays through her first years of college and his of the Naval Academy, letting Bob tag along for family vacations. Bob slowly became an extension of the Kazansky family. Bob learned lots about the Admiral during his days and weeks of being in their home. Iceman loved things that made him seem less and less intimidating from when they first met. Tom Kazansky loved to make homemade banana bread, could often be found dozing off with a book in his hand, leaned back in the recliner closest to the front door, and the Admiral loved rom-com movies with a fierceness only championed by his own daughter. The father and daughter were a well-oiled machine, understanding each other in a way that Bob had never seen before. Bob would observe as the duo would work in fluid motion in the kitchen cooking dinner-knowing what each other was thinking without having to say a word. Y/N tossing her father spices and seasonings as he lifted the spoon to her mouth, and Iceman knowing just how she liked her coffee, her tea, and her favorite shape of ice. They knew one another inside and out, something Bob would often sit in awe of. It was a true display of love for one another, so loved that you know everything about someone, you know what they need without having to say a word.
When Bob had visited the Kazansky's over his final Christmas break from the Academy, he had expected the feeling of closeness and familial love. He found himself in the kitchen with Y/N, an Elvis Christmas record spinning in the living room adjacent. He wordlessly handed her the spoon from the pot he was stirring, her lips pursing as she thought for a moment, handing him a container of salt and other seasonings she knew were needed for the soup. Bob wordlessly adds an estimated amount in the pot before he stops abruptly, realizing what had just happened. His heart hammers, he and Y/N had been dating for nearly five years now, his time at the Academy coming to an end. They had suffered through nearly four years of a long distance relationship-he in Maryland at the Naval Academy, her attending college back in their hometown. They had made it through with phone calls and even letters, long lonely days and nights, and a love for one another that defied odds. He stopped stirring promptly, looking as Y/N was pressing cookie dough onto a pan, her eyes looking up at him.
"B? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She smiled at him sweetly, wiping off her hands before placing them on his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? You're really red, you're warm. Do you think you're coming down with a cold?"
Bob couldn't make his dry mouth form many words, finally sputtering out a single sentence:
"I-I need to talk to your Dad."
Y/N's eyebrows furrow, looking at her boyfriend incredulously, as if he had grown another head.
"Um, okay? He's in his office. Bobby, are you okay?"
Bob nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her head before racing off to the office on the second floor. Y/N only shook her head and continued making her cookies.
Bob knocks on the heavy office door, waiting for a response.
"It's open," Iceman's voice sounds from behind the thick mahogany colored door. Bob creaks open the door, Ice's cool eyes softening as he sees Bob enter.
"She drive you out of the kitchen already, Bob?" His voice was laced with humor. "She's too much like me, taking control of every situation. Sorry."
Bob laughs, "No sir, I just, needed to talk to you."
Ice narrows in on Bob's firmly serious expression, leaning back in his chair and looking at the boy man in front of him. Bob had grown up in the past few years, taller and more muscular thanks to the Academy. He only wore his glasses when required by the military, often opting for contacts when he was home, giving him a more mature look.
"What can I do for you, son?"
Bob's heart hammered in his chest. Was he planning on doing this now? No-he had planned for a lovely dinner, perhaps a walk on the beach before he did all of this. He had certainly, at least, planned on finishing the Academy before all of this, but after their interaction in the kitchen, the complete domesticity of it, paired with his overwhelming love for her, he knew now was the right time.
"Mr. Kazansky-"
Tom interrupts him, shaking his head in a good-natured manner. "How many times have I told you to call me Iceman, or Tom? I've known you for half a decade, I don't think the formalities are necessary."
Bob nods, understanding the man's warmth, but this was different.
"Any other time before this, and after this, sir, absolutely. But I'm coming to you for matters that pertain to Y/N, and I want this to be as respectful as possible."
Tom nods curtly, appreciating Bob's respectful nature, hands meeting in his lap as Bob speaks.
"Sir, I-," Bob swallows. He thought about this conversation a million times over and over as he stared at his ceiling at the Academy every night. "I love your daughter. I have for five years now. She is infinitely kind, and overwhelmingly beautiful. She's far too smart for me to keep up with most days, and she makes even my worst days bright. I think that's truly a testament to your parenting, she's the most headstrong yet considerate person I know. She loves fiercely, and looks after those she loves with the same fervor. She knows me unlike anyone else, and she's quickly become my feeling of home. Her music has taken over my truck, my headphones, and my inner thoughts. Her favorite movies have become part of my repertoire, and her favorite books sit next to mine on a bookcase in my room. Her things are scattered all over my apartment, and she is seeped into my every thought. When something good happens, she's the first person I want to call. When something bad happens, she's the first person I want to call. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side. I know this is sort of sudden, but I've spent every night for a year thinking about this, and I-I would like to marry Y/N. I graduate from the Academy in less than six months, and I'll be in aviation school, and I just-I want her to know she's a priority for my future. If I have your blessing, I would like to ask her before I go back to the Academy."
Tom's head nods, standing from his chair behind the desk, causing Bob to stand, Tom's palm meeting his in a handshake, a sign of respect. He suddenly pulls Bob into a hug, a tightness that is only matched by Y/N herself, the infamous Kazansky suffocating hug.
"You've got my blessing, kid."
Bob nods in understanding, pausing as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles lightly at Y/N's name and several emojis beside her name on the screen.
It's lonely down here. :( Love you, miss you, mean it.
He smiles at their simple loving joke that had survived from when she had first said it years ago. He pockets his phone again, looking up at Iceman with a newfound confidence.
"Thank you, Ice, sincerely. Y/N means more to me than I feel like I could express in words."
Tom's face breaks out into a smile, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been the beginning of tears, but that's yet to be confirmed. He lightly slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder.
"For what it's worth, you've got my permission. But it's not mine that matters, kid, it's hers."
-
part two out now!
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An angsty Chaggie/Chaggily idea I don’t think we’re discussing enough: Charlie is potentially a natural angel killer. She was able to manifest a weapon that hurt and could have potentially killed Adam. Imagine her having to contend with THAT revelation while being in love with Vaggie (and potentially Emily as well).
ooooo i've been WONDERING if heavenly steel's killing ability comes from them being forged by / imbued with like, high ranking angelic power, like from a seraphim or such (sera not only allowing the exterminations to happen, but having to quietly supply and resupply adam with the weapons for it....)
can u imagine tho. if Charlie's being part seraphim gave her that same power?
first, before that becomes a thing- Vaggie's so relieved and relaxed to have the exorcist secret out in the open. she doesn't have to worry about Charlie seeing her angelic blood anymore-
(maybe grins, reminding Charlie they can be a bit more adventurous in bed now) (maybe sits Charlie down and gently explains that she'd rather they got a bit rough in practice sparring with each other than see Charlie get hurt in an actual fight later-)
and maybe Charlie starts to kinda like seeing Vaggie's angelic blood, in the right moments
she loved Vaggie as a sinner- but she just UNDERSTANDS her better now, knowing why her partner hates heaven so much, why she believed in Charlie and redemption and the hotel when no one else did- maybe also it's reassuring, knowing Vaggie really isn't a sinner who might choose heaven over hell some day. instead she's an angel, she did the reverse, she's chosen hell and Charlie over heaven (she isn't leaving) (not like-) and that golden blood is PROOF
so there are love bites that get a bit passionate and there's moments in sparring when Charlie starts tentatively throwing all of herself into a fight, to feel what it's like, to fight for them and their future together even if Vaggie gets a bit scrapped up in the here and now-
but the scraps. don't heal. the way non-angelic wounds should
the love bites Charlie leaves on her scar
and Vaggie, she's fine with that! more than fine
She's surprised and RELIEVED- Charlie's tougher than anyone thinks, Charlie will never really be unarmed if someone tries to get the jump on her- (so many want to) the tight memory of seeing her fight Adam (his hand on her throat) easing a little as Vaggie reshuffles her girlfriend into the heavenly tier above him (smirks at how he'd HATE that)
Vaggie, taking a moment whenever she's by a mirror, just to trace the new marks her girlfriend left on her
(bookmarks from her new life, good memories, more changes from the exorcist she stills glimpses staring back at her sometimes- changes SHE chose, this time, so different from her missing eye...)
