#i think this is gonna be good. new set up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungshookz · 2 days ago

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taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him.

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher

»»————- 🏋��‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day!

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?!

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into-

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words

…what?

what are you even saying?

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?”

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips

you didn’t even know those muscles existed

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him

and in your current state, you are completely helpless

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you…

see you just lost your train of thought

THAT’S how bad it’s been

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?!

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore?

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!)

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!” you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??”

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?”

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.”

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, “you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.”

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…”

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.)

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

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scribesynnox · 2 days ago

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Bored

Kef's post here, specifically the art at the end, is haunting me. It is fucking with me bad. I wouldn't wish boredom and lack of mental stimulus on my worst enemies, and here Jazz is. Stuck and trapped.

Aimless.

So I decided to write a little something because OOF. Do you know what it's like to be bored? Constantly? Because I do and it SUCKS.

For @keferon's apocalyptic ponyo au.

There’s nothing to do.

This isn’t anything unusual. Jazz regularly finds himself bored out of his mind every day. He’s exhausted every avenue of entertainment he can and then some. He already knows this human dialect, English, so he can’t entertain himself trying to puzzle out words and letters. The people at this aquarium haven’t given him any toys to mess around with either. It’s always a toss up whether the aquariums he ends up at give him toys or not. He prefers it when they do. It’s demeaning sure, but what isn’t in his situation? At least with a beach ball, he could do SOMETHING. It’s night and usually, Jazz would escape his tank by now to explore the building, but the aquarium was setting up some new policy, something about frequent tank escapes and trying to prevent them. It’s not from Jazz’s end, he’s too good at this by now to get caught, but the octopi weren’t exactly being subtle when they went to throw rotten clams at their caretakers. What this means for Jazz though, is that the aquarium is busy tonight, and there’s too many humans around for Jazz to risk it.

What it means is that there is nothing to do, and Jazz is bored.

Bored bored bored, he is so BORED, there is nothing to DO!!

He bursts into an agitated swim, circling circling and circling, trying to burn off the restless energy, or maybe to get dizzy just to feel something, anything, but he’s done this too many times, it’ll take more than that to get him dizzy. The apathy and numbed anger quickly comes back, stealing his energy and hollowing him out. He hangs in the water, bored.

There is nothing to do.

More notes on being Bored!:

when you spend all day every day almost always always always BORED, you start creating your own entertainment

Jazz zoning out a LOT because there just simply isn't anything for him to do. Sure there's the training and there's the performances and the checkups and the people watching, but they can only take away the boredom for so long.

Oh! By the way, off tangent, but I finally thought up of a reason for why Jazz hasn't tried talking to the humans in an attempt to get them to realize that he's sentient and that he has a home and he wants to be free. Or to get them to make his tank more, you know, hospitable. Or at the very least not claw at the walls inducing.

Uh, simple reason: he physically can't. Like, merfolk just Do Not have the vocal cords to pronounce human speech. Humans don't have the vocal cords to copy a lot of noises! We can do a lot, sure, but we can't do everything! I say it's the same for merfolk! They may look like humans, but humans look a lot like mers too, and so I say: while both of them can learn the other's language, they're gonna have a difficult time actually speaking it.

so like, Jazz DOES try to talk to the humans, tries to get them to realize that he's a person and he just wants to go home, please please PLEASE-!

but he is clumsy with human speech and they just think he's like a clever parrot. He has intelligence, sure, but that's it. They think his cries are because he misses his home and his pod, sure, but they also think he's better off in captivity since he is so small and alone. They know better. Poor little orca, so scared and hurt. But they know better. It's for his own good. It's okay because it's for his own good.

ANYWAYS I'm digressing, back to boredom notes.

Jazz loses time a lot. There's just.. so little for him to do. And so little reason to do it. He tries to keep himself busy but sometimes he's just.. tired.

He swims because he's bored of staying still, and then he stays still because he's bored of swimming.

haha, wait, oof, ya boi probably has depression honestly.

He probably gets moments of mania too. You know, ACTUALLY clawing at the walls, throwing himself against the tank because he hates hates HATES how small and cramped it is! How it's only big enough for him to swim in small circles! HE HATES IT

The buzzing in his skin, the restlessness, the need for something, ANYTHING, to make him think, to make him FEEL. He’s going to claw at the walls, this is torture.

The reason why Jazz knows so many human languages isn't just because he was passed around a lot and was exposed to them, it's because he was actively trying to learn them. At first, it was to try and tell someone that he just wants to go home, but when it became clear it wouldn't work, he still kept learning anyways because that way he could overhear conversations, read information from maps and leftover textbooks/papers, and try to escape on his own. Can't escape from the aquarium if he just gets immediately lost once he's outside. (don't think about how he wouldn't be able to escape even if he can read and listen. That path leads to numbness and Jazz has had enough numbness, he needs to focus.)

There's also just.. nothing else for him to do. And if he wants to stave off the boredom and Empty Hollow Fog, then he has to do something.

Honestly, when Jazz and Prowl escape, Jazz is going to have one HELL of an adjustment period outside of just learning mer culture and the ocean world. Going from being bored every day to NEW EXCITING DIFFERENT CHANGES is going to be exhausting. Like, yes, it's all very new and very exciting, and Jazz is going to be a little too preoccupied with staying alive and being terrified to really feel the crash, but man oh man, when there is a lull in all of this? This mer going to crash a LOT.

He's going to have to take a lot of breaks, not just because his tail is weak and undeveloped, but also because he's never had So Much happening All The Time before. It's a lot to adjust to!

(Not that Jazz will let himself have those breaks because uh oh, he's kinda lowkey ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED that Prowl will leave him behind if he can't keep up and Jazz is tired, but he can not go back to being alone.)

Jazz has so many made up games and tricks and stories and music and and and in his head. Because, and I can't stress this enough, there is nothing else for him to do! And when there is nothing for you to do, you start making shit up because the only other alternative is to zone out and lose time, or hit something. And Jazz gets bored of zoning out too, and the last time he hit something, they restrained him and sedated him, so uh. No. No more of that.

Jazz spent a lot of time tinkering with the locks on his tank and practicing moving himself on dry land. He's gotten good at escaping, and very good at doing neat tricks, like doing pull ups to haul himself up the stairs by using their railings, or waddling over the itchy carpet by lifting his tail in the air and keeping it there, or doing a semi cartwheel where he flips himself head over tails by using his tail to help himself roll over (okay that last one is just for fun but come on, he's allowed to have fun.)

Sometimes, when he gets too good at sneaking around, sneaks around while giving himself a handicap just to give himself a challenge. Is it a good idea? Probably not. But he's so bored.

He's gotten some close calls, but he is now very good at sneaking around.

Jazz watches people, just like they watch him, and makes up stories for them. The lady with the screaming toddler is actually secretly a spy, and the child is their cover story! But the spy lady is regretting everything in her life now. She can hack into any computer ever, but she can not hack a child and tell them to behave. The man lingering by the penguins is staring at them because he's thinking about a lover who was lost at sea! The kid popping bubblegum in the corner has parents who are going through a very messy and very dramatic divorce, and they came to the aquarium to escape the fighting. The lady in the giant hat is having a secret affair!

He is so bored.

Jazz also observes, and notices people. Notices their behavior, their motives, their patterns. The caretaker with the Tuesday shift get nervous with loud sudden movements, so Jazz is careful to be small and gentle when it's his turn to feed him. Because if he is small and gentle, then the Tuesday Caretaker will give him a small smile back and sometimes, he'll spend a little extra time talking to him while feeding him, telling him about his classes or about whatever game he's playing for the week. The teenager regular, who must be one of the staff's kids to be able to come so often, loves it when he puts on a little show, playing up his cuteness, and acting playful. She stays longer when he does so, and that means that she stays long enough to meet with one of the cleaning staff members that she's friends with. THIS leads to them greeting each other, and the janitor leaving his cleaning cart unattended, and if Jazz is verrrrry careful, he can snatch one of the chemicals from the cart before the janitor notices. The night guard on Fridays is lazy and always leaves his shift a little early than he should, which means Jazz has less time to get back to his tank on those days.

Jazz notices it all.

There's little else he can do BUT observe.

Jazz probably fidgets and stims a lot too. Idle tapping of his fingers, splashing his tail into the water absentmindedly, humming notes to made up music, or snatches of songs he's memorized, making nonsense noises to himself, tearing up bits of his environment, like peeling paint or crumbling plastic rock.

He tries to stave off the Empty and the Fog, he DOES, but it doesn't always work. Some days, the Fog wins and he just.. floats. Listlessly. Bored. He's so sick of it all, and he's so tired.

He's heard about depression from the college interns and he's pretty sure that's what he has. Lack of stimulation, isolated, and bored bored BORED. Plus, there's that small deal with him being FUCKING TRAPPED AND HELPLESS TO THE WHIMS OF A PEOPLE WHO DON'T SEE HIM AS A PERSON. So you know. He's probably depressed. The Empty is probably the depression. Yippee.

He just wants to go home.

please.

#my posts #my writings #transformers #transformers stuff #apocalyptic ponyo #merformers #tf jazz #mer!jazz #orca!jazz #boredom #you ever get so bored and you want to claw at the walls claw at your skin claw at your hands clAW CLAW CLAW?#because jazz has.#anyways i've written a lot already so I'mma stop it here.#i have Thoughts and Feelings about Jazz being bored and not getting enough stimulation #SO MANY thoughts and feelings.

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 7 hours ago

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For the Both of Us

Where Y/N trains for a marathon with Harry, but an injury leaves her waiting for him at the finish line.

Word Count: 2,493

Content Warning: mentions of injury

It starts as an offhand comment, something I don’t fully think through before saying it.

“We should run a marathon.”

Harry doesn’t even blink. “Alright.”

I pause mid-bite of my sandwich, glancing up at him from across the kitchen island. “Just like that?”

He shrugs, casually tying his hair up as he leans against the counter. “Why not?”

I squint at him. “No questions? No protests? No ‘that sounds miserable, why would we do that to ourselves’?”

He grins. “I like running.”

Of course, he does.

I narrow my eyes, setting my sandwich down. “I thought this was going to be one of those things where I had to convince you, and then you’d be all dramatic about it.”

