foreign eye

playing with fire

*gif credit to owner @jungkook-gifs*

pairing: you x Jungkook 

themes: idol!jungkook, friendswithbenefits!au, older!oc, older!jungkook

warnings: swearing, slightly smutty, angst, fluff

word count: 9.8+k

summary: they say friends with benefits never works. fun turns into feelings and everyone gets hurt. you and jungkook are no different to the stereotype. jungkook is in too deep for comfort and you’re not sure if you can return what he wants. after all, he is a sought after celebrity and you know the consequences of playing with a little too much fire.

____

The sun is bright, almost too bright as you finally open your eyes from your deep slumber. Not only is the sun too bright, but it is also too damn hot in this room. Your vision blurs together to a couple seconds before it clears, comprehending my surroundings. A familiar sight covers your eyes and you go to stretch your body out until you are halted by a heavy entity; another body. You glance up to the left to be met with soft brown hair dangling, closed eyes, and slightly parted mouth that breathes slowly in and out. Memories flash across your mind as you remember the first time you saw the now familiar face.

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8

El Secreto De Sus Ojos (The Secret In Their Eyes)

dir. Juan José Campanella - 2009

Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film

3

Helena Bonham Carter at the 1992 Cannes Film Festival

Deeper Than Ink | 01

P R E M I S E ⇒

Should you fall in love with someone, even in the slightest, your skin becomes marked with vibrant colors that depict the story of your emotions. A tattoo, per say. However, should they or you fall out of love, the bright hues dull to black and the feelings you once had for each other melt away. To many, it’s a blessing to not have to live with the pain of your past. But what’s the point when you have too many reminders–say 27?

P A I R I N G ⇒  namjoon x reader

G E N R E ⇒  angst, tattoo au, soulmate au

W O R D S ⇒  7.281

P A R T ⇒  one | two | three


Pebbles bounced against the sidewalk, caught between the concrete and the rubber soles of boots dragging across the pavement. The movement was slow and the sound was reminiscent of a modern romantic defeat, another tally to add to the chalkboard. Another inked reminder that would be incomplete on a pale skin canvas.

A single finger rose to itch at the back of a studded ear, scratching just above the intricate black swirls of patterned water that was splayed over a neck. The owner of this design–and the 27 others cluttering his skin–wasn’t a lost cause or a serial romantic as many had come to believe. But potentially the most unlucky man in the world.

There were many others like him, decorated in dozens of these brandishes to signify their accomplishments in a manner akin to a trophy shelf. Their skin was littered with these marks of past lovers who were only intended to become blackened symbols. However, hoarding tattoos of ones he adored was not a game to him like it was to others; he feared the attention and judgment that his ink gave him.

He was enamored by people and their stories, the things they had to say and the words that they would whisper to him. Falling for them was simply a side effect of his own curiosity that he had no control over, as the patterns would only appear when the emotions were mutual. People were drawn to him, not for the art etched into him, but for his elegant thoughts and charming words.

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Black Tears

I love this new scrap of information, that the fluid coming out of Kaneki’s eye is black tears– not blood.

With all the talk of telomeres and aging, especially with the fate of the last OEK in mind, it looks like a pretty horrid sign. But I think it might actually be a good thing, somehow, and that Ishida is trying to pull a fast-one on us.


First, keep in mind that Kaneki’s kagune is notably so dark and dense that it appears black. His RC count must be astronomical at this point, and his human body is probably having difficulty regulating itself. The black tears could possibly be an influx of dead red child cells looking for an exit.

Next, we have the kakugan itself, and it’s characteristic black sclera. We now have examples of artificial half-ghouls possessing two, which begs the question: why does Kaneki still only have one kakugan if his RC count is so high? What does Urie and Kurona have that he doesn’t? What keeps him from becoming a full ghoul?

is Urie a full ghoul?

I have an idea.

You’re all probably tired of hearing me talk about it by now, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Kaneki’s “human” eye has been tampered with. In V14, there was an intense focus on it; how it was raw and damaged despite the fact that Arima hadn’t struck him there. It was also focused on for a moment before Hide said “sorry” (then, splash!), followed by Kaneki walking aimlessly through the tunnels with a questionable makeshift eyepatch. 