but Charlie... oh... Charlie would be gutted by them
no matter how many times Vaggie smiles as she touches the scars, there's still the sinking, hollowing thought- Lute is the one who leaves marks like that. Vaggie's eye, her wings, her hand- Charlie knows herself as the one who puts on the bandage, helps with the pain, remembers which side of her girlfriend to stand on and watches her back in a fight so it DOESN'T happen again... and now, she's also the one who's left scars
she's the one who could- with one wrong move or small mistake- could do WORSE than just scars-
and unlike with Lute, Vaggie is never on her guard around Charlie
Charlie going to her dad- her dad who she's only finally really talking to again because of VAGGIE- asking him, whispering like when she tiny enough to curl up in his lap- was that what it was like with mom? did that... have anything to do with Lilith leaving..?
Lucifer trying to reassure her- no no no, that part never bothered Lilith, physical stuff is the simpler part- loving someone is way people really get the power to hurt you-
(his own love of creation, of life, leaving him broken hearted down in hell-)(Lucifer cringing)
-saying instead, she TRUSTS you, Char-char. She believes in you (even when i didn't), and has she ever been wrong about it?
no
but Charlie will always be afraid, now, of just how wrong Vaggie's faith in her might be
#hazbin hotel#charlie morningstar#vaggie#chaggie#lucifer morningstar#angst#ohohohohohohoooh#i LIKE it#almost certainly not even slightly likely to be canon-#and so#Delicious#thank ye anon#nom nom nom~
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for J behind the cut; Jason gets knocked up and accidentally goes home about it.
Full disclosure, I took a lot longer than I should've finishing these 'cuz I was trying to use them to stitch together previous scenes and finish the whole fic. I did NOT manage that, but I did realize I'd written a lot more than I'd intended to, so I decided "fuck it" and just wrote another chunk of sentences to actually give J what I owed them, hah.
( chrono || non-chrono )
Then Alpha steps into view too, Alpha’s mate right behind him, and Jason forgets everything else and purrs.
Alpha’s home. Alpha came this time.
Alpha came for him this time.
That’s all he ever wanted him to do.
Alpha stares. He looks around the room just briefly, because it’s Alpha so of course he does–but then he stares.
“Jason?” he says, and Jason purrs louder.
Alpha came.
“He’s, you know–definitely feral-brained right now, obviously,” Little Brother says, gesturing sheepishly. Jason wonders who he’s talking about, idly, but isn’t really worried about it. “Kinda just showed up and let himself in, and then, uh . . . well, he’s, uh, presented to Alfred and Dick so far and been teaching Damian how to nest, so . . .”
“He did?” Alpha’s voice sounds a little–choked, maybe. Jason wonders why.
He’s still over in the doorway, for some reason. Jason wonders why that’s a thing too.
Alpha should know he’s allowed in the room, after all.
“Alpha,” he hums, loosening his grip on Pup Brother just enough to half-reach for Alpha. What’s taking him so long over there, anyway?
It’s dumb.
“Jaylad,” Alpha says tightly, half-taking a step forward and then–stopping, for some reason, just outside the doorway. Gripping one side of it, but not coming through it.
Dumb, Jason thinks, and furrows his brow impatiently.
“Alpha,” he insists, smacking the side of the nest once.
Really, really dumb.
“He accepted clothes with your scent, so . . .” Big Brother trails off.
“And a blanket with it, as well,” Grandpa puts in. “One he used on a foundational layer of the nest.”
“Ah,” Alpha says roughly, tightening his grip on the doorframe.
“Don’t hover, Father, Todd clearly expects your presence,” Pup Brother says in exasperation, which is much more useful. Jason purrs appreciatively and nuzzles him, and Pup Brother sighs in aggravation, but doesn’t try to squirm away or anything.
Good, Jason thinks, and nuzzles him harder.
Pup Brother rolls his eyes and sighs.
Alpha finally steps into the room, which is a start. Jason reaches towards him again with another, deeper purr.
Alpha . . . swallows, visibly, and then comes over to the nest; kneels down outside it beside Big Brother.
Close enough, Jason figures lazily, and catches Alpha’s wrist to drag his hand to his own stomach. He’s not wearing body armor, but it’s fine. It’s Alpha.
It’s . . .
“Present, Dad,” he hums, letting his eyes close.
Alpha makes a very tight noise, and his hand presses in very, very gently against Jason’s stomach. And the pup, obviously.
“Jaylad,” Alpha says, cracked and hoarse. Jason hums back contentedly, squeezing Alpha’s wrist once.
Good. That’s everybody, then.
Good, yeah.
“Who’s the sire?” Alpha’s mate asks curiously from the doorway, leaning against the frame. She hasn’t come in yet. Jason should probably tell her it’s fine, but he’s a little . . . distracted, maybe. Distracted. Yeah.
Mmm.
“He says either Kori or Roy, so we’re not technically sure, but the suspect list is pretty short,” Big Brother says, and Alpha’s mate laughs.
“Could be both,” she points out teasingly. “Up for double grandkittens, Bruce?”
“More concerned about the risk of having Oliver Queen for an in-law, thanks,” Alpha says dryly, letting out a rough little noise that isn’t quite a laugh and curling his fingers gently against Jason’s stomach.
“Jason might’ve mentioned they offered to mate him, so yeah, that’s a concern,” Big Brother confirms with a laugh of his own. “But Kori and Roy definitely don’t know about the pup yet. Even if he managed to slip ‘em, there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard from either of them if they were trying to find him while they knew he was bred.”
Jason huffs, because what does Big Brother mean “managed” to slip them? He could absolutely lose them whenever and wherever he felt like it. And anyway, he texted them earlier. So it’s not like they don’t know where he is.
. . . or have extrapolated where he is, anyway. But whatever, same difference.
“Ah,” Alpha says again, and swallows again too. Jason rolls his head back enough to peer up at him a little closer, not really sure what’s going on with him. Hm.
Well. He’s here. That’s all that really matters, really.
Except . . .
“Alpha?” he says again, not sure if . . . Alpha hasn’t taken his hand off his stomach, but he doesn’t seem–happy, really. Or pleased. Or . . . anything like that.
Jason’s not . . . sure, exactly.
Alpha’s hand presses in a little firmer against Jason’s stomach. Not too firm–not too much. But like . . . comfortably firm. If that makes sense, or whatever.
It feels nice, and Jason relaxes a little. Okay. That’s–better, he thinks. Right?
Alpha’s here, so . . . it’s better, yeah.
And it means he’s doing alright. He’s being a good omega. He brought home a good pup to present to the pack–good pups, maybe, if he’s lucky. Alpha will like that, right? If it’s more than one pup?
Any pup would be good, he thinks. Kori and Roy are both good sires. Lian’s great, for one. And Roy and Kori are great too. Just–definitely, yes. They’re gonna be such a good pup.
Even with–him in them, they’ll be a good pup.
He thinks so, anyway. They’ll have . . . better things than he did. They’ll be safer.
Won’t ever end up alone in an alley without a pack or alone on a warehouse floor with no backup coming.
Won’t ever doubt who actually loves them.
Alpha makes a strange, choked noise. Jason doesn’t know why, really. Someone’s purring really loud, but he doesn’t know who it is. Not Pup Brother, and there aren’t any other omegas in the pack, so . . .
Hm. Weird, yeah.
Well, everyone’s here, so he’s not worried about it anyway.