Harry smirks. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

Still, there’s no backing out now. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to.

Training in New York happens because we’re here, and it makes sense. Early mornings in Central Park, the world just waking up as we weave through runners, cyclists, and dogs too eager for their own good. The air is crisp, the pavement familiar under our feet, and for once, I don’t hate running as much as I thought I would. Maybe it’s the routine of it, the way my body adjusts to the movement, or maybe it’s just Harry, a few strides ahead, turning back every now and then with an easy grin like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“You alright back there?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” I pant, pushing forward.

He laughs, slowing just enough to match my pace. “You’re getting better.”

“I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not.” He bumps his arm against mine. “One day, you’re gonna love this.”

I glare at him, sweat dripping down my back. “Doubt it.”

But then we go to Italy, and everything shifts.

We run because we’re already there, because it feels right, because some part of me—some stubborn, determined part—wants to prove him right. The streets are quieter in the early morning, the sun just starting to stretch across the sky as we move through small villages and winding hillsides. It’s different here, softer somehow. The air is warm, carrying the scent of citrus and fresh bread from the bakeries just opening up for the day. There’s no urgency, no dodging commuters or stopping at crosswalks, just open road and the steady rhythm of our feet against the earth.

Harry doesn’t speak much when he runs, but I can tell he’s in his element, moving effortlessly like he was made for this. I watch the way his shoulders stay relaxed, the way he breathes in even counts, the way he looks completely at ease, and for the first time, I get it.

At some point, I stop thinking about how much I want to stop and start thinking about how much I want to keep going.

And when Harry turns his head, catching my eye with a knowing smile, I realize he knew this would happen all along.

One evening, long after the sun has set and the warmth of the Italian day has settled into something softer, we sit on the terrace of our rental, sipping wine and watching the lights flicker in the distance. My legs ache, but it’s a good kind of ache, the kind that reminds me of everything we’ve done today, of the miles we’ve put behind us.

Harry stretches his legs out, rolling his shoulders before turning his head toward me. “We should do Tokyo.”

I blink at him, processing. “Do Tokyo?”

“The marathon.” He tilts his glass, watching the wine swirl before looking back at me. “We’ve done all this training. Might as well put it toward something.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You said that way too casually.”

He grins. “Because I already decided.”

I arch a brow. “You already decided?”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip. “Figured if we’re gonna do a marathon, might as well make a trip out of it. Stay for a bit, sightsee. The weather will be nice.”

I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. “And when, exactly, did you decide all this?”

A lazy shrug. “Somewhere between mile six and seven today.”

I groan, letting my head fall back against my chair. “I knew that second wind of yours was dangerous.”

Harry laughs, nudging my foot under the table. “Come on, you have to admit it’s a good idea.”

I lift my head, watching him. He’s relaxed, loose-limbed and comfortable in the way he always is when he’s made up his mind. And the worst part? He’s right. It is a good idea.

I sigh, feigning reluctance. “I can’t believe you’re using my own tactics against me.”

His smile grows. “So that’s a yes?”

I shake my head, unable to stop my own grin. “That’s a yes.”

He clinks his glass against mine. “Good. Because I already started looking at flights.”

The decision is made, and just like that, Tokyo becomes the destination, the marathon the reason—but not the only one. Training continues, days blending together with long runs, ice baths, and Harry reminding me that we actually signed up for this.

The trip comes quickly, faster than I expect, and before I know it, we’re stepping off a plane into the crisp Tokyo air, the city sprawling out before us in endless color and movement. It’s different from anywhere we’ve been—bright, electric, alive in a way that feels both overwhelming and exhilarating.

We settle in easily, our days leading up to the marathon filled with late-night ramen stops, temple visits, and walks through neighborhoods that feel like they belong in a different time. Harry’s the one who insists on going to every convenience store we pass, fascinated by the rows of neatly packaged snacks and drinks. I let him, if only because it means I get to watch the way his face lights up every time he finds something new.

“Are you ever gonna eat the food you actually buy,” I tease one night, watching him place yet another snack onto our growing pile.

He grins, unapologetic. “Eventually. Maybe.”

I shake my head, shoving a bag of matcha-flavored candy at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, tossing a Pocky stick into his mouth, “you love me.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite myself.

The night before the race, we sit on the floor of our hotel room, stretching out our legs and pretending not to be nervous. Harry leans back on his hands, rolling out his ankles. “You ready?”

I exhale, pressing my palms against my thighs. “I think so.”

He watches me for a beat, then nudges my knee with his. “You’re gonna do great.”

I glance at him. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I am.” His voice is steady, certain. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Something in my chest tightens, but I push past it, knocking my foot against his. “Don’t go leaving me in the dust tomorrow.”

He smirks. “I’d never.”

It’s a lie. He absolutely would.

But for now, I let myself believe him.

The morning of the marathon comes quietly, the city still stretching awake as we make our way to the starting line. The air is crisp, the kind of cool that settles into your lungs without biting. There’s an energy around us, a nervous hum of anticipation that thrums through the thousands of runners gathered, their breath visible in the morning chill.

Harry stands beside me, bouncing on the balls of his feet, loose and ready. He looks completely at ease, like this is just another run, another morning, another challenge he already knows he’ll conquer.

“Last chance to back out,” he teases, tugging lightly on the sleeve of my jacket.

I scoff, shaking out my arms. “Not a chance.”

His grin is wide, proud. “That’s my girl.”

And then the countdown begins, the crowd buzzing, the excitement thick in the air.

Three.

I exhale, steadying my breath.

Two.

Harry shifts beside me, the warmth of him grounding me.

One.

The horn blares, and we run.

Tokyo unfolds around us, the streets lined with spectators, their cheers blending into the steady rhythm of our feet against the pavement. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at once, the city alive with movement, the energy unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Harry stays beside me, keeping pace with effortless ease, checking in with a quick glance, a subtle nod. I feel good, strong even, my body moving in sync with the course, my mind focused.

We pass temples and skyscrapers, bridges stretching over quiet rivers, the neon of Shibuya just a distant blur. The kilometers tick by, each one a small victory, each step bringing us closer to the finish.

And then—

It happens fast.

A misstep, a shift in the pavement, the sudden, sharp twist of my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg, white-hot and immediate, and before I can fully process it, I stumble forward, catching myself just before I hit the ground.

“Shit.”

Harry is there instantly, his hand on my arm, steady, solid. “What happened?”

I clench my jaw, testing my weight. It’s bad.

“I—” I try to step forward and nearly collapse. “—I think I’m done.”

Harry’s face darkens, his grip tightening. “Okay, let’s—”

“No.” I shake my head, inhaling sharply. “You have to keep going.”

His brows furrow, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you here.”

I look at him, my chest rising and falling too fast. “Harry.” My voice softens, pleading. “You have to finish. For me.”

He hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get to the medical tent, but you need to keep going.” I force a smile, swallowing against the frustration rising in my throat. “You trained too hard for this. You need to finish.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes scanning my face, searching for any reason to stay.

“Please,” I whisper.

A beat. A breath. And then he exhales, nodding once.

“Alright.”

He hesitates for just a second longer before reaching out, cupping the side of my face briefly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Don’t move too much, yeah?”

I nod, watching as he pulls away, glancing back one last time before taking off down the course.

A volunteer helps me over to the medical tent, their voice calm as they ask me basic questions—where it hurts, how it happened, if I can still move my foot. I answer automatically, my focus still on the course, my heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline and frustration.

The tent is efficient, a blur of movement as runners come in and out, quick assessments, ice packs, stretches, taped-up ankles. One of the medics kneels in front of me, carefully rotating my foot as I wince.

“Doesn’t seem broken,” they say, pressing gently along the side of my ankle. “Probably a bad sprain. You’ll need to rest it for a while.”

I nod, barely processing their words as they wrap it up and hand me an ice pack. “Can I still walk on it?”

“Carefully. But you shouldn’t put too much pressure on it.”

I exhale, shifting in my seat. My race is over, but Harry’s isn’t. I glance toward the tent’s entrance, the noise of the marathon still pulsing just beyond it.

“Do you need to call someone?” the medic asks.

I shake my head, gripping the ice pack tighter. “No.”

Because I already know where I need to be.

I thank them quickly, carefully testing my weight before hobbling out of the tent, determination burning through the dull ache in my ankle. I won’t make it to the finish line in time to see him cross, but I’ll be there when he does.

Because if I can’t run this race, I can still be waiting for him at the end.

The journey to the finish line is slow, each step sending a dull ache up my ankle, but I push forward anyway. The marathon course winds through the city, but I take a more direct route, slipping through gaps in the crowd, careful not to put too much weight on my injured foot. My heart beats faster—not from exertion, but from anticipation.

By the time I reach the finish area, the air is thick with celebration. Runners stumble past the line, gasping for breath, clinging to each other in exhausted relief. The crowd swells with applause, cheers rising and falling like waves. I scan the finishers, my gaze moving quickly, searching.

And then I see him.

Harry moves through the last stretch, his strides steady despite the exhaustion weighing on his frame. His curls cling damply to his forehead, his arms pump with one final push, and when he crosses the finish line, his head drops forward, chest heaving as he slows to a stop.

A volunteer approaches, draping a medal over his neck, but he barely reacts. His hands find his hips, his head lifting as he drags in a deep breath—then, as if pulled by something unseen, his gaze shifts, scanning the crowd.

Looking for me.

I don’t move, don’t call his name. I just wait.

His eyes flick from face to face until they land on mine, and the moment they do, his entire body exhales. He doesn’t hesitate.

He moves toward me with purpose, stepping around other runners, dodging spectators without so much as a glance. When he reaches me, his hands find my face before I can say a word, his palms warm and firm, thumbs brushing just beneath my cheekbones. His breathing is still uneven, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to my wrapped ankle, his brows knitting together. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

I huff a soft laugh. “I had to be here.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” I admit, and it’s quiet, because I know how much he means it.

He lingers, his fingers curling slightly at my jaw like he’s anchoring himself to me. His touch is careful, like he’s making sure I’m real, like he’s still coming down from the high of the race and the low of worry.

Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the noise of the world muffled around us. Then, finally, his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something softer.

“So…” he murmurs, voice teasing but tired. “Do I get to pick our next stupid challenge?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that slips through. “Not a chance.”

