figured i'd just continue it here

anonymous asked:

Lol Chris so today I had my last most important meet and I was set/ expected to do really well but lets just say I shit my pants (😂) and ran 30 seconds slower than my pr and I think my iron is out of wack again. But literally the first thing I thought of was that pic you posted a while back from high school when that happened to you and what an amazing runner you continue to be and so I just laughed it off but yeah 😂 just thought I'd share

Girl here you go I will post it again if you need a good laugh honestly

No shame AT ALL hahahaha, shit happens (literally and figuratively).

Definitely make sure to get your iron levels checked!!! Remember that one race does not define you and it’s the tougher ones that help us grow! Love you!


The question made her pause, eyes closing shut as her head lowered thinking about her first husband and their unborn child. “I thought that yes” her voice broke, sadness filling her to the top. Tears swelled in Dany’s violet orbs and the silver haired girl looked to the other over her shoulder.

“Things change, i suppose… it’s not that I didn’t think I could carry children, it was more that I didn’t want to. The death of my first unborn was harsh and while yes I did think I couldn’t carry it was also that I hadn’t wanted to” she confessed smoothing out her dress as she took in a deep breath.

“But being with you, Jon… it seems that I was more than happy to carry your child. When I found out I was excited to tell you, but you needed to go beyond the wall again… the White Walkers would not be taken care of had you not done it… I’ve known for a while my love. I was waiting for your return to tell you” Dany explained softly, turning to properly face him.

Continued from here feat. Lennon / @little-earthquakes-rp

     In truth , there isn’t much that gets under his skin or offends him.   her , lennon’s body language is easily readable as steady eyes are transfixed on her.   another shrug rolls past his shoulders as the knife cuts into the apple.   he’ll raise his hand , pausing just before taking a bite of the crisp fruit.   ‘   y’see ah’ve been ‘round these parts fer a while.   ’   too long , according to some.   lovingly , however.   ‘   wolves need their pack.   th’pack needs it’s wolves t’survive …   thrive ‘an live.   ’

     still , julian doesn’t let the words get past the stone exterior.   he does offer a smile before taking a bite of the freshly cut fruit.   ‘   if y’wanna ‘elp , we got some pups ‘round the edge takin’ some trees down fer ‘nother cabin.   y’can help them there or if y’want can help m’cook lunch fer th’pups.   ’   which general constitutes a half dozen large pots boiling away in a mess hall kitchen.   ‘   up t’ya.   ’

@banditborn |replying to this|


“I suppose you are.” Perhaps in a far less literal way, but it was still quite a competition. It was more of a race than a full out war for most beings however, Mortem being a rather unique outlier.

“Nothing necessarily, I’m simply acknowledging the reality of such things..perhaps through a bit of unnecessary thinking aloud, however.” It seems somehow he manages to completely forget just how strange the things he says might be, without prior knowledge of just who he was at least..

Teenage Burnouts

❯❯ continued from here with @feehadley

     Thor wasn’t exactly a fan of “regular” schedules or, and he certainly didn’t want to sit around in a classroom, listening to Ms. Morrow drone on about… what did she even teach, again? Thor was barely in class enough to remember. It was a miracle that they hadn’t booted him out of this school yet, but the whole “sad orphan Thor” story in his file got him a certain leeway with the administrators–and he took full advantage, especially on beautiful cloudy days like this. 

     He was leaned against the bike shed, looking up at the sky, cigarette in hand, when the girl with the bright pink hair showed up next to him, almost out of nowhere. He watched her struggle to light her cigarette, a slight smile on his face, and waved lazily when she finally noticed him. 

     “Yeah, probably,” he said in response to her question. He took a draw on his cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “But so should you, right?” 

     He chuckled, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a silver zippo with an engraving of a lightning bolt. He held it out to her. 

     “Need a light?”

haikyuudreaming-deactivated2016  asked:

OH MY GOD THE BOKUTO ONE. (The one where he has a bad fight with his s/o) I'd like to a ask if you'd be willing to write a continuation? If you're not feeling it that's fine but I figured it can't hurt to ask ^^

Well, I got so many requests to continue, so here it is, folks! Part 2 of the Bokuto/Reader Scenario. I have more parts planned, if y’all like this one. Enjoy the agony! (Also, no explicit sex, though it is mentioned, just to let everyone know)

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)(Part 9)(Part 10)(Part 11)(Part 12)(Epilogue)

There was always a moment, a moment when you wondered if it was too late to back out. Sometimes it was on the train across town. Sometimes it was on the walk to the apartment. But usually it happened on your way up the stairs. You would always pause, your legs unwilling to carry you any further. Was it too late to turn around? To go back home? To forget any of this mess had ever happened?

But your legs would always start moving before you could come up with an answer. Maybe there wasn’t an answer. Maybe you didn’t want to know it.

You rapped three times against the door, and then counted. One, two, three, four…

The door opened, revealing a worried Akaashi.

“He hit you,” he said pointedly.

It wasn’t a question. You knew you wore the evidence like a battle wound against your cheek. You slipped past him into the apartment, and he shut the door behind you. He slid your jacket from your shoulders, his fingers trailing down your arms, lingering a little too long.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” you murmured.