He’s being a good omega, and he brought his pup home to present. Grandpa and Big Brother were happy about it, and everybody else is here and settled in and safe. That’s all that matters, really.
As long as Alpha’s happy about the pup too, anyway. And Alpha’s hand is still on his stomach, and Alpha’s still next to the nest, so . . . yeah. That means he is, right?
So it’s good. Yeah.
The purring gets louder. Jason nuzzles Pup Brother’s hair and melts under Alpha’s hand and in Quiet Sister’s arms.
It’s definitely good.
Nice.
“Jason,” Alpha says tightly, and Jason cracks an eye open to look at him again. He doesn’t really remember when he closed them, but it’s not really important or anything.
Alpha has a hand half-over his face, and his head’s ducked down. Jason blinks sleepily, tilting his head to peer up at him again, but he can’t see his expression, really. He squeezes the hand he has around Alpha’s wrist; a little bit absent, a little bit like a reflex.
He missed Alpha so much.
The purring’s gotten really loud.
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Too Good To Say Goodbye pt4
Lando Norris x Fem!Reader , Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader
warnings: fingering
Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4
A faint cry is what had awoken me from my slumber. I sat up and rubbed my eyes before making my way to Yelena’s nursery to change and nurse her before burping and rocking her back to sleep.
I’d looked at the time as I rocked her back to sleep reading ‘5:53am’. There was no point in going back to sleep if I had to wake up at 6:30, so I decided that I was gonna go to the kitchen to start breakfast for my family.
On my way to the kitchen, I stopped in the living room grabbing the small bose speaker I had charging before continuing my journey to my big, beautiful kitchen. I opened the fridge and grabbed out enough food to make feed a village. Eggs, Munster Cheese, Turkey Bacon, Turkey Sausages, Greek Yogurt, Granola, Strawberries, Blueberries, Pineapples and Bananas.
I hear faint but heavy footsteps coming close to the kitchen while I mixed seasoning with the eggs before cooking them. I felt arms snake around my waist and a face being nuzzled in the crook of my neck before feeling faint kisses making their way up to my jaw.
“Good Morning beautiful, Did Yelena wake you up again?” I turn around to face my boyfriend before I rake my hand through his crazy bed hair.
“Yes Logan, Yelena did wake me up.” a smirk made its way on my lips as I saw a frown make its way on his.
“I thought I told you to wake me up when she did. You’ve been working too much and you need rest.” he said sincerely. I could never get over the look in his eyes, I could get lost in those greenish blue orbs forever.
“Babe, you think you’re not tired too?” a chuckle makes it way past my lips.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m tired. All that matters is I got her. I got her and I have you, and I’m determined to never let you go again” he said as he snuggled deeper into my body. A piercing sound is what pulled me away from him, it was getting louder and louder until.
“Good Morning sleepy head. Yelena woke up so I heated up some breast milk you have in the freezer and I rocked her back to sleep, we should have about another hour and a half before she wakes up again” Lando said as he walked into our shared bedroom, his feet heavy as they padded against the bedroom floor.
A smile peaks on my face “Thank you handsome. I love you so much, you’re too good to me” I said sleepily as I welcomed Lando back into the comfort of our king size bed.
it had been 4 months since I’ve given birth to Yelena and it had been the best 4 months of my life.
I mean I really did have it all, I had an amazing boyfriend, a wonderful daughter, whom had an amazing dad, I had gotten a job at McLaren as Lando’s food prep and nutrition manager which allowed me to travel with him and keep my daughter with us.
After I’ve gotten the job, one of the first people I told besides Lando, was Logan.
That moment we shared after I’d given birth to Yelena replays in my mind almost every morning and I can’t help but yearn for us to be a happy family together.
We all can’t have what our hearts yearn for though, can we? Not after what Logan did to me, the way he made me feel, how much I wanted to die with every moment I stayed with him, how ungrateful he was whenever I did something for him, the way he hurt me day after day, how he always told me I was crazy when I brought up him not loving me and how he tried to win me back after telling him I was pregnant again before leaving.
Logan was excited to hear that McLaren had offered me the job as Lando’s Food Prep and Nutrition manager seeing as that it would allow not only me to travel with them but Yelena could too. Logan wouldn’t have to resort to seeing her every 2 months or whenever his job could let him escape for a minute.
Traveling with Yelena would be a bit of a hassle but thank god that Lando’s current nutrition manager had 3 more months before his contract was up so that allowed me to mentally prepare myself for having to travel with a baby for work.
“What’re you thinking of?” Lando mumbles against my neck as he rubs his hand up and down my side before they landed on my waist and drawing imaginary circles.
“Us. How lucky I am to have you with me even when I was pregnant and how you stayed, even during the hard nights.” tears welled up in my eyes as I recall some night we had. “How whenever she was keeping me awake with the kicking how’d you stay up with me and rub my belly until she stopped, how you’d wake up whenever I had my weird cravings, because there were so many” I let out a sniffle as the tears that once threatened to fall came pouring down.
a sniffle leaves Lando’s nose “so many” he lets out a light chuckle “and you know what Y/N/N?”
“What?”
“Even though Yelena is not biologically mine, she’s the second best thing that’s happened to me. The Miami win is first, you’re third” a chuckle elapses past my lips as I playfully swat his arm “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You’re number one, you always have been and you always will be. I wish to live in no world at which you are not in, I’d rather die than let you live without me beside you.”
I’d rather die than let you live without me beside you. If Lando knew about the same dream I’ve been having since that moment between me and Logan in the delivery room I don’t think he’d be saying this. I’ve made my feelings very clear to Logan that night I left our apartment and Lando knows, so why am I dreaming about him, about us being a happy family?
I want to confide in someone about these dreams but I don’t want them to go to Lando with it before I’m ready to tell him. What would Lando think if I did tell him? Would he leave me? Would there be a possible explanation on why I keep having these reoccurring dreams? Do I want to be with Logan? No. No, that one I’m very adamant on. I want nothing to do with Logan relationship wise. I mean he has been a great dad to Yelena but he’s not fit to be my boyfriend or husband, so co-parenting it is for us.
I mean I’m not complaining about that right? I’m the one that left him knowing I was pregnant, I’d be an ass if I showed up to a grand prix walking into the Williams garage being like “Surprise Logan, we have a daughter” you know, I wasn’t that stubborn enough to do that to him.
“We should go back to sleep but I have better plans” a smirk made its way on Lando’s face as he reaches for the covers to put it over our heads. His hand travels lower before they reached the waistband of my already soaked panties, his fingers moving the fabric to the side before moving them between my fold slicking them in my juices. I can feel Lando’s fingers ghosting my aching hole before a cry breaks my heavy breathing.
No, No, please go back to bed I thought “I’ve got her Y/N/N, just stay here and wait for me to come back.” Lando presses a kiss to my lips before he retreats to the nursery. The thought of my boyfriend taking on a dad role turning me on. I fully removed my panties and stuck two fingers in my aching cunt awaiting Lando’s return, before I could actually give myself some pleasure my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
A loud and frustrated sigh leaves my lips as I flip over and look at the caller ID “Logan ‘Merica Sargeant” a shaky breath escapes past my lips as I press answer
“we need to talk”
ENJOYYYYY (i have work)
Taglist
@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999
#charles leclerc#f1 fanfic#f1#f1 smut#f1 x reader#formula 1#formula one#lando norris#lewis hamilton#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smut#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#logan sargeant hurt#logan sargent fluff#logan sargeant angst
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🤣🤣🤣
I was literally JUST thinking about Maizuru today! Maybe the only named character who seems 'irredeemable' to me, and even then it's like "Well she's probably complicated in some way. Should never have been allowed around kids tho, atf"
Yep she's definitely has some complicated stuff going on! Just like all the dunmeshi characters.
First of all she's a servant for Shuro's father so as far as I understand they own her, even if she's a high ranking servant unlike the other girls .