His chest shakes with a quiet laugh, and though his hands drop from my face, his fingers brush against mine before he steps back.

And even though I didn’t cross the finish line, I don’t feel like I lost.

Because I was here.

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systlin · 2 days ago

Note

Picking a Gor book at random: Marauders of Gor!

OH THIS IS THE SHITTY FAKE VIKING KNOCK OFF BOOK

SO. We open with Cow of House Cow, formerly known as Tarl Cabot. He got poisoned at the end of the last book and this paralyzed him. Should have upped the dose and killed him

(Bosk. He took the name Bosk because in book five he got taken slave by a lady who mean dommed him once and it fundamentally rewired his brain chemistry. He spends the rest of the books...all TWENTY SEVEN MORE OF THEM...going by the name Kind Mistress gave her pretty slave.)

ANYWAY. There's some dumb bullshit about a plot by the Kurii to conquer Gor. The Kurii are giant werewolf aliens who eat people, and I think Tarl bottomed for one once but that's a different book. They're the enemy of the Priest Kings.

Tarl then fixes the depression he's sunk into because he is Utterly Useless And Pathetic since his legs don't work. This somehow also fixes his legs? Who the fuck knows. He decides to go investigate. This whole baffling intro takes seventy pages.

Anyway.

This takes him to the north, where we find him in a Not!Catholic church. As in, it is exactly like a catholic church except it's to the PK's and not God. The head priest is the most overblown caricature of a greedy evil priest ever set to paper. Calling him one dimensional would be adding a dimension.

Naturally, the Shitty Terrible Vikings attack and loot the place.

Now, they don't attack at FIRST. Norm, thinking himself terribly clever, rips off a move from a saga written by actual good writers and steals the 'smuggle weapons into a church in a coffin with a viking leader who is totally dead you guys, we pinky promise' scheme. Our co hero with Tarl for the book, Ivar Forkbeard, is naturally not dead.

Ivar and his crew promptly loot the place, and also take slave all the pretty women they can find. Tarl, of course, impresses Ivar with his immense fighting ability (dodges a thrown spear) and Ivar decides to take him along with his crew, because Tarl has the thickest plot armor ever seen. They burn the church down and fuck off with their loot. We find out here that the Shit Vikings still follow their gods. Odin and Thor are the only two mentioned. They use a salute that would be very familiar to anyone who has watched WW2 documentaries or, more recently, Elon Musk.

On the longship, we learn a few things. One, that John Norman doesn't know shit about longships, because he gives them rigged sails. Two, that the shitty vikings eat snails raw out of the bilges, which seems like it would give you ten different diseases. Three, that they break slaves by tying them to the oars and dunking them into the north sea repeatedly for several hours, in a move that would totally not kill someone.

At Ivar's holdings, we see more slaves, and the new slaves are branded. Norm spends an immense amount of time and loving detail on this. Tarl is still having a great time. He happily feasts and drinks and rapes...his words, not mine...slaves left and right.

At one point, to discipline a woman, Ivar has her tied naked to a block of ice. For hours. This somehow doesn't kill her, and yet we are told women are weak.

They capture the daughter of a Jarl and enslave her, because she told Ivar to fuck off once and Norm is convinced that this means a woman is burning with a secret passion to literally lick a man's feet. Seriously. There's so much foot licking. In every book. It's in every book. Naturally she falls in love with Ivar and becomes his happy slave. This takes hundreds of pages and it's all horrible. All the poor women get names like Honey Cake, Pudding, ect.

Tarl and his new bestie and their slaves go to what is clearly an Althing, except worse. Ivar is an outlaw, see, and he wants to shove his dick in people's faces that he raised enough money to pay his fine but isn't gonna pay it anyway, because Real Men Don't Do Shit Like Participate Constructively In Society. Norm is INTENSELY culturally WASP, even though he claims to be an atheist. The whole rugged individualism he admires more than anything oozes like slime off most of these books. No, Ivar is clearly supposed to be someone we should aspire to be like, As Men, and Tarl has a huge crush on him I'm pretty sure. And he's a total piece of rat shit.

Ivar and Tarl win a bunch of contests because of course they do, and we see Free Women being unpleasant as Norm writes all free women. Namely, not taking any shit and talking back to men, which Norm calls 'haughty arrogance'. Ivar shows he has the cash to pay his fine, but refuses to. This amuses everyone enough though that they lift his sentence rather than just chucking him off a cliff for some reason.

The head of the Kurii on Gor comes to treat with the jarls. They all decide clearly this is a trick, because of course it is it's not subtle. The Kurii say that they have an army and will take Shitty Viking Land and also the south of Gor. The Shitty Vikings are like fuckit let's fight.

They do. It's somehow boring, in a way that vikings fighting space werewolves should actually find impossible to be. The vikings win by stampeding a herd of cattle over the space werewolves and also maybe some 800 year old legendary figure shows up?

Tarl, having reassured himself that he is a True Man, heads back to Port Kar.

The end.

#I can't stress enough a full two thirds of this book is the slave stuff #Gorean hate #Gor

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malk1ns · 1 day ago

Text

march 1 vs bruins, 3-2 loss

lotta angry penguins out on the ice today in that one, huh? wowie.

this postgame puts this project over 100k. dang. thanks for coming along with me!

Zhenya narrows his eyes across the weight room where Sid is grunting through a set of bench presses.

There was no skate before today’s game, but the gym session is still mandatory even if most of the guys are phoning it in a little, half-heartedly racking weights and getting in a few reps before they pause to chat.

Not Sid. He’s pouring sweat, mechanically running through his sets like they don’t have a game in just a few hours, adding more weight than Zhenya remembers as his usual but still lifting it like it’s nothing, biceps straining and forearms veiny.

He’s hiding something.

Sid came back from Four Nations doing his best to pretend that his left arm wasn’t practically paralyzed, and he’s been spending pregames and most intermissions holed up with the trainers, getting wrapped and re-wrapped and injected with all sorts of shit to numb the pain and get him through games. He won’t hear a word of sitting any more out, but Zhenya’s seen the toll it’s taking on him.

Not today. Today, he’s going through his exercises like his elbow never was hurt in the first place. Not a wince, not a poorly-hidden grimace, nothing.

Whatever they gave Sid this morning, Zhenya wants it. His knee is better, but it aches when he skates for too long, and it’s making ominous creaking noises every morning when he gets out of bed.

Sid’s been cagey all morning, but Zhenya’s going to track him down and force it out of him. All hockey teams are secretive about their less-than-legit methods of keeping their players on ice no matter how injured they are, but Zhenya’s not used to being shut out of a new miracle cure. Is he not as deserving as Sidney Crosby of pain relief and enhanced performance?

The doctors and trainers are a dead end, they’re used to Zhenya by now and won’t give him anything. The weak link, as always, is Sid himself.

Zhenya times his approach perfectly; Sid’s in the middle of carefully lowering the bar back onto the rack when Zhenya plants himself between Sid and the rest of the room. If Sid tried to slither away now, it would be noticeable enough to cause a stir.

“Hi, Sid,” Zhenya says sweetly, baring his teeth in a smile. “Look good. Elbow better?”

Sid sits up and rolls his shoulders back, eyeing Zhenya warily. There’s a droplet of sweat making its way down from his hairline. Zhenya’s eyes trace it all the way to Sid’s cheekbone before he gets a response.

“Lots better, thanks,” Sid finally says, shaking out his left arm a little. It’s for show; Zhenya’s not an idiot, and it rankles that after all this time Sid thinks he’ll be fooled by something like that. “I figured I should get a pump in before we play, you know, get the blood flowing.” He swings his legs over so he’s sitting sideways on the bench. “That all? Because I was gonna find Ned, give him a little pep talk.”

“What they give you?” Zhenya says, furious suddenly—with the evasion, with the way Sid won’t meet his eyes. “Shot, maybe, or pill? Why you get and nobody else?”

He’s raised his voice enough that guys are starting to look at them, and Sid’s face goes hard and unpleasant before he gets to his feet, grabs Zhenya by the shirt, and hauls him out of the weight room.

Zhenya starts to protest, but Sid hisses not here at him, and the promise of an answer makes Zhenya pliant as Sid drags them down the hallway and into one of the video rooms the team never uses anymore.

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” Sid complains, slamming the door shut and whirling on Zhenya, crossing his arms over his chest. Zhenya frowns at him—he could have sworn Sid’s shoulders weren’t this big on Thursday. Is there some new fast-acting steroid he’s testing out?

He’s so busy thinking through the implications of a shot that can give you that much more visible, functional muscle in under four hours that he must have misheard what Sid said. “Sorry, huh?”

Sid narrows his eyes. “I said, I’m in a time loop,” he snaps, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ve been in here for…six weeks now, when I wake up tomorrow. Today, again. Whatever. It’s been today 41 times as of this morning.”

“Shit,” Zhenya says blankly, sitting down in one of the chairs and abruptly remembering why they don’t use this room anymore when a spring jabs him unceremoniously in the ass. “Sid, Jesus, how this happen?”

“I don’t know!” Sid says, throwing his hands in the air. “Obviously, like, if I knew why I was here I’d just…take care of it, end this damn thing. Do you really think I’m doing this by choice?” His voice cracks.

“Sorry,” Zhenya mutters, guilt lurching through his gut. All he could see this morning was Sid’s perfectly-functioning elbow seemingly mocking Zhenya’s achy knee, but now that he’s looking closely Sid looks frayed around the edges, exhausted and tense. He’s got black circles under his eyes, and he can’t stand still.

Sid’s usually so calm on game days, a soothing presence in the arena that settles everyone down no matter how nervy they are. Seeing him like this is unsettling. Zhenya wants to bundle him into his car and drive them to the safety of his house set back in the woods until they figure this out.

Time loops are vanishingly rare, at least the ones publicly talked about are. The people who stumble out of them are usually fundamentally altered somehow—traumatized even, in some cases. It’s not as simple as waking up on the same day over and over, as if that in and of itself isn’t a total mindfuck—if you’re in a time loop, time doesn’t stop for you. Whatever happens to you on a given day stays with you when you wake up the next morning, weeks and months and in some gruesome cases decades piling onto your body and mind until you figure out how to break free.