Throughout his last moments, Kaneki’s eyepatch fell off to reveal that his human eye was raw, blank, and “bleeding”. It seems like it might have been healing from something prior to being wrecked by Arima.

Since tears are also the body’s way of regulating emotional chemicals and removing foreign objects from the eye, Kaneki’s RC-tainted tears could be escaping while trying to force something out of his socket. 

I also think it could be his body’s an attempt at trying to create the black film over his sclera, but falling away because it may not be something those particular RC cells could can attach to. 


There’s still many problems with this theory, like why Eto only has one kakugan despite her RC count (although she is a major anomaly, being extremely rare herself), and why Hide/Uta or whoever would mess with Kaneki’s eye, but I think there’s something far more dark and complicated than rapid aging.

What it's like to feel like a real angel

-never being able to keep your brain quiet
-memories are like stones that weigh on your temples
-forgetting to eat because it never comes to mind
-not wanting to eat because food feels foreign
-burning watering eyes
-constantly searching for signs
-a sore throats and headaches behind your eyes
-wings are heavy and hurt
-the even bigger ache of not having them
-constant guilt
-knowing someone is always watching over your shoulder
-nightmares and omens
-never knowing when to hold your tongue or not
-my skin feels tight and fake
-my scalp tingles

I’m sick of seeing posts about angels where everything is good and perfect and pure…. being an angel aches

I wanted to get on the Humans Are Weird thing with this: Humans + eyesight corrections. I feel it’d be very confusing for aliens because there are the humans who wear pieces of glass in front of their eyes to correct their vision, and when they get knocked off, they complain of blindness. 

But there are also people who wear those same devices but don’t need them??? Like, humans legit wear pieces of plate glass- or just the frames- because they like the way they look. 

Weirder still, some humans put pieces of plastic into their eyes to correct their vision. On a daily basis, some humans put FOREIGN OBJECTS into their EYE SOCKETS with little to no adverse effects. Some humans even to this for the sole purpose of changing the perceived pigmentation of their eyes.

Weirder STILL, some humans get LASERS shot at their EYES for vision correction. Concentrated beams of the very thing that can damage their visual cortex to begin with are purposefully shot at their eyes to fix them????

Aliens would be so confused. 

About Time // Part 7

| Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 8.5 |

Character: Jungkook x reader / Jimin x reader (feat. BTS)

Type/Genre/words: Angst, Alternate Universe (Time Travel!au, Soulmate!au), Smut / 14,869 words

Prompts: “What if you find your soulmate… at the wrong time?” - Lauren Kate, Passion

Summary: Be careful for what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true. What would you do when your wish for a second chance actually came true? But was it really a fulfilled wish? Too many questions lie when it actually happened. Were they real memories? Or perhaps a part of a past life? Was it only a dream all along? Will everything be different this time?

Warning: this part has a smut scene ;)

a/n: in this fic/series I made the characters to have similar ages, and not completely the same as their real age. So technically Jungkook, Jimin and the OC all have the same age. Just a little fyi in case you are confused with the timelines.


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Don't Do Something Stupid (Robb Stark x Reader)

Also on AO3. Always better if you read it there:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/11132970

The Riverlands were beautiful. Green grass stretched from horizon to horizon, and the rolling hills seeming to stretch on forever and a day. (Y/n) had never been this far south before, being a handmaiden of Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell, and she wondered at this strange and beautiful land. Day by day, she soaked in the warm sunlight and gained a new perspective on the world as she knew it.

That is to say, (y/n) was lathered with sweat for the better part of the day, her skin cooked in the sun like tender meat, and she lay bare at night, wishing for the cool stone floors of Winterfell instead of the hot, humid climate of the south.

(Y/n) was no southron girl, after all– she was built for life in the north. Blustering winds, summer snows, and bitter cold nights she could handle. This blasted heat? The hot soup that the southron simpletons called air? These, she could not.

“(Y/n), my dear, close the flap of the tent, you’re letting in the heat,” Lady Catelyn called, fanning with her hands.

Or letting in the breeze, (y/n) thought, but kept it to herself as she followed her instructions.

“Yes, Lady Catelyn. I only wanted to hear the song of swords in the distance, my lady. If you listen, you can hear it…and the screams. You can almost tell to whom the screams belong, if you really concentrate.