She was used by Shuro's father, who I must remember is her master, who had an affair with her, refused to marry her, and continued to fuck her anyway.
Then she treats Shuro just like a son. It's clear she loves him and nothing she did was out of malice even if it was fucked up lmao. But even tho he loved her like a mother when he was young they became distant exactly because of her affair with his father. So honestly I'd say she should have given that boy a harsher time, imagine being made to babysit the son of your master with the woman he chose instead of you smh my head.
She does love him tho she's just a little peculiar like his father.
I just think the abuse she actually unleashes is against Izutsumi is way worse lmao
"Is the one thing Izutsumi fears." I doubt the hag would actually hurt Shuro, but Maizuru has definetly hurt Izutsumi.
She owns Izutsumi too, Shuro's father gave her to Maizuru when he bought her
Almost 100% sure Maizuru was the one to tie up Izu too
Anyway my girl Maizuru is very bad but I cannot feel bad about whatever she has done to Shuro when he was a kid because he's the master and she's the servant. (I also have bias against Shuro and must defends woman's rights and most importantly women's wrongs so theres that)
The stuff from Adventurer's Bible in case you're curious what I was talking about
Also I'm being hyperbolicly mean to Shuro on this cause I think it's funny, please don't take it too seriously!
#I'm jk ofc what maizuru did to shuro when he was a kid was bad even if it wasnt on purpose#But Izu suffered 100x more and she couldn't escape#he could#dunmeshi thoughts#adventurers bible#Ask#anonymous#Maizuru
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FARMERS DAUGHTER part iii !
matt sturniolo x fem!reader
warnings : strong language, mentions of vomit, tattoos and cuteness !
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the last thing y/n expected was matt sturniolo asking her to hang out. despite never hanging out with a boy alone before, she agreed but getting her dad to agree was the difficult part.
growing up in a strict household was hard. yes, y/n was close to her family but sometimes it all felt like it was too much. sure she’d had crushes before but nothing ever happened.
matt would be coming to pick her up in about 2 hours and she still hasn’t asked her dad for permission to go out with him.
“hey, dad.” she slowly walked up to him with a smile on her face.
“hey honey, everything okay?” he responded, his attention going to the tv.
y/n took a deep breath in before continuing. “can i go out tonight?” she asked.
her dad gave her a confused look, “with who?” he questioned, watching the tv again.
“well, his name is matt. he came by the other day with his brothers.” y/n blushed at the thought of that day.
“oh, i see.” he nodded in response. “the one with tattoos?” y/n’s face dropped. he was not going to let her hang out with him.
“yes but he’s really sweet!” she argued, attempting to make a valid point. “please, dad. i’m begging you! i’ve never asked for anything like this before.” she continued.
her dad let out a frustrated sigh, “you know how i feel about these things.” he told his daughter. “but…..i’ll allow it.”
“thank you so so much!” y/n smiled excitedly, giving her dad a hug before running upstairs to get changed. “i will literally clean the stables in return.” she said in a positive tone.
“i’ll keep that in mind, don’t worry.” he laughed, knowing that his daughter would definitely refuse once the time came.
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y/n looked in the mirror at her baby blue dress covered in little flowers and the brown cowboy boots she wore. she was very happy with her outfit and couldn’t wait to see matt.
a couple minutes passed and there was no sign of him. had she been stood up? her heart was racing at the anticipation, she desperately hoped he was stuck in traffic.
it was like the universe was listening to her because all of a sudden she heard the doorbell ring. she quickly dived off her bed and rushed downstairs to open the door.
“hey.” she smiled, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as they made eye contact.
“hi.” matt replied, his mouth slightly open. she looked absolutely beautiful. “you look really pretty.” he told her honestly, trying his best to act normal.
“thanks.” y/n’s smile grew. “i really like your shirt.” she said, pointing at the band shirt he was wearing. it read “the cure.”
“oh, thanks.” he nodded at her. “you like the cure?” matt asked, attempting to keep the conversation going.
her eyes lit up, “yes! i love the cure.” she then pulled out her phone to show him her phone case which was the iconic photo of robert smith on stage with his guitar.
“holy shit, that’s so cool.” matt told her, getting a closer look at it.
y/n put her phone away before looking up at him. “so, where are we going?” she asked.
“well, i was thinking i could drive us to get something to eat and then we could do whatever.” he explained.
“okay but i get aux!” y/n called out first, already making her way to his car.
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“so, how many tattoos do you have?” y/n asked, looking over at him as he drove.
“to be completely honest. i lost count.” he let out a small laugh, keeping his eyes on the road. “what about you? any tattoos?”
“just one.” she shrugged her shoulders. his eyes widened in response. that was unexpected. “for real?” he questioned.
“yeah. it’s only little but don’t tell my dad.” she laughed, imagining her dad’s reaction.
“does he not like tattoos?” matt asked her, the car then coming to a stop at a red light.
“well, let’s just say he almost didn’t let me come out because of your tattoos.” y/n said, pointing to his sleeve of them.
“should i like…get rid of them or something?” he spoke in an unsure tone.
she laughed at his words, “no, i think they look cool.” she complimented.
matt blushed slightly, “so how’s ronald doing?” he quickly changed the subject.
“he’s literally been throwing up for weeks.” y/n shook her head humorously. “it’s so gross but he’s getting there.”
“poor little guy.” matt empathized with the goat after what his brother did. “next time we come over, i’ll make sure chris isn’t allowed to feed the animals.” he kept a note in his mind.
matt then pulled into the fast food place and found a parking spot before they went inside to get something to eat.
“is there anything specific you’d like?” he turned to face the girl.
“i’m in the mood for some pizza actually.” she told him as he nodded, ordering a margarita pizza for the two of them to share.
“i don’t mind splitting it.” y/n quickly stopped him from paying. he looked over at her as if she was crazy. “absolutely not, i’m paying.” he immediately rejected her deal.
y/n felt bad for letting matt pay for the meal so she kept a mental note to pay him back to right amount of money.
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INSTAGRAM POST !
❤️ 💬 ➤
liked by user82 and 3,927 others
sturniolo.updates matt was spotted with y/n, a farm girl who was featured in their recent video. they were seen at a fast food place smiling with each other. apparently they looked very cozy ♥️
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user19 WHAT NO
user93 absolutely not
user not the farm girl 💀💀
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TAGLIST
@jnkvivi @sturniololvrrr @iluvmattsbeard @bxtchboy69 @cheesesoda @mattyb4dominicans @hearteyesformatt @stasiesturn @nathandoesgf @franticroads @larnieboox88 @e1ias3 @sturniolosarethebest @sturnish @cdbabymp3 @sturnzsblog @unbruisable @nsjsnshey @mattybslover
#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#fanfic#fanfiction#fem reader#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#x reader#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader
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frustrating thing about that bad Octavia take is the episode didn't frame it as her being 'spoiled' or needing Stolas' attention right that second - she goes up to talk to him and is pretty hesitant and mumbly when she tries to get his attention. (The episode does come down way too much on Stolas' side but they frame it like Via should cut him slack for letting her down, not that she was unreasonable to be hurt in the first place)
She doesn't stomp her foot and she doesn't even raise her voice. She waits until back in her room where Stolas can't even see before she does anything resembling a tantrum.
And she's upset because when she tried to talk to Stolas, he didn't even remember it was the day of the meteor shower and brushed her off totally. Then he says him arguing with Stella is going to take all day, blowing off their planned day together totally.