Sid’s only been in for six weeks. Not long enough for significant changes, not really, but certainly long enough for him to have visibly bulked up if was taking his stress out on the weight machines. Zhenya can see razor burn on his face from where he must have been shaving every day to try and maintain his stubble.

“Okay,” Zhenya says, getting to his feet. “You tell to me before? You tell to anyone?”

“No,” Sid says, shoulders slumping a little. He looks like he’d been expecting a fight, or maybe like he’d have to spend more time arguing his case—as if Zhenya can’t tell when Sid’s trying to lie to him by now. “I thought about it, but…I think I know what I’m supposed to do, and it’s not anything anyone can help me with. I just…haven’t figured out how.”

Zhenya presses his lips together. “Stupid. Maybe it’s big pain for tell every day new again, but you should be tell me first thing, like, call me before we leave house. Shouldn’t be doing alone, even if you’re think I can’t help.” Sid’s probably wrong about that, Zhenya adds to himself. Sid always thinks he has to do everything alone, that he has to shoulder the burden of an entire team—an entire league—all by himself.

“Maybe,” Sid mutters, slumping back against the wall. He looks so exhausted. Zhenya wonders how sleeping words in a loop—does Sid wake up feeling refreshed for a few seconds before it all comes crashing down, or does the reset happen when he’s only gotten a few hours? “Well, you know now. We’ll see how happy you are when I wake you up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to read you in.”

“Not have to, because we fix today,” Zhenya says, injecting his voice with as much confidence as he can. “What you think you need to do?”

Sid sighs heavily. “I have to figure out how to get us a win today,” he says, voice dire. “I’ve tried everything, G, I really have. I’ve even called and said I was sick and needed to be scratched just to shake stuff up and still no. I called my mom, god, she thought I was dying or something. Basically anything that can happen in a hockey game, I’ve watched it happen.” His eyes go dark and distant for a minute, and Zhenya doesn’t want to know what he’s reliving, what he’s seen. Hockey is a lot more dangerous than any of them like to think too long about.

Shaking his head, Sid meets Zhenya’s eyes. “Basically anything that can happen I’ve seen,” he repeats, “and not a single time have I been able to pull a win off in this one. There was one where I thought maybe…it was a ten-round shootout, but even then we fell short.” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admits. “I’m so tired. My entire body aches, so badly. The gym helps, you know how a good workout makes you kind of forget how you’re feeling, but…I can’t do this for much longer.”

That’s the other danger of a time loop, the one nobody likes to talk about too loudly.

Zhenya isn't going to let that happen.

“Well, you enjoy last time today,” he says, clapping Sid’s shoulder. “We get win, you go to bed tonight, still have to play tomorrow but this time it’s Leafs, okay, still bad, but different. Yes?”

“Sure,” Sid mutters, but Zhenya can tell that he’s feeling better. It really was stupid of him to not say anything; six weeks is too long to be totally alone.

Sid leaves to hunt down Ned for whatever ghoulish pep talk he has in mind, and Zhenya makes his way to the lounge, head spinning.

He doesn’t know a single person who’s looped. There was an experimental vaccine back when Zhenya was a child, something that claimed to block a person’s ability to fall into one—when he’d disclosed it to the Penguins’ medical staff for the first time they had exchanged horrified looks, but nobody in Zhenya’s entire city that got the shot has looped.

Zhenya wants to help Sid. Is determined to, really. But now that he’s alone and thinking about it, he doesn’t know what to do. All he can do is control his own play, make sure he’s giving it his all out there and give the team the best chance to win.

That will have to be enough. He won’t let them fail Sid again.

—

They come agonizingly close.

Close isn’t good enough, though, and Zhenya shatters his stick in the hallway back to the locker room after the final buzzer sounds.

“Easy, big guy,” Rusty says, skirting his stall with an odd look. “It’s one game, eh, save it for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Zhenya mutters, plucking at his skates and swearing as his trembling fingers fumble at the sodden, ice-cold laces.

From across the room, Sid barks out a bitter laugh, one he cuts off quickly. Zhenya keeps his head ducked down.

Four points last game and not a thing to show when Sid actually needed him. He doesn’t think he can meet Sid’s eyes.

He settles some in the shower, thinking through what’s next. Maybe Sid was wrong. It’s still so early in the day, after all, and who knows what Sid’s been doing post-game this whole time—maybe there’s something else he’s missing because he got fixated on winning this game. He’ll just go to Sid’s after the game and they’ll keep trying, and if they can’t get it tonight, he’ll make Sid promise to call him first thing tomorrow and explain it right away.

The logistics make his head spin. He doesn’t fully understand how it’s possible that Sid could pick up the phone to call him tomorrow—today again—and Zhenya won’t remember a thing, but Sid will. It should be impossible.

All the more reason to work as hard as possible to fix it tonight.

Sid dawdles in the room like usual, but Zhenya’s lurking at the door must get his attention, because finally he packs away his stuff and gets to his feet, patting Ricky on the shoulder as he makes his way to Zhenya’s side.

“We tried, eh?” he says as they walk to the garage. Zhenya doesn’t like how defeated he sounds. “That was a new score at least—before this one it’s been the same for a few days. Maybe it means things are moving in the right direction.” He doesn’t sound like he believes a word he’s saying.

“I come home with you,” Zhenya says, and Sid snaps his head to look at him, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. “Well, first I stop at my house, get freezer pelmeni. You need real food, not shit from meal service. We eat, you feel better, we think about maybe it’s something that’s not game, we try stuff.”

“You’ll let me have some of the freezer pelmeni?” Sid asks, and he sounds so pathetically grateful that Zhenya’s heart breaks a little.

“You get all freezer pelmeni,” he promises recklessly—there are several pounds stuffed in his kitchen freezer, and more down in the basement ice box, but Zhenya will give it all up if it makes Sid smile in a real way. “Want good vodka too? I bring.”

Sid’s eyes crinkle a little. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Either way, I’m playing a game tomorrow, so…better not.”

“Right,” Zhenya mutters, calculating how much sour cream he’ll need to bring. Sid only has Greek yogurt at his house, and that won’t work. “Okay, I go get food, then come over. You change code yet?” Sid changes his gate code every Saturday out of what Zhenya used to call paranoia but after the break-in earlier this fall is starting to think is maybe just good sense.

Sid hesitates. “I didn’t for a while, I wasn’t sure if it…but it felt weird not to, so yeah, I actually just changed it yesterday. Um, it’s 073186.”

It takes Zhenya a second, but— “My birthday!” he says, charmed. “Sid, so sweet. I remember for sure, maybe you keep for a while.”

“Maybe I will,” Sid says, looking at Zhenya for a shade too long before shaking his head. “See you in a bit.”

Zhenya watches the way Sid clambers into his car, the slowness in his movements. He really is reaching the end of what he’s physically capable of. They have to figure this out tonight.

He stuffs Sid full of his mama’s cooking first. Sid protests the full-fat sour cream, but when Zhenya ignores him in favor of dolloping several spoonfuls onto his plate he stops arguing. Zhenya watches until Sid’s had his entire first serving and is helping himself to more before he relaxes. He might not have been able to win Sid this game, but he can at least feed him properly.

After dinner, they talk. Zhenya prods at Sid about unreturned phone calls, events he might have forgotten to attend, anything that could be hanging over his head that might be the key to all of this.

Sid gets prickly at the implication he’s forgotten anything, of course, but Zhenya keeps pushing until Sid relents and walks them both through everything he did the day before he started looping. Try as he might, Zhenya can’t find a single thing that Sid forgot, a single transgression that would be egregious enough to tip him into this nightmare.

Once they run out of things to say, they fall silent, sprawled out on Sid’s big couch. Zhenya thinks about Sid spending the last six weeks alone in here, watching the clock tick by and waiting for the day to end, falling asleep hoping that he’d figured it out only to wake up the next day and have to do it all over again, and his throat gets thick and his eyes prickle with tears.

“Oh, G,” Sid says, and Zhenya scrubs furiously at his face. This isn’t about him, he shouldn’t be making Sid give him comfort. “No, c’mon, it’s not that bad, I mean…” The sofa cushion Zhenya’s occupying dips as Sid scoots closer until they’re pressed together. “It sucks, yeah, but now I’ve got you, right? I can…like you said, I can call you and tell you, and I’ll have you all day, and maybe we really will figure it out. Just having someone else know��you were right. It was dumb of me to not talk to you right away.”

Overcome with emotion, Zhenay wraps his arms around Sid’s shoulders and hauls him close, ignoring Sid’s protests. He can’t stand it—Sid doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve living through this shit, not after everything he’s already sacrificed his whole life

“Not fair,” he whispers into Sid’s hair. “Sid, so sorry, I want to fix so bad for you. It’s not fair.”

Sid squirms in his arms a little, pulling back so he can look at Zhenya. “No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It hasn’t been all bad, though. I mean, the loss sucked. But otherwise today’s been pretty great. And it’ll be okay if I do all this again tomorrow with you.” He hesitates for a minute, eyes flickering over Zhenya’s face. “I guess there’s one thing I haven’t been honest about,” he admits, and Zhenya’s heart leaps. “It won’t…I mean, it’s been years. If the loop was from that, it should have happened way before now. But, well.” He leans forward and brushes a kiss over Zhenya’s mouth, dry and soft and over before Zhenya can even properly react. “You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he says quietly, cupping Zhenya’s chin, “and I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. But it’s not like I’d ever tell you this for real, and maybe that makes me a coward, but I may as well tell you once even if it doesn’t stick, eh?”

Zhenya touches his lips. Sid’s mouth on his had been so brief, but he feels like his whole face is buzzing. He doesn’t know what to say.

Sid smiles sadly at him. “It’s okay,” he says, correctly interpreting Zhenya’s stunned silence. “I’m not expecting anything. Don’t worry about it, eh, you’ll wake up tomorrow and it won’t have ever happened for you. I guess maybe I thought…” He shakes his head and gets to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says, glancing at the clock. “I know it’s early, but I’m so tired. Game day tomorrow, after all.” He waits for a minute longer, but when Zhenya still doesn’t speak, he purses his lips. “You can take a guest room if you want. You know where everything is.”