“You’re not intruding,” he countered.

You made your way into the living room and dropped onto the couch, leaning your head back against the cushion. It always seemed to engulf you. Maybe you could sink into its depths and never come out. Maybe that would be nice. You felt the couch shift as Akaashi sat down next to you. His fingers brushed against the handprint on your cheek. It stung. You felt like you deserved it.

“He doesn’t get to touch you like that,” Akaashi noted, as though he were reading your mind. Maybe he was.

“I know,” you replied.

“But you’re going to forgive him.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you sighed.

“But you are.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”



You leaned your head against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his cologne. The cologne that opened these floodwaters. You loved that smell—citrus and spices and jasmine and earth. And you hated that you loved it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand reaching for yours.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” you sighed.

“I think we both know that isn’t true.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you felt a laugh escape your lips. His shoulders shook, giving way to a laugh too. It wasn’t funny. There wasn’t a single thing about it that was funny. But when the alternative was to cry, it hurt a little less to laugh about it.

“Keiji,” you murmured.

You looked up at him, and not for the first time, you were overwhelmed by his somber expression. It always felt strange to be overwhelmed by him. He was the rock that seemed to hold everyone together. But being with him like this, you felt like falling apart. Your hands reached for him blindly, tangling in his short black hair, pulling him toward you. You wanted to drown in him. His mouth was on yours in an instant, pouring himself into you, filling you up. His hands held your face—gently on the left side, easing the stinging flesh with his thumb.

“Keiji,” you whispered against his lips. “Please… I need you.”

“Come on.”

And, taking your hands in his, he led you back to the bedroom.

It was always easy to tell Bokuto and Akaashi apart when they made love to you. Everything with Bokuto was fast and turbulent—but always just short of being careless, always still attentive to your needs. With Akaashi, everything was slow and deliberate, measured, even. Even with your eyes closed, you knew whom you were with.

But when you came down from that high, when the air settled, they both would pull you close. They would bury their faces in your hair, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize your scent. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell the difference between them. You always wished you could freeze that moment in time, trapped in an eternity of uncertainty. You never knew who you wanted it to be, whose face you wanted to see when they pulled away.

But the moment never lasted. They always pulled away.

Akaashi liked to lie on his side and watch you, tracing his long, delicate fingers against your skin. Sometimes you tried to follow the patterns, deciding if they made something all together. Of course, if Akaashi was the one tracing them, they probably did. But you could never follow along for more than a few minutes.

As he trailed the digits over your stomach, you looked over to find him staring at your face, eyes locking onto yours.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asked.

“It’s not like I can keep it a secret anymore,” you replied.

His eyebrows furrowed as he continued to appraise your face.

“Are you going to stay with him?”

You had to look away now. His eyes were searching yours. You didn’t know what he would find if he looked to close. You didn’t want to know.

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

“Do you still love him?”

“Yes,” you replied, and this time, there was no hesitation.

You felt the next question, silent and pleading. It wasn’t that he was too proud to ask it. But he was terrified of the answer. You looked back at him, your hand reaching out to stroke his cheek.

“And I love you, too,” you said softly.

He leaned into your touch, wishing it could last forever. He knew what happened next. And he hated it.

“Keiji, I—“

“Please, not yet,” he said, and now there was a quaver of panic in his voice. “Just… A little longer.”

He closed the space between you, pulling you against him, burying his face in your hair. And for just a little bit longer, you let yourself forget just who was holding you.

Bokuto had tried everything possible to distract himself. He’d done a load of laundry, cleaned the kitchen, organized the books on the bookshelf, and even gone through an old box of things from high school—things he had to decide if they were worth holding onto, memories that felt outside of time. He hadn’t been able to get rid of any of it, taping the box back up and sticking it in a closet underneath the old blankets.

But no matter what he did, time seemed to pass even slower than usual. Now, he was just sitting on the couch, holding his head in his hands and praying to hear the click of the lock. He hadn’t moved in what felt like days, but had probably only been an hour.

The click of the latch made him leap to his feet. Seeing you appear in the doorway again filled him with relief. You came back.

“Welcome home,” he said softly.

“Kou… We need to talk.”

How could five words fill him with such dread? How could they make him feel as though he’d never be happy again? He approached you quickly, hands reaching for yours, pulling them to him. He needed to feel you here with him.

“Please, just wait,” he murmured. “Not yet. Please.”


“Look, I don’t care, okay?” he pressed on frantically. “Whoever it is, I don’t care about him. You can be with him if you want to. I won’t stop you.”


“No, look, it’s okay,” he cut you off. “I promise, I’ll be okay. I’ll let you do whatever you want. I won’t say another word. I won’t… I promise… Just… Please… You can’t leave me.”


The severity of your voice stopped the words in his throat. He felt an unrelenting panic take over. He wanted to bind his ears, cover your mouth, anything to keep you from saying the words… Anything to keep you with him.

“What?” he asked despite himself.

“Koutarou… I’m pregnant.”