She delivers her lines with the hurt that someone has when they thought something in their life was a guarantee and that the other person would remember because it's important to them, too, but Stolas thought being petty to Stella was so important that he literally didn't even remember the meteor shower until the very end of the episode, when Via told him about it. He didn't remember on his own, which suggests he didn't think it that important. But instead of the episode have him saying he'd gotten carried away with his feud with Stella, Via just says 'you're here now' as if that and watching a discount meteor shower with the fireworks is good enough
It's pretty hard to claim she's had her every need attended to when it's hard to tell if Stolas and Stella ever pretended to be happily married in front of her, Stella throws 'still not divorced' parties in Via's home and Stolas only ditched this emotionally scarring charade to neglect Via in favor of the imp booty call he's been harassing nonstop.
It's a consistent pattern with Stolas even after the show started babying him that his ability to empathise with other people and understand their feelings sucks. Via living in a palace does not mean she's had everything she ever wanted if her emotional needs to, y'know, not to live in the middle of a sham marriage or to not have to watch her father be a sex pest towards the imp he cheated with are not being met. And Stolas stans should know that because it's the exact same argument they make about him all the time - that he still lived an emotionally impoverished life despite being rich and powerful.
despite the show so far avoiding making Via spoiled (she's way more of a moody emo teen stereotype, like Loona but better fleshed out) I can't help but feel like the remaining fanbase are just going to get more and more vitriolic towards her, same way some of them are actively rooting for Stolas to engage in DV against Blitzo (I mean that 'girlypop should wait 5 mins' is pretty passive aggressive)
Bingo. Nailed it.
So far, Octavia is the only character to go against Stolas that's still permitted by the show to retain a scrap of acknowledgement of being in the right. Striker's dirty and gross and poor and a "supremacist," Stella's a stupid bitch who deserves her brother's abuse, Blitzo is "leading Stolas on" and deserves to suffer for hurting Stolas's feelings by calling out his abuse. But Via's still allowed the bare minimum...she's expected to "cut him some slack," but it's never called into question -- at least not yet -- that he wronged her.
But that's not enough for this fandom. Via upset Stolas and even worse, she's a female character, so she's a spoiled, entitled brat who sucks.
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Maybe in Another Life |9|
Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader
Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.
Warnings: Slight Titans Curse Spoilers
Word Count: 2.7k+
Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9
You and your sisters packed up camp, it had been about a week, and you had travelled all the way back to New York. You talked to Clarisse the night before she left on her scouting mission but hadn’t heard a word from her since. You and the Hunters got information about Luke or one of his lackeys in the area and made your way back to the city but came up with nothing, no trace of Luke, demigods, or monsters in general.
“You’re not coming with us,” Thalia said, as you finished packing up your bag.
“What?” You asked, furrowing your brow.
“We’re close to the city.” You followed her gaze; from the spot you made camp you could see the New York skyline. “We might as well do a supply run.”
You sighed but nodded, it made a sense, for all you knew you’d end up out in the middle of nowhere next. “Where should I meet you?”
Thalia gave you the area they’d most likely be making camp next. It would take you a couple hours to get the supplies you’d need but you shouldn’t have a problem catching up to them by the time they were all settling down for bed. If they made it further or if anything changed their plans in any way Thalia would send a message letting you know. With that you were off, making your way to the city.
It wasn’t a long trek to the city and luckily you blended in, the mist made your pack look like a normal backpack, which many of the commuters were carrying. You had been to the city many times, but you never got over all the lights and amount of people, you only ever came for errands, otherwise you spent most of your time on the outskirts of cities, away from civilization.
You entered a shop that stood out against all the skyscrapers and neon signs. To anyone who couldn’t see through the mist it looked like a normal antique shop but to a demigod or anyone else of your world, you knew what it really was. You approached the counter, smiling at the nymph behind the register.
“How can I help you?” The nymph asked, without looking up from the magazine. You sighed before dropping down a sack of gold drachmas. The nymph glanced at the sack before setting down her magazine and straightening her back. “Ooh a Hunter,” she smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Nectar and ambrosia,” you said, smiling.
“Coming right up.”
You waited as the nymph disappeared into the back to gather what you asked for. Nectar and ambrosia were a rare commodity, but there were a few shops a wandering demigod could get it from if they knew where to look. You had been to this shop in particular many times, almost every trip to the city. You weren’t sure how they got what they did but given they were located in the city that had the door to Olympus you were sure they had connections of some sort. They never failed to have what you needed, whether it be celestial bronze weapons, nectar, ambrosia, or other various potions and items from your world.
You glanced out the window during your waiting, furrowing your brow when you saw a familiar head of hair walking down the street. You got closer, squinting through the window and across the street as best as you could, a small smirk appearing on your face when you confirmed what you thought you saw, Clarisse. She was on a secret mission no one was allowed to know about, you were gathering supplies and needed to get back to your sisters, but there was no reason you couldn’t pop over and say hi. You watched as she turned down an ally next to the hotel across the street.
“Here you are sweetly,” the nymph said, placing a lovely little box of ambrosia and a jar of nectar down on the counter.
You turned your attention back to the nymph, opening the box to look at the ambrosia. The ambrosia was cut into little squares, perfectly placed, and stacked in the box, not leaving an inch of empty space. “Thank you,” you said, offering the nymph a kind smile. You carefully slipped the items into your pack and made your way out the door.
You glanced both ways before darting across the street. You peered down the alley way you saw Clarisse disappear down, seeing her still in the alley, pacing back and forth and staring at a wall. You smirked as you slipped into the alley as well, silently laughing as you watched her feel around the brick wall as if she were looking for something.
“So, this is your super-secret mission,” you said when you were right behind her.
Clarisse whipped around, pointing her spear at your neck. You leaned your head back, looking down at the spear before raising an eyebrow at her. Clarisse sighed, then dropped the spear back at her side. “What are you doing here?” She asked.
“Wow, here I thought you’d be happy to see me,” you fake pouted. She only glared at you. “I was resupplying,” you sighed. “We were back over this way because we got word Luke was around but no sign of him anywhere.” Clarisse’s eyes widened at the mention of Luke. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Do you know something?” You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Is that what your mission had to do with?”
“The less people that know the better,” she whispered. “We don’t know who to trust.”
“You don’t trust me?” You looked at her like a kicked puppy. You understood logically that they needed to be careful about who they shared information with, but you couldn’t ignore the pang you felt in your chest at the implication of Clarisse not trusting you.
“I do,” she sighed, running a hand down her face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this she mumbled.” You furrowed your brow but before you could question her, she stepped forward. “I’m looking for an entrance to the labyrinth,” she whispered in your ear.
Your eyes widened. “Are you insane?” You stepped back.
“Annabeth says there’s multiple entrances all over the world. She thinks one might be in Camp Half-Blood.”
“Why?” The labyrinth stretched all across the country, if you went in one door there was no guarantee what door you’d come out of, if you came out at all. It made perfect sense for an entrance to be at the camp though.
“We think Luke is trying to use the labyrinth to get around.” You sucked in a breath, which could explain why he disappeared so quickly in some places and now he left no trace. “We think he’s trying to learn how to navigate it so he can sneak into camp.”
You nodded; you were liking Clarisse’s secret mission even less now. If Clarisse happened to find an entrance and entered the labyrinth, there was not telling if or when she’d make it back out. You hadn’t ever been in it, you only heard the stories over the centuries, none of them ended well, people went mad, people ended up lost, or dead. The labyrinth constantly changed and shifted, redirecting you to your demise, time was rumored to move differently down there, five minutes could be five hours or even days on the outside. There were endless passageways and rooms, the majority of them led from one horror to another.
“You think ones here?” You asked, looking up at the side of the hotel, Clarisse had been poking around.
She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she sighed. “Based on Annabeth’s research one is supposed to be in the city, it’s heavily implied to be in a hotel. It just didn’t mention which hotel or where.”
“Did you check inside?” You already started walking around to the front of the hotel.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She ran after you.
“Helping.”
“I don’t need your help.” She continued to follow you through the fancy doors of the hotel. “This is my mission. I’m supposed to do it alone.”