Zhenya listens to Sid’s heavy footsteps. It’s not until Sid’s bedroom door shuts that he feels like he can move again.

There are things that you don’t think about when you’re a pro athlete, feelings you’re not allowed to have. It’s part of the sacrifice to make it this far—damage to your body, and denial of your self. Zhenya did the math on that years ago, weighed his options and made his choices with clear eyes.

He’s never been good at tucking away his emotions long-term though, not like Sid is. Zhenya wears his heart on his sleeve, always has. It makes him a better hockey player, but it also leaves him more susceptible to heartbreak and far too aware of feelings he’d be better off shoving down and ignoring.

Zhenya always thought Sid was bad at lying, or at least bad at lying to him. It turns out that Sid’s been holding in a secret for…fuck, he’d said years, years he’s kept this from Zhenya, and Zhenya had no idea.

He’s not sure he would have been brave enough to do anything if he’d found out any earlier. Now, though?

He drives home in a daze. Staying at Sid’s house doesn’t feel right, not like this. He had a momentary fit of insanity where he considered crawling into Sid’s bed, wrapping his arms around him and letting Sid’s loop suck him in too, but he’s pretty sure that’s not possible, and if it was it wouldn’t help anything anyway.

I have to remember, he chants to himself as he gets ready for bed. I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to remember.

He falls asleep mumbling to himself.

—

When his alarm goes off the next morning, it takes Zhenya a minute to blink sleep out of his eyes.

His eyes fly open. He remembers.

The display on his phone reads MARCH 2. Heart in his throat, Zhenya pulls up Sid’s contact and hits call.

Sid’s phone barely rings once before he answers. “G?” he says, voice raspy like he spent the night crying. “Is it really tomorrow?”

“It’s tomorrow,” Zhenya whispers down the line, clutching the phone to his ear. “Sid, it’s tomorrow. And I remember.”

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #24-25 series

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jamiehe4rtsmen · 15 hours ago

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¹ㆍ⁵ would it be easier if there was a right way?

୨ৎ

the internet did funny things sometimes. sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. and people were pretty divided on this— they had managed to set up the "girl jschlatt made cry" (your new official name among all corners of the internet; much to your horror, it had been clipped over and over.)

but this time, the internet made an... interesting decision. chat had insisted so much to the point they finally wore him down to agree to, albeit awkwardly, asking you on a date.

a minecraft date that is! but you responded with a confused:

↳ "minecraft?? what's that??"

schlatt attempted to explain it to you ("y'know, with the blocks and stuff. smplive? survival... multiplayer— no? alright, uhm...") but it was to no avail. so the two of you decided on overcooked instead! how did schlatt come to this decision? he (in a cool, charming way, not a creepy way) stalked your insta and found out you liked to cook. and what better way to someones heart than food? he knew it worked for him!

as your character ran around in circles, making you giggle happily like a little kid, he just gaped at your facecam, looking like a dumbass. mustering up the suavest voice he could, he interjected; "so uh... woman. how're things?"

"they're good." you grin, adding politely, "man."

he cleared his throat, looking around anxiously, tipping his yankees hat down over his eyes. "y'know i studied for this... date, whatever this is. the first time i've studied since a stats exam in college."

your eyes go comically wide, and schlatt resists the urge to slam his head into his desk until it cracks open. he assumes that would scare you off, so he stops himself. "studied? jeez, i didn't. how'd you study? teach me, for next time."

"next time?" schlatt echoed, this time it was his turn to have wide eyes. but whatever, he was gonna ignore that part. "er... i watched the notebook."

schlatt almost started doing a happy dance the minute he heard your adorable squeal of "i LOVE that movie!" he owed tucker so much money. he had begged tucker— since he was the first married guy he could think of— for help, and he imparted the wisdom that chicks digged romance movies. especially the notebook. that was the holy grail.

"what do you want?" schlatt poses, teasing with the same tone that ryan gosling did during the movie.

you burst into a fit of flustered giggles, finishing the quote in seconds. "mister gosling has some competition," you "ooh" and "ahh" as a joke, winking to the camera.

schlatt's flirting had distracted both of you, and now the kitchen was on fucking fire and your customers were angry at both of you. instead of stressing you out and making you cry like schlatt assumed, you just started laughing again.

"you took that pretty well. thought you'd like, burst into tears or somethin'."

"i'm not that much of a crybaby, schlatt." you scoff, feigning that you were angry, huffing and crossing your arms.

"i beg to differ. i have video evidence, actually," he teases, a smirk pulling at his lips.

you roll your eyes. "i hate you."

"yeah, love you too."

divider credits: @bibbleisking

long awaited pt. 2 for money, money money !! :)

#fanfic #fluffy fanfic #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x y/n #celeb crush #jschlatt fluff #schlatt #schlatt x you

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just-dreaming-marvel · 17 hours ago

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Birthdays ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,950ish

Summary: You know that Logan struggles with dates, so you take on the birthdays. Even if that means ignoring yours.

Warning(s): birthdays, negative self talk

Notes: Please share your thoughts! This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

It didn’t shock you to find out that Logan couldn’t remember his birthday. You didn’t make a big deal of it when the two of you were at the mansion. But now that you two were alone at the cabin, you decided that his birthday was worth celebrating. Though, you couldn’t let Logan know that just yet.

One morning, you and Logan were in the kitchen. He was eating breakfast while you were finishing up packing his lunch.

“Logan?” You questioned.

“Mhm?” He hummed, looking at you as he chewed his food.

“What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“Around 4. I’m gonna try to be home earlier though, to help you with dinner.”

Your heart swelled at Logan’s thoughtfulness. “No rush.”

Logan’s brow quirked up. You were usually more excited to him home and helping you. He studied you as zipped up his lunchbox. It didn’t seem like anything was wrong. In fact, you seemed happy, lighter.

“Is something up, sweetheart?” Logan questioned.

“What?” You replied, confused. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you told be ‘no rush’ in coming home. Do you not want me to come home early?”

“You know I always want you home, Logan.”

“Then maybe I call in sick.”

“Too bad I just packed you a lunch.” You walked over and set it down next to him at the table. You leaned down and kissed his head before taking his plate and mug. “Don’t worry about me, Logan, I’m fine. I promise.”

“You’ve said that before.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m just—“

“No!” You lunged over and knocked the phone from his grip. He looked at you with surprise. “Go to work, please?”

Logan took you by the hips and pulled you into his lap. “What is goin’ on, sweetheart?”

You shook your head. “Just go to work and you’ll see when you come home, okay? I promise it’s nothing bad.” You leaned forward and kissed him softly. “Just let me do something nice for you.”

Logan hummed before stealing another kiss. “Okay. You know that I don’t like surprises, right?”

“But you like my surprises, right?”

“Sweetheart, one of your surprises was that you turn to ash when you die.”

“I came back.”

“Logan chuckled. “Damn right you did.” He gave you another kiss. “Okay. I’ll go to work. But don’t think that I won’t be checking on you frequently today.”

You smiled at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~~~

Logan continued to check on you throughout the day as promised. You answered him quickly and didn’t let it distract you from your work. You cleaned the house thoroughly before decorating it. You had bought a variety of fake candles and placed them all around the house, turning them on so they flickered. You hung up two happy birthday signs: one in the living room and one above your bed. You readied the snacks, desserts, and drinks you had hidden for his birthday; displaying them neatly on the table. You knew that Logan didn’t care for decorations or anything looking fancy, but it still felt good to do something like this for Logan.

Once Logan told you he was on his way home, you changed into the new lingerie that you had bought for tonight and covered it up with one of Logan’s flannels. You turned off all the nights, allowing the candles to be the only source of light in the house. You bit your lip nervously as you listened for the truck to pull up. You knew that you went a bit over the top, but you were hoping that Logan could still enjoy it. Flames flickered at your fingertips as you heard the truck pull up and Logan exit it.

“Y/N? Honey?” Logan called as he entered the house, curious as to why the lights weren’t on. He took off his boots and hung up his jacket before entering the house further. Logan froze at the entrance to the living room, seeing the sign, candles everywhere, and you standing there in one of his flannels. “Sweetheart? What—? How did you—“

“Happy birthday, James,” you told him with a smile. “I figured that you didn’t remember when it was, so I thought that I would remind you.”

“This is all… for me?”

You giggled. “Well, obviously. Do you… do you like it?”

Logan didn’t answer, instead he rushed towards you and pulled you in for a kiss. You melted into him as he tried to pour all the words he couldn’t say into the kiss. When he broke the kiss, Logan kept you close and rested his forehead against yours.

“This is… the kindness thing anyone has ever done for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to say… or how to thank you.”

“No, need.” You gave his lips a peck. “I love you, James. Happy birthday.”

Logan smirked as his eyes roamed down your form. He hummed in approval. “Is that my flannel, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Do you like it?”

“I always like seeing you in my clothes.”

“Well, I’m sure that you’ll enjoy what’s under it even more.”

Logan growled as his grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah, honey? And what do you have under there?”

“Why don’t you open your present and find out?”

Logan didn’t waste a second in ripping the flannel off of you and letting it be tossed to the floor. You laughed as he took you in.

“Is this set new?” Logan breathed out, taking in how amazing you looked. “Just for my birthday?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “You like it?”

He picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You squealed as you laughed. “Let me show you jus how much I like it.”

~~~

Logan was never good with dates. That’s why it didn’t phase him they he didn’t know your birthday until the two of you had been back at the cabin for two years. One of his coworkers had been talking about what he was doing over the weekend for his wife’s birthday and it hit him that he didn’t know when your birthday was. He was angry with himself on his way home as well as confused as to why you hadn’t said anything.

During dinner, you could tell that something was weighing on Logan.

“Is everything alright, Logan?” You finally asked.

“Yeah, just fine,” he mumbled, focusing on moving his food around the plate.

You nodded, unconvinced.

~~~

Dinner passed awkwardly and before you knew it, the two of you were getting ready for bed. Logan was still tense and clearly in his head. You laid down and turned to face him as he continued to get ready for the night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You asked again. “It seems like something’s on your mind.”

Logan sighed as he sat on the bed. “I have a question to ask and it’s going to seem stupid.”

You sat up and moved over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not as stupid as you think it is.”

“Some guy was talking at work today about how he was celebrating his wife’s birthday over the weekend… And I realized… Fuck, I’m a horrible partner.”

“Logan?”

“I realized that I don’t even remember when your birthday is.”

You tensed. You hadn’t ever wanted to make it a big deal that he didn’t know when your birthday was. You knew that he would feel incredibly guilty about it. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you sighed.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“No, it’s not,” he shrugged you off and stood up. Logan turned to face you and you could see that his shoulders were slumped. His hand ran through his hair. “I should know your birthday! We’ve been together for years now and years before everything happened. I should know your damn birthday!”

“Logan, it’s okay that you don’t.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.” You could tell that he was serious about this and very much angry at himself. He huffed. “I’m going to go sleep on the couch.”

“No!” You reached out for his wrist but he pulled away. “Logan—“

“I just need a night.”

Then Logan left the room, shutting the door behind him. You sighed, tears pricking your eyes. You knew that it would only make things worse now if you chased after him, so you didn’t. But you also knew that it was hard to sleep without him. You slipped on one of his t-shirts and curled up on his side of the bed, trying to find comfort in the lingering smell on his pillow. A few tears slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to fall asleep without Logan.

~~~

Logan didn’t get much sleep. He hated that he didn’t remember the important things, like your birthday, and that he walked out of the room tonight. He couldn’t sleep without you and he knew that you struggled to do the same. By the time dawn was breaking, Logan couldn’t handle being away from you anymore. He slipped into the bedroom, his heart breaking a little to see you curled up with his pillow and one of his shirts on. Logan crawled over to you and pulled you into him.

“Logan?” You mumbled, barely waking.

He kissed your cheek. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart… I’m right here… I’m sorry for not sleeping in the bed.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

You sighed, pushing yourself further into him. “It’s not all on you… I could’ve told you when my birthday was. I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Anything involving you is a big deal to me, honey.”

You smiled. “So, you won’t freak out when I say my birthday was last week.” Logan tightened his grip on you. “I’m sorry. I should have told you but I was fine just having a regular day with you.”

“You shoulda told me,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry.” You turned your head to try to look at him. “Forgive me?”

He pecked your lips. “Always.”

~~~

The day went on like normal, with you and Logan having breakfast and doing chores around the cabin. When the afternoon came around, you stayed home while Logan went into town for a few errands. Logan came back a few hours later with your need groceries, a bouquet of flowers and a small wrapped gift.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he set the groceries on the counter and handed you the flowers.

“They’re beautiful, Logan,” you commented. “What are they for?”

“Happy late birthday.”

“Logan, you didn’t have—“

“I did because I love you and I’m never going to let another one of your birthdays pass without me doin’ something for you. Here.” He handed you the small wrapped gift. “It’s nothing much but…”

You set down the flowers and carefully unwrapped the gift. You bit your lip at the photo inside. It was a rare photo of you and Logan together at the mansion, that you had never seen before. The two of you were standing on the balcony, arms wrapped around each other, with Logan pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t know who caught this moment on camera, but you would be forever grateful for it.

Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Do you like it?”

“Logan,” you breathed out, growing emotional, “I love it.” You set the gift down and wrapped your arms around his neck. “This is the best birthday present I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

“I wish I could do more. Next year—“

You shook your head. “I don’t need anything more. I just need you.”

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shardminds · 2 days ago

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star of the show

pairing: (one sided) elain/mor raiting: e (for elain, girl...) wc: 1k & some change primary tags: au - modern setting, masturbation, dirty talk, audio erotica, squirting, mor refering to her strap as a cock :)

this one gets right into it... sorry in advance. proceed with caution under the cut.

read on ao3

“God, you take my cock so well. I know that tight little pussy is just begging for it all day. You wish I could cum inside you, is that right? Sweetheart, you’re so good for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl. Tell me, does it feel good to know that only I get to see you like this? Are you going to come again? Sweet little thing, aren’t you? Fuck, if the world could see just how much of a filthy slut you are—“

Elain bites her fist as she shudders towards her third climax, two fingers working hard at her clit to drag out the waves as her pussy, regretfully, clenches around nothing. A fresh trickle of wet slips down past her ass, rapidly cooling against her hot flesh in the frigid air, and fuck she wishes she was being filled there too. Wishes she was taking somebody’s strap like it’s her job to be a cum drunk little slut, instead of riding her fingers listening to the velvet smooth instruction of a stranger. Of memento-mor-i and the rhythmic wet slap meant to mimic the sound of her pussy, like the voice in her headphones has her pinned down, fucking her into submission.

“That’s right,” Praise casting a new chill through her, the tension in her gut curls tighter still. She’s close again, reaching to clutch her breast, grasping as if it might feel like someone else if she makes it hurt enough. “Are you gonna taste yourself for me?”

Usually, she would do as she’s told, but now? Elain doesn’t want to—No, she can’t stop the rhythmic circling of her fingers against her clit, the slick slide audible even through her headphones. Or maybe in time with the audio. Or maybe it's all a dream and she'll open her eyes and see stars instead of her bedroom ceiling. See the the silver gossamer canopy of the four poster bed she's been thinking of for months because it features in the only picture memento-mor-i has ever posted. She’s so fucking close. Her hips start rocking in earnest, against the absence of anything inside her, as if they can do something about it just by trying hard enough. This desperation keeps her focused, keeps her hungry.

“Baby girl, you’re so fucking good to me. I love watching you come. That’s right, baby. That’s right. You can come. I want you to soak me with it, get my cock all wet for you. Show me who owns it. Come on, don't be shy. Show the world that it’s yours.”

The dam that breaks in her isn’t just mental—oh, far from it—it’s almost painfully physical as she strums her clit, ready for the pleasure swirling thick in her core, right beneath her rough but practiced movements. Leaving her nipple free and throbbing, she dives two fingers inside herself and fucks then in time with the audio, each greedy pulse of her cunt dragging her deeper or forcing her out. It’s a weird angle, legs splayed, both hands working away as she whines and squirms but it’s so close to perfect. God, she wishes she’d stuffed her mouth to keep from screaming, with her own panties or a pillow or somebody’s pussy, but it’s too late now. The phantom claws of it scale her throat as she tenses up.

“Come on, baby. Don’t you want to come?”

Not for the first time while listening to memento-mor-i's audios, Elain crests the final peak of her orgasm—

And squirts—fuck—as she falls straight over it.

Thank fuck she had the foresight to lay down a towel.

In the post-orgasm haze, it’s laughable to think that memento-mor-i, who’s been putting out consistent audios for almost three years, is the reason Elain’s not been able to come with a guy since her last steady boyfriend. No matter how hard she coaches, no matter how many tips or tricks or secrets of her own body she has to give away, the guys she fucks don’t ever pick it up. Some hardly even try — too happy to have some willing pussy to last forty five seconds to three minutes in that they barely register her pleasure at all.

Which is fine, because memento-mor-i posts twice a week and Elain hates to fall behind.

The girls aren’t much better, though at least they get her off. Unfortunately, the ones that show interest are mostly interested in keeping her prim and proper and pretty as they fuck her. To the point that they either mishear or intentionally ignore her when she asks for a little degradation. One girl, the sweetest thing with her auburn bob and pianist fingers, could’ve been a fish the way she went down on her for hours. She’d tried her best, but a deft hand at Elain’s throat and caustic words hadn’t been enough because they hadn’t been hers. She might have come, but it had been hard earned.

Elain considers her Quinn subscription among her most treasured possessions, simply because it allows her access to memento-mor-i.

She lays there, in a puddle of her own mess, as her heartbeat returns to something akin to normal and the faceless stranger that she gets off to every night talks her down.

“You’re so beautiful,” She hums in Elain’s left ear. All grit as snark is gone from her now. Only reverence remains. It slips over her like silk. Alien in how real it sounds. Like Elain could turn her head and taste the breath of her absent lover. She wonders, half delirious, what colour her hair is, or her eyes, or her lips. She wonders, not for the first time, if she would like Elain at all. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

When she circles her over sensitive clit and replies I love you, Elain blames it on just how good the sex is. The sex she has with herself and the idea of a woman in her head.

“I love you too.” The voice replies, cursed by dark static in the silence that follows.

Elain swipes two fingers through her wetness, brings them to her mouth, and sucks. A warped facsimile of a tongue. The closest she’ll ever get to a kiss.

She’s so fucked.

#morlain #mor x elain #elain archeron #morrigan #acotar fic #ficminds #i wrote most of this immediately after waking up so sorry if typos or the vibes are off #promise i'm normal (lie)#obsessed with mor (girl) talking about coming inside someone (elain - also girl) with her 100% real organic functioning cock (strap)

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hellvst · 3 hours ago

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OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.5k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo chapter three is here! also what's up with the hughes brothers getting hurt within the last 48 hours...hope they're ok :c also thank you all for the recent support, means a lot! uh this isn't proof read, but happy reading <3

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN

The bell above the café door chimed as I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hitting me almost instantly. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy, but I definitely needed it today.

The place was an average size for a café, cozy, slightly packed with students hunched over laptops and the occasional older couples chatting over mugs of tea.

Conor, who trailed behind me with Brock next to him, actually suggested this spot, claiming it to be one of the best coffee in this side of Vancouver. It wasn’t my go-to energizer. Still, after the morning skate we had, I could use something to wake me up.

After coming off a big-time loss, post-practice was always tougher.

If people thought we’d been left off the hook to start the off-season early the following day. They have never been more wrong. So fucking wrong. Just because we were out of the game, did not mean that it was over.

Everyone on the team had been anticipating that text from our coach and told us to “Get your asses in the rink. Now.” Knowing Tocchet, he was ready to give us hell–more specifically Simon and I. And we got it.

The skating and puck handling drills were relentless. I don’t think we’d ever been pushed like that before. They were much more intensive, fast-paced, more difficult targets to hit in the goal post. I tried my best to keep up, which I did, but I would be lying if I had said it didn’t wear me down to the max. My body absolutely felt like I was checked over and over again.

Not the best feeling in the world. Trust me, I would know.

Conor and Brock stood behind me, still joking about the brutal morning skate we had to endure. “Man–I need something strong.” Brock said while his eyes wandered the menu. “I swear, if we have another skate like that, I’m gonna need a new set of legs.”