“I’m not here to look over your shoulder,” you sighed, turning around to face her. “Or takeover your mission. I’m just…” you shrugged. “Here, and have some time before I have to head back. If you don’t want me around, I can leave.”
Clarisse looked down at the floor clearly having a serious debate with herself before she looked back up at you. “No,” she mumbled. “If this is the only way to spend time with you, I’m not passing it up.”
You smirked at her. Your smirk quickly turned into a frown when you noticed the concierge looking at you questioningly. “We have to go,” you grabbed Clarisse by the arm and quickly dragged her towards the elevators.
You pressed the button and quickly pulled her into the elevator when it arrived. You were grateful that no one else was in it or had been waiting. The doors closed right as the concierge approached, his mouth opening to question you.
“I know you’ve probably never been to a place like this,” Clarisse took a jab at you. You glared at her but didn’t deny it, it was true you had never been in a hotel before, you just knew of them from all your trips to the city. “But we need a key to use this.”
You look at the various buttons on the side panel, there were over fifteen floors in this building. “Not if we go down,” you said, pressing the button that said ground and had a little ‘associates only’ sticker next to it.
“Why are we going down?”
“Well, the labyrinth is an underground maze.” When the elevator doors opened you peeked your head out making sure the way was clear, then motioned for Clarisse to follow. “So, it makes sense that the entrance would be underground.”
You slowly made your way through the hallway, the two of you pressing yourself up against the wall when you heard someone pushing a cart of some sort. When it sounded like the cart was getting further away you peeked around the corner to see a maid pushing a basket of dirty towels in the opposite direction.
“And how would we know which way to go?” Clarisse asked as the two of you continued to move through the halls.
“The camp is protected, a boundary that doesn’t allow monsters to pass through,” you whispered. “The labyrinth was designed by a god; it radiates magic which monsters can’t help but navigate to.”
“We’re wandering around, hoping to spot a monster, to help point us in the direction of the door?” She raised an eyebrow. You shrugged, giving her a nod, you would admit it wasn’t the best plan in the world. “That’s a terrible plan!” She whisper shouted as if she could read your mind.
You started to roll your eyes as you rounded the corner only to stop dead in your tracks, making Clarisse bump into you. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped, flicking you a glare. You pointed ahead, she turned to see the maid from earlier was standing in the middle of the hallway, staring daggers at the two of you.
“Sorry,” Clarisse said, forcing a smile. “We got lost, we were looking for the pool?”
The maid continued to stare at the two of you. You slid your foot back, bumping into Clarisse again. “Something isn’t right,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at the maid.
The next thing you knew the maids neck snapped to the side, then her legs twisted in an inhuman direction, her arms following soon after. You pushed Clarisse back, trying to get her to move. Your eyes widened as the skin began to melt away, steam rolling off the monster as the creature shed its disguise.
“Run!” You shouted. You pushed Clarisse back down the hall, grabbing the nearest cart and pushing it into the path of the monster.
“We can take that thing!” Clarisse shouted, trying to look back and face the monster.
“Not if that stinger hits us!” You glanced back seeing the monster looked like a giant scorpion, its stinger a glowing golden yellow as it was filled with venom. You might have had ambrosia and nectar on you, but it wouldn’t help for a wound from the stinger.
The scorpion quickly crawled over the cart you had shoved in its way. It was close enough that when it stabbed its stinger you had to duck, watching as the stinger got stuck in the wall, causing cracks throughout the concrete. It let out a high pitch squeal in anger as it ripped its stinger out of the wall, along with a few chunks of concrete.
You spun around, quickly whipping out your bow, and shooting an arrow into the monster’s eye. The creature squeezed again, then raised its pincer and snapped the arrow in half, leaving the tip still in its eye. It brought down its stinger towards you, causing you to jump back before you could get another arrow off. With its stinger impaled in the ground now you pushed Clarisse to continue forward.
After running for another moment down the hall you glanced back, seeing the scorpion nowhere in sight. You didn’t have to consider where it could have gone before taking the next turn down another hall. You and Clarisse took the turn at full speed, turning right into the scorpion.
You ducked just as it swung its pincer at you. You saw Clarisse holding up her spear, using it to keep the other pincer from getting her. You drew your bow again, your fingers brushing against your arrows before finding the one you wanted. You quickly notched the arrow and fired. It opened midair, releasing a net that latched around the stinger.
While it released Clarisse’s spear to cut itself free the two of you took off down the hall you had just come from. The two of you continued running, taking turn after turn, all the similar looking hallways starting to blur together. You had just made another turn, once again running into the scorpion. This time as it shot its stinger at you, Clarisse gripped your arm and pulled you into the nearest room. The two of you fell back into the storage closet, the door slamming behind your right as the stinger was impaled into the wood instead of your chest.
You held your breath as you stared at the crack in the door, waiting for the scorpion to mark its next move. When nothing came and you realized it was completely silent outside the door you finally released a shaky breath. You pushed yourself off the ground, holding out your hand to help Clarisse up. You kept your eye on the door, not trusting that the monster was truly gone.
“Where the hell are we?” Clarisse asked.
You turned around, your brow furrowed but your eyes quickly widened at the sight. “What the…” you started, unable to finish your sentence. You weren’t in a storage closet at all, or any room for that matter, you were in a dimly lit hallway. The hallway was all dirt and stone, a couple torches lining the walls were the only thing lighting the tunnel. You narrowed your eyes when you realized it wasn’t just normal fire on the torches but Greek fire.
“Oh gods,” you whispered before turning back around. You ran your hands up and down where the door had been, searching for a handle of some sort but only feeling the cold stone the rest of the hallway was made out of.
“What?” Clarisse asked. “What’s wrong?” She searched your concerned face.
You turned to her, your eyes wide and face pale. “We found the labyrinth.”
Clarisse’s face fell at your words, her eyes widening as she quickly spun around again. You watched the color drain from her face as she realized the situation the two of you were in. You sighed, you and Clarisse were in the labyrinth and the door you entered through had disappeared meaning the only way out was forward through the maze that was always changing, filled with monsters and traps that wanted to kill you at every turn. At least the two of you had each other, you couldn’t imagine having to navigate the maze on your own.
Taglist: @cxcilla @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world @death-in-love @nenas19 @mynameiskaci @danonered
#clarisse la rue#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue x you#clarisse x reader#pjo#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#maybe in another life
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After seeing a post or two about "the future is singlet not plural" and a few other criticisms of the phrase, I wanted to toss my confused two cents in to ask for clarification.
I thought "the future is plural" was meant for like. DID & OSDD awareness to destigmatize the disorders.
That it was about how the future should allow for systems to seek healthcare as they need, and allowing the idea that final fusion and functional multiplicity can coexist as options for systems.
I don't think anyone should be traumatized to make the future plural. For us, The Future is Plural is about accepting systems and multiples that already exist and will form anyway and fighting for space in the world.
For example, when I told my friend I was trans she went "oh cool, so do you have a preferred name?"
When I told her I was a system, she became very uncomfortable. She was worried and didn't want to talk to others. She said it was okay as long as they didn't talk to her and I was the "original."
Seeing as I am not the original host or personality, but I have been our host and for several years now, this experience fucking sucked. It took a lot of trust to open up to her about this fact only for her to immediately jump to conclusions and show her biases.
I would have much preferred if she had just said "oh cool, so what's your name? Or is it the same?"
The future is plural to me means that saying "I have DID" isn't met with horror. Sympathy and pity, sure, the same way someone would if you said you had PTSD. It sucks to be a system sometimes and it sucks [understatement] to be traumatized to the point of splitting. But i don't want people to be scared of us/angry at us for existing.
We deserve to exist without being afraid.
Being told the future is plural is reassuring because it promises research and community and hope. Spreading trauma is not the point, and we honestly don't know what to think of the idea that it was ever intended as the point.