Conor huffed a laugh. “Better legs wouldn’t make a difference for you, buddy.”

I smiled while Brock gave him a look, “Whatever–” he waved his hand before looking at the menu again. “So, what do you usually get here Gar?”

“Yeah, Garland. You’re the one who said this place was good.” I muttered.

“Because it is. And you need some caffeine in you, Huggy.” Conor shot back, nudging towards the counter. “Maybe then you’ll stop looking like you wanna skate into oncoming traffic.”

I ignored him since it was probably true, and not a terrible idea considering what I had to deal with in a week or so.

My mind was stuck on last night’s game and the conversation with Tocchet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The rest of the team didn’t hound me after figuring out what transpired in the coach’s office between me and Simon. They knew not to press me on it–I was glad that they did as I was already in a bad mood. I doubt that Simon kept his mouth shut about it to some of the guys, ranting to them per usual.

Conor and Brock continued on with their banter. I was only half-listening as I stared at the menu, pretending I knew what any of the drinks meant or how–

I blinked and before I could react, as soon as I took a step forward, the person in front of me turned around–colliding straight into me. I watched as the girl’s cup tipped forward, brown coffee spilling all over her grey hoodie.

“Fuck!” She let out a sharp and frustrated voice under her breath.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t good.

I staggered back, looking at her. The girl in front of me–who I had just completely steamrolled–stood frozen and appalled, coffee staining the front of her hoodie. The brown liquid spreads rapidly across the cotton like wildfire.

Her jaw clenched, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across her face.

“Shit, I–” I started, but the words barely left my mouth before she snapped her gaze at me, clearly about to let me have it–then she froze.

I watched her expression shift, something unreadable flickering her chestnut-colored eyes. Her pupils softened, but still held that glare. Her gaze swept over me in a quick assessment. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Oh, she was pissed.

Looking at her, she was strikingly beautiful. Dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, long eyelashes, very light freckles dotting her nose across her tan skin, the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need any effort. But it was the look in her eyes that got me–like she had already sized me up and made her judgement.

And from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line, it wasn’t in my favour at all.

“I, uh–” I looked at the sight in front of me, wincing at the view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Shit. Not the best first impression.

I grabbed napkins from the counter and held them out to her. She took them but didn’t seem all that convinced they would be much help. I watched as she tried to dab at the stain, her expression growing more annoyed by the second. Yeah, the napkins weren’t much help.

It was only right that I offered to buy her another coffee–although, I figured it would make matters worse–so I opted to at least buy her a new hoodie.

She shook her head to refuse, still working with the napkins. What she said next had caught me completely off guard. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Then she stopped, her own words registering, her eyes widened slightly.

My brows furrowed. “So, you know who I am?”

Maybe she was a Canucks fan.

She met my gaze again, unimpressed. “Yes, I do.” The tone in her voice made it clear that wasn’t exactly a compliment.

Alright, maybe she wasn’t a fan.

That surprised me. Most of the time, when someone recognized me, there was some level of excitement. But her? She didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. If anything, she looked more annoyed and pissed than before.

A strange mix of amusement and curiosity flickered in my chest. What the hell, that was new.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” I asked, then immediately realized how that sounded. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

I had no other intentions behind that statement. For all I cared, I just wanted to make a things right. Not just because there were now a couple of eyes watching us, but it wouldn’t be fair for her to leave this place without anything in return to help her. Then I’d feel like a complete asshole.

Sure. She was pretty. Beyond her looks–and her built up frustration–she carried herself with grace and poise. Even in a stained-hoodie, black leggings, and white sneakers, there was still that elegance to her like no one else had–you just had to be born with it.

Wait. I couldn’t be like this.

“I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” she gestured down. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours, but thank you though.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned away.

Don’t look like an asshole. Don’t look like an asshole.

On instinct, I reached out, lightly catching the material of her sleeve. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising a brow at me.

Of course I’d feel terrible. She could have gone off on me in front of the entire shop, but she hadn’t. And now I was weirdly determined to fix it.

But she smirked slightly. “I think I’ll survive without your help, but thanks.”

I stared, absolutely stunned, but a tinge in my lips dared to curve. And just like that, she walked off, returning to her table with another woman–most likely her friend–before I could even respond.

Well that caught me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever been let down like that. Strangely enough, I was not bothered by it, but just fascinated. It’s not everyday I get these kinds of interactions.

The sound of laughter brought me back, and I turned to see Brock and Conor watching the whole thing unfold with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. I forgot they were here for a moment.

“Dude,” Brock said, he shook his head in disbelief. “Did we just witness the Quinn Hughes talk to a girl?”

Conor was quick to add, whistled lowly. “Not just talk. Get rejected.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a complete rejection, noting she ‘respectfully’ declined.

“She didn’t reject me.”

“She literally just rejected you,” Brock deadpanned.

“She didn’t even let you buy her a new hoodie,” Conor mentioned the obvious, also shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s tough, Huggy.”

“Maybe she saw last night’s game and watched us play like shit and–”

“Shut up.” I said under my breath.

Given she knew I was an NHL player, there was no doubt that she knew about last night’s game. I wondered if she had even watched it at all. Better if she hadn’t, the sight of us losing on our home turf was not only embarrassing but rather disappointing.

If I were a fan, I would be feeling anything but happy. That realization crashed down on me a lot more than I thought it would.

Brock’s laugh brought me out of my short trance. “No, no, this is big,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Quinn, do we need to have the talk? You know, the one where we tell you how to approach women like a normal person?”

“You two are the worst.” I wasn’t completely paying attention to them.

My gaze drifted towards the exit, just in time to watch the same coffee-stained hoodie girl leave the cafe alongside her friend.

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t even get her name. But, there was that feeling down my gut that told me this wouldn’t be the last time I was going to see her.

And usually, my gut-feeling has always been right.

I had two weeks of freedom. A glorious, responsibility-free stretch of time before I had to start this personal hell.

And I spent it the only way I knew how: watching hockey, reading new books that I got a few weeks ago, hanging out with some of the guys, and watching more hockey.

It was the perfect balance of nothing and everything. Until now. Until this.

I pulled into the Lumé Wellness parking lot, stared at the building through my windshield like it was about to swallow me whole. The building itself was tucked in the center of downtown Vancouver, which was near the Rogers Arena. The area around the studio wasn’t too busy or lively, I didn’t have to worry about the media at this time.

If I could put this mandatory cross-training off another week, I would have in a heartbeat just to prepare myself for this moment. Hell, I would have put it off forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this with Simon.

But no, that wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to come back at my best instead of my ass being glued to the bench next season.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I was about to hop out when I glanced around the lot and realized that Simon’s car wasn’t here yet. I took the liberty of keeping track of his cars whenever I could, just to avoid bumping into that prick at random places.

I was expecting him to be here, especially considering his whole ‘I’m better than you, I know everything, and I make the shots you would have missed’ complex. But, who was I kidding? Simon didn’t want to be here, and so had I. If he didn’t show, then I wouldn’t blame him. Since he wasn’t here yet, that either meant he was running late on purpose or–worse–he was about to show up here with his sister.

The hoodie girl at the café popped into my head before I could dread what was about to come.

The thoughts of our interaction weeks ago lingered in my head, which was strange, because usually I didn’t dwell on these things. But the reminiscence of spilling coffee all over her and interacting with her, it had been itching at my brain ever since.

She looked so annoyed, so unimpressed.

It also didn’t help the fact she knew exactly who I was. I had no idea if she hated me or not, but she probably did now. Not that I cared what people thought of me on or off the ice–except, for some reason, with her, I kind of did.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, got out of my car and walked towards the entrance of the studio, pushing open the glass door.

The foyer was empty, which was unexpected. I came prepared to see a lot of people here, but it was quiet–too quiet. The scent of essential oils idled in the air, a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, almost enough to make me forget how much I didn’t want to be here.

I made my way past the front desk, my gaze roaming over the sleek, modern with contemporary wooden interior. Soft lighting, smooth hardwood floor, and floor-to-ceiling arched mirrors in every studio room.

Great. That meant I’d have to watch myself struggle through whatever the hell was about to happen here.

As I wandered further into the hallway, I passed more studio rooms, each one either empty or locked. Then, as I turned the corner, I caught the faint sound of music–Michael Jackson.

I slowed my steps, glancing toward the slightly opened door at the end of the hall. Inside, a single figure was stretching in front of the mirrors.

My feet stopped moving. It took me half a second to realize why.

No. There’s no way.

The café girl.

She looked the same as the last I saw her. Brown chestnut eyes, her hair in a braid instead of a loose ponytail. Rather than a stained grey hoodie, she wore black yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket.

I traced her face through the reflection of the mirrors, watched as she moved fluidly, adjusting her position with practiced ease. She was focused, lost in whatever she was doing–until she wasn’t.

I hadn’t realized how long I was like this for. She must have sensed me, because she suddenly straightened up, her eyes snapping to mine through the mirror.

“What are you doing here?” She turned to face me, looking just as surprised.

I blinked, clearing my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I asked first.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“I, uh–” I scratched the back of my nape. “I have a session today.”

She tilted her head in amusement, probably found it hard to believe that me, Quinn Hughes, would be at a Pilates studio. I also found that reality hard to grasp around my head. “I’m sure you don’t see a lot of guys here, right?”

“Well, believe it or not Hughes, I see a few male athletes here and there for Pilates. So, don't go around thinking you’re all that special now.”

Great, it looks like she hadn’t forgotten me after all. I couldn’t tell if I should be happy or worried about that. “So, you remembered me.”

She only nodded, but not in a way that meant it was a good thing. “Well, duh. You’re the reason I had to throw my favourite hoodie in the bin.”

I saw that coming, there was no way she would look at me any other way than this. I wasn’t just an ‘NHL hockey player’ in her eyes, instead I was now dubbed ‘the guy who ruined her clothes’.

“I offered to buy you another one or pay to get it cleaned–”

“I’m just kidding,” she chuckled, ever so lightly, waving her hand. “It’s a good thing washing machines and laundry detergent exist. It took a few cycles and extra scrubbing to get it out, but it’s all gone–good as new.”

That weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for the past two weeks, instantly lifted after hearing that. So, she didn’t hate me in the end. I dodged a bullet there.

“Oh, good–” I huffed out in relief. “I am sorry about that, again.”

All she did was smile. Who knew that a single smile would ignite something beneath my chest. There was that feeling from the cafe again. And I wasn’t sure why it only kept happening around her.

Taking that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I took a few strides into the room, inviting myself in. I have never been to any Pilates studios, so I have never seen what was inside one–although, I had a good idea of it.

One side of the walls were large arched floor to ceiling mirrors, the opposite side were windows that overlooked outside, multiple pilates reformers in one neat row, and the other end were laid out yoga mats and more equipment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

I figured she was in her twenties, but I could be wrong. I guessed since most Pilates’ clients were either young adults or middle-aged. I did some research prior to coming, and I would know a bit about it since my mom picked it up a couple years ago.

She gave me a vague shrug, “Something like that.”

I exhaled, shifting my weight as I walked around the reformers, taking in my surroundings, still keeping my distance from her. “I should’ve known you did Pilates.”

I recalled from the café; she stood so close that I noticed the small flecks of sweat glisten against her skin. She most likely earned them after being here.

Her brows lifted, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Now that I realized it, I sounded awkward just then. I mentally face-palmed myself for my ‘game’–more like lack thereof. Maybe that talk Brock and Garly were referring to on that day might have come in handy for times like these. I sound like a fucking idiot in front of her.

But, I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. This was simply to make conversation. That’s all.

She stared at me for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh–like she wasn’t sure if I was complimenting her or just making shit up.

I was about to say something else, anything to save me from my impending doom, when Michael Jackson’s voice blasted through the speakers again. I recognized the song immediately.

“Beat It?” I said, more to myself than anything. “Solid choice.”

She turned her back to her bag on the floor, kneeling to grab her water bottle. She glanced at me, amused. “Yeah, you a fan?”

“I know good music when I hear it.”

That earned me a small smirk on her pink tinted lips.

I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to keep talking to her. I wasn’t usually like this–I didn’t go out of my way to make conversation, unless I had to–but, especially not with strangers. But, my mouth was already moving before I could think about stopping.

“What's your name? You know, since it's only fair because you know mine.” I asked, looking at all the equipment surrounding us.

She exhaled a short scoff, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re not answering them.”

She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a sip, like she was debating on whether or not she wanted to humor me. Before she said anything, though, another voice cut through the air.

“Let’s not waste time and get on with it.”

I knew that voice all too well. Fuck.

I turned my head just as Simon strolled into the room like he owned the place, then tossed his bag to the side by the wall.

The café girl–her entire posture shifted. She walked over to the speaker where the music came from and turned down the volume. Her head snapped toward him, her expression tight. “Took you long enough. Didn’t I tell you to get here earlier because of traffic in the area?”

Simon barely looked fazed. “Turns out you were right after all. There was traffic. Duly noted for next time.”

My stomach twisted, and I wasn’t sure why. Simon has a wife, I knew that, but it did put me on edge to see her and Simon talk to one another. They spoke casually, so effortlessly, like they had known each other forever. Not that I was jealous or anything.

It seemed like I was invisible and there was a wall between myself and the two of them.

I cleared my throat and interrupted their conversation. “Do you guys know each other?”

Simon shot me a look, one of those ‘are you the dumbest person on earth?’ expressions he was always good at–towards me specifically.

“No shit, Hughes,” he deadpanned. Then he jerked his chin toward her. “She’s my sister.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #qh43

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 2 days ago

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Hey, since Rapi got a SSR upgrade, can we haz an imagine with her!

As for its contents… how about a date night set up by her S/O!

(GoV: NIKKE) Date Night with Rapi

It didn't honestly take much for Rapi to be happy with a date.

Staying inside the Outpost and spending quality time was nice and all, but S/O wanted to treat her to something a little special, especially with the salary they had been saving up.

It wasn't going to be anything grandiose, since Rapi didn't particularly care about things like that.

Just a dinner at a nearby restaurant out in "town", a classic date!

Something Rapi agreed to without hesitation, though that was mostly because anytime spent with S/O was a good date regardless.

And so, at 7:00 PM, S/O exited the Outpost with Rapi, hand in hand.

All the while the couple was being watched by Anis, Neon, and the Commander.

(Commander) "Girls, let them be."

Neon spun around pointing at S/O, amazingly keeping her voice quiet despite the fact she wanted to yell out:

(Neon) "But, Master! What if S/O isn't romantic enough?! They need proper guidance to have a good date with Rapi!"

(Anis) "Psh, are you kidding? With the way Rapi is, S/O is gonna be in danger! They even so much look at another woman, she's going to obliterate them!"

Granted, the Commander couldn't disagree with that last part, seeing Rapi's reaction when it came to other Nikke's trying to speak to them.

And yet-

(Commander) "I trust them both, and you should too. They deserve a nice night out to themselves without us shadowing them."

(Neon) "Hm...fine! But if Rapi comes home crying, then I'll just say I told you so!"

(Anis) "I think Rapi is going to be making other people cry first of all..."

...

S/O and Rapi rode the elevator down back into the Ark, the two of them finally relaxing once they were by themselves.

(S/O) "Let's see...Our tables should be ready by 8, so we have some time to walk around."

(Rapi) "Is there anything specific you'd like to do, S/O?"

S/O moved closer to Rapi, smiling at her.

(S/O) "Not in particular. Maybe window shop for clothes? I don't really have anything fancy besides my uniform."

Rapi smiled back at S/O, intertwining her hands with them again.

(Rapi) "I have a few outfits that the others have gotten for me...But, I think I'd like something different."

(S/O) "Heh, if you want I could pick something out for you."

Rapi blushed a little harder at that, but her smile seemed to grow brighter too.

(Rapi) "...I think I would like that, yes."

In the end, Rapi got a rather tacky pair of pajamas, against her better judgement.

It had cat prints all over it while colored a bright red.

S/O thought it'd be comfy for her to sleep in at the very least so that way she's not just sleeping in her gear all the time.

Truthfully, Rapi did like it, so she figured why not? After all, this date night was all about trying out new things to shake up the norm. This was a good way to start...Probably.

After that, S/O and Rapi had a meal outside, looking into the artificial night.

(S/O) "It's nice to get some fresh air like this."

(Rapi) "Indeed."

She continued staring up, her thoughts drifting to the past leading up to now, but quickly Rapi shook her head.

Right now, she shouldn't be focusing on what used to be, or what could be-

(S/O) "Rapi? You okay?"

She turned to S/O, the warmth in her expression growing as she met their eyes, smiling.

Rapi instead gave her full attention to the person she loved. Now that she had the confidence, she should show it.

She moved her chair over to them, taking another bite before nodding.

(Rapi) "Better now, I think."

#goddess of victory: nikke headcanons #goddess of victory: nikke imagines #goddess of victory: nikke x reader #rapi nikke x reader #rapi nikke

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arsenicflame · 4 months ago

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awww yeah its time to feel emotions again! (rearranging my room)

#nothing like a slightly different desk configuration to make you feel like youre on top of the world #nyxtalks #i think this is gonna be good. new set up #l shape desk arrangement #real seat at my overlocker!

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puppppppppy · 1 year ago

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Why are ppl scared to call it what it is and say we’re still going thru covid on top of seasonal illness. Like. That’s pretty important right. I was watching the news and they were like oh yeah we have an unprecedented number of flu cases “as well as other sicknesses” without actually saying Covid. No announcement abt vaccinations or masking or anything. Also if I hear someone joking abt “war flashbacks” for mentioning covid I fucking hate u

#source: most of my family members are nurses and it was so bad for one of them they had to be put on a ventilator. in the hospital they #worked at. looking back I think I had a reason to feel a little offput by the shows of support early pandemic #with people tying blue ribbons around trees and lighting signs blue to support healthcare workers #I get that it was supposed to be moral support when we couldn’t do anything but follow health advisories #and it did matter to make them feel uplifted and do something than nothing. im not gonna deny that #but. you can still help now. u know that right. you still have a responsibility here #u can still mask up. u can still get vaxxed and call in sick to avoid infecting others #don’t leave it on healthcare workers to pick up the pieces just because they were doing it before. do u think they had a choice?#nobody likes picking up the slack for someone else and now that we have more tools to do smth couldn’t we just. do it????#im not a virologist but i also feel like continuing to let it get worse by letting more mutations develop #could continue to set us back since this virus is pretty good at fucking us up long term and finding new ways to do that #while there are ppl still researching covid which is STILL A RELATIVELY NEW VIRUS. and studying possible treatment and cures #yapping #vent

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deoidesign · 7 months ago

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Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

#asks #steakandpeanutbuttersandwiches #I'm SO sorry youre new and you asked me such a benign question and I responded with... this... LMAO #I swear to god I tried to make it as short as possible #theres just a lot auauuaghkhgjk #basically. way too much work. not enough money.#so it either is gonna be good and take longer or be worse but come back faster #and I chose to take longer #so.#I'm really sorry and I wish that this decision didn't also come with the... pretty much guarantee that it will negatively impact my career.#I will lose readers. I will lose potential readers for my future work. it looks bad on me as a creator to take such a big break. etc. etc.#but it's good. it's so good. you have to trust me it's like the best stuff Ive ever written #it. ok well to be honest #it'll probably feel extremely simple and extremely natural #but it's been SO much work LMAO #I am not exaggerating I have written over 200 pages of scapped ideas to get to where it is #I'm sure it won't make sense why it took so long while reading but you gotta trust me LMAO #ideally it doesnt even 'feel' different right. cause its gotta be cohesive with the whole thing #but there is SO MUCH TO WRAP UP #THERES SO MUCH #and to make that feel natural in this little space oh my GOD it is so hard #ok omfg I'm doing it again I'm going on way too long again IM SO SORRY #YOURE NEW HERE AND IM DOING THIS IMMEDIATELy #this is like 90% for my followers who I know are curious about this and I'm just using you as a jumping off point to talk about it #cause I don't really like to make standalone posts very often #I likely will make some kind of official announcement about it when the date is extremely set in stone #right now I think it's still only tentatively scheduled so it could still change #and I'll say something more... refined and restrained... then.#but for now this is like. actually everything. I think #I'm sure I forgot something but whatever lmfao

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