Am I misunderstanding this?
#multiplicity#plurality#actually plural#osdd system#life kinda sucks as a multiple but i thought this phrase was meant to like. inspire hope the future would make more space and accommodations#system posting
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Hot for Teacher(s) 10
Part 9
Shawn tried not to think too hard about his dad and his teacher dating. He knew his family was a little different than the others. Most people had two parents. But he’d never ask for his sire to show up. Never in a million years. He still remembered how bad it got.
It made him a little wary of Mr. Munson. He didn’t think he’d ever hit his father. But sometimes pain wasn’t physical. Even when Billy hadn’t put his hands on Steve, the yelling had been horrible too. But Steve had been in love. And there had been a time when Billy cared for him. He’d told Shawn so.
Shawn couldn’t believe it. People in love didn’t do that kind of thing. People in love did things like go out on dates, gave each other gifts and scented each other nicely.
Like how Shawn could smell Mr. Munson on his dad. He probably wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was if not by his powers of deduction. They’d been sitting on his bed, his dad reading him a bedtime story. He didn’t bring up the scent, or how it made him feel nice. He just hoped Mr. Munson would stay around a while.
“Are you and Mr. Munson in love?”
Steve fumbled with the basketball in his hands and Shawn used the opportunity to steal it from him and go for a shot. He missed, but getting a steal from his dad was still nice.
“He and I are…dating, as you know”, Steve said, grabbing the ball as it bounced his way. “I think it’s a little too soon to be using words like ‘love’.”
“He’s over here a lot”, Shawn said.
Steve didn’t know how much he should read into that. Was Shawn saying he didn’t like Eddie being around so much? Did he feel like someone else was taking time away from Steve? It was hard to tell with his son sometimes what he was thinking.
“How come you always make me go out when he’s over?”
“I don’t always-”
“I know you’re going on a date every time I have a sleepover. And I’ve been having a lot of sleepovers lately.” Shawn’s expression was a little too mature for a child his age.
“First, don’t interrupt, it’s rude. Second, I thought you liked having sleepovers.”
“I do. I just don’t know why you don’t want me around Mr. Munson. I see him all day at school.”
Steve kept his body language nonchalant while dribbling the ball. “Well that’s just it. I figured you’d be sick of him. He’s at school AND at home?” He shot and the ball went right in.
“If I score more than you, can we get ice cream?”
“Shawn, it’s January.”
“I want chocolate with gummy bears.”
Steve was still thinking of it a few days later when he had sent Shawn on yet another sleepover while he, Eddie, and Robin got drunk and gave powerpoint presentations on a subject of their choice. Robin was about ten slides deep into one about why TV shows sucked on writing lesbians on purpose but somehow made the most compelling character chemistry on accident.
At first, he’d been sitting close to Eddie, legs in his lap, playing with his hair but Steve had learned that Eddie never sat still for long. Every few slides, he’d jump up with an interjection and Steve knew if he didn’t want to flop off the couch, he’d better not get too tangled.
Robin was very open to discussion. Heated discussion but still. Steve finally cleared his throat when they started getting closer, hands moving wildly as they argued about the sexuality of Sandy the Squirrel.
“Hey, it’s Powerpoint Night, not debate night”, Steve said.
Robin gasped. “Steve! Can we have debate night. We finally have a third party to mediate.”
“What do you guys need a mediator for?”, Eddie asked.
“She has very strong opinions on salted caramel”, Steve said. “Your turn Eddie.”
Eddie got up, his presentation popping up as he cleared his throat. “Pluto’s Planet Status: Logic vs Sentimentality….”
Robin stayed the night, taking up the guest bed while Eddie went up to Steve’s room. He’d been inside before, but it always felt momentous. A space that not many had seen before and Steve was allowing him. They collapsed next to each other, limbs tangling through the night.
The next day, they got up, making a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and other greasy things to stave off any hangover symptoms. And before Eddie left, Steve asked a favor of him.
“Do you…mind scenting some of the pillows? Not for me, but for Shawn? I want to gauge his reaction to the idea of you becoming more…permanent.”
Eddie’s eyes got wide. “Do you want me to be more permanent?”
Steve bit his lip and nodded, moving in close to scent Eddie at his neck. “You’ve always smelled like safety to me. And now…you’re starting to smell like home.”
Eddie wrapped his arms around him, confirming that he felt the same. He wanted more of Steve’s scent around his own home. Eddie completed the favor, scenting the soft throw pillows on the couch.
When Shawn got home, he had Steve spent most of the day inside, doing various things but when the sun set, they had a movie night. Steve tried not to look too giddy when Shawn grabbed one of the pillows and held it to his chest, nose pressed to it. His body language may have been neutral, but the happiness must’ve shown in his scent because Shawn started to cuddle up to him. His omega hindbrain was filled with thoughts he hadn’t allowed for a long time.
Good alpha. Safe. Perfect alpha. Perfect for pup. Need to scent pup. Need him scented by both.
That was all Steve needed to move things up to the next step. He enacted it when picking Shawn up from school one day. He was mindful not to take up too much of Eddie’s time during dismissal, but Eddie always assured Steve that he’d rather talk to him than the other parents.
“What if you’ve got something important to tell them?”
“That’s what emails are for. And really, how many times can I say ‘your kid cried because someone looked at them’ or ‘ they’re chattier than a telemarketer’?”
Steve figured some things about being a teacher didn’t change all that much between the age groups. He built up his nerves to ask the question. He had already asked Shawn if it was okay and his pup was more than happy about it.
“You know, Shawn’s birthday is coming up soon. We usually go out and do whatever he wants. And we were wondering if you wanted to tag along?”
Eddie looked between them both, mouth agape and looking like he wanted to jump for joy, hug them both, and blast off like a rocket all at once. It really made Steve want to kiss him in front of all these people, parents, teachers and all.
“Hell yeah-I mean, y-yeah”, Eddie stuttered when he remembered where he was.
Shawn looked elated too and things couldn’t be more right.
And of course, that was when things started going wrong.
Part 11 coming soon
Tags
@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog
@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre
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ATF!Series Part Three: Hell or Highwater
Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators benny kkkelpies-shed
ATF Series:
Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.
Part Two: Fucked - Stahl fucks up you entire life in pursuit of Jax Teller.
You’ve been in a custody for five hours by the time David’s finally allowed to see you. Four hours of that has consisted of you sitting silently in an interrogation room listening to Stahl tell you how fucked you are.
And yea, she’s right, you are pretty fucked.
Your entire life it’s crumbling down around you and all you can feel is this crushing, desolate numbness because those hopes you had, those dreams they’re gone. Every single one of them.
You think about that as you lie on a musty mattress in a chilly cell. You think about what Jax Teller has done to you, what he continues to do to you. He has no direct involvement with you but the ripples of that time you spent together still resonate through your life.
This is what David means when he talks about Jax's blast radius.
Jax Teller is a nuclear bomb, his toxicity seeping into everything he touches. His poison, it salts the earth leaving no space for anything else to grow and you, you just have to sit here and absorb the damage.
“The light giving you a headache?” David asks as he leans in the doorway of the cell block. It’s Tuesday evening and you’re the only one in attendance, your arm is draped over your eyes trying to ward off the glow from the fluorescent. You have that metallic taste on your tongue. The one that usually comes just as the migraine starts to set in.
You don’t answer him, you can’t because the moment you do David will know exactly how broken you are right now you can’t stand the idea of anyone seeing that.
The light clicks off and you swallow past the well of emotion that’s building in your chest because David, he always knows exactly what you need. You hear his footsteps, the squeak of his boots as he comes to linger outside your cell. You hear his sigh before he sits down on the floor, his back against the cinderblocks. His elbows come to rest on his knees as his head tips back and his eyes close.
You’re in for the night and so is he.
The distance it seems to stretch between you, he feels the weight of it in the air as he plays through the past couple of hours in his head. The phone calls he’s made to the San Franisco Art Institute trying to undo all the nasty shit that Stahl has done to you. He’d begged for them to change their minds but that placement is gone, they don’t want a criminal influencing the other students. He’d slammed down the phone so hard, the plastic had cracked on the receiver.
“She told me you fucked her today.” You say quietly and his blood runs cold because it isn’t enough that Stahl has taken away your prospects, she has to try and take him too. “That you came inside her, it seemed important to her that I know that.”
He understands the significance. For Stahl their relationship was about power, about proving she had it and he didn’t. It drove her absolutely crazy that he wouldn’t give her that, that everytime she begged or demanded, he would pull out. It was a sign to her that she couldn’t control him, not completely.
“You’re the only woman who gets to have that.” He tells you, his gaze meeting yours as you shift up into a sitting position. “The only one that gets to have every part of me.”
You draw your knees up to your chest, tucking the blanket over your legs because it get a little cold in here at night. He makes note to get you an extra blanket because the temperature is only going to keep dropping.
“David, we should talk about what happens when I go to jail.” You say softly. “You need to get clear of this…”
“You won’t see jail time.” He tells you and there’s such surety in his voice that you can’t help but believe him. “You’ll be bailed tomorrow, made to pay a fine, they’re going to seek restitution for the property damage. We’ll be paying it off for the next couple of years.”
We…
Because the two of you, you’re in this together come hell or highwater.
“David…” You whisper because you know exactly what he’s done while you’ve been trapped with Stahl.
All the favours he’s collected over the years, all that good will. He’s used it all up on you, on managing this crisis. You know what this is going to do to him, his dreams of being Chief, they’re over. His affiliation with you has seen to that.
“You’ll be his downfall.” Jacob Hale had warned you when he’d heard about you and David. “You’ll ruin everything he’s worked for.”
This is it right here, the moment he was talking about. Fuck it eats you up inside, knowing you’re dragging David down with you.
“You think this is a sacrifice for me but it isn’t.” He says as he raises to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his bones as he comes to stand before the bars, his hands gripping them. “Unser was never going to step down and I don’t see the point of having all this power if I can’t use it to do the right thing.”
You mirror his movements, your fingers coming to rest in the indentations between his knuckles as you press your head against the cool bars.
“You didn’t ask for any of this,” He reminds you quietly, his blue eyes meeting yours. “We just fucked the wrong people and now we’re getting fucked but at least we’re in it together. They don’t get to have this, they don’t get to take you away from me.”
“No.” You whisper, a sad smile crossing your features because even though you’ve both lost so much, you’ll always have each other. “They won’t ever have this.”
Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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The Shadowsinger’s lover-2 —ACOTAR AU
Part two | warnings: mild language, brief mentions of a lap dance.., little bit of angst? Sibling’s being sibling’s| Azriel x Rhys!sister
Summary; Rhys’ sister comes home, finally, and the the new members of the inner circle are surprised to learn that she (we are gonna call her ‘Selene’) and Azriel are Mates and have been for over two hundred years.
Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books
Masterlist
✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰ ✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰ ✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰ ✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰-✰
Selene’s POV
“This is absurd, I should be allowed to see my own brother!” She hissed at Cassian.
“I totally get that but Rhys said not to come into his office for the next half hour, you may be his sister but he is high lord and you obey his orders, blood relatives don’t get a pass” The general snapped back. She should be intimidated by him and his tone of voice but she couldn’t take him seriously with his hands on his hips. Lord of bloodshed her ass, “that’s it, get your ass outa’ my way,”
What could possibly be so important that his sister who he hasn’t seen in sixty five years?
She shoved Cassian out of her way, ignoring the fact that he was her general and could shred her to pieces with his own hands if he felt the need to, once she had successfully shoved the Illriyan brute from where he was standing in front of the doors which led directly to Rhysand’s study. She grabbed the silver handle and flung it open. But the second she did that she immediately regretted it, because she had a clear view of where he brother was getting a lap dance from a brown haired woman, Rhysand’s head flew into her direction, confused and embarrassed eyes met her own, the brunette’s head swung in her direction and she got a clear view of the beauty, her eyes a blue-ish grey colour. One she didn’t see often.
Selene’s cheeks turned a beet red, oh gods, she was going to be sick from the sight, she did not need to see that, she swiftly turned around and met Cassian’s amused gaze. before she had time to snap at him she was running out of the study and down the hallway. She couldn’t get the sight out of her head, she knew this was a permanent scar that’d haunt her forever.
Well, that’s one way to see your brother again after sixty five years, not the way she’d expected, listen to Cassian next time, got it.
-
“Selene, wait up!”
“No thank you, Rhysand, I’m now permanently scarred!” She said.
Before she had time to react, her brother grabbed her elbow and turned her around to face him, he put both his hands on her cheeks to stop any movement, “stop being melodramatic. You know how many times I’ve walked in on you and Azriel? A lot. Now give me a hug you drama queen,”
She rolled her eyes at him, yes, he had walked in on her and her mate but they were always under the covers, Rhysand and his mate—she presumed—were not. Selene couldn’t believe he had the audacity to say she was dramatic when he literally invented the word, what a hypocrite.
“You take that back.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” She shrieked.
“But you implied it!”
“Nuh uh!” Selene defended.
“Yuh huh!”
She opened her mouth to say another ‘nuh uh’ but Rhysand pulled her into his chest so she couldn’t say anything, it was probably the smartest choice, back when they were kids, they’d just be saying ‘nuh uh’ and ‘yuh huh’ back and forth for minutes on end before their mother would have to yell at them to stop. They’d never even know why and what they were arguing about. Ah, the joys of being a kid, no worries, no responsibilities, just having fun. It’s a shame it’s not like that anymore.
“Hey you there?” Rhysand questioned.
“Yeah, just thinking about things”
“My sister” he said with a smile, “her head always up in the clouds” she smiled back at him, she wouldn’t admit it to him but she had missed him, horribly, not as much as her mate, of course. But she’d still missed him. He was her only remaining family member.
“I’ve missed you too, sis.”
She looked up at him, their eyes were identical, their hair was to, though Selene had an addiction to dyeing her hair, it was white right now with her natural roots showing. Midnight back. Like her brother’s, her mother always joked that they were twins, it wasn’t true though, if one didn’t know the age difference they would assume they were twins. Rhysand was ten years older than her. He liked to make sure she knew that as well. Though, she equally reminded him that she was their parent’s favourite, much to his dismay.
“I’m never letting you leave my side again, you hear me?”
“Don’t start with that bullshit, Azriel didn’t even bother saying that because he knows he doesn’t stand a chance, you better learn that to, mister.” She snapped back.
“Yeah, yeah” Her brother said back with that signature smirk he always did when he tried to rile her up. “If you don’t wipe that smirk off your face in the next ten seconds I’m going to drop you on your ass.” She gave the most withering stare that she could muster, “come at me then.”
-
For the next five minutes, Rhysand and his sister fought like lions till Azriel pulled them apart, while they were fighting, they managed to crack a window and break a three hundred year old vase that had been a gift to his father. That earned her brother a scolding from his mate Feyre, —she’d learned that was her name—much to Selene’s delight. It reminded her of when they had been fighting when they were kids and the High lord had tripped her, causing him to be scolded at by their mother, she’d been smiling while she’d watched it happen. That had caused them to get into another fight, good times.
She smiled at the memory, which made Rhys snap at her, “what the Hel are you smiling about?” “You, I’m smiling at you.” He stuck his tongue out and she returned the gesture, Feyre and Azriel sighed at them both at the same time. They had no idea what they were in for.
The End.
#fantasy#sjm universe#books#sarah j maas#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#azriel shadowsinger#sarah j mass#azriel x reader#rhys sister#feyre acotar#sjm#sjmass#sjm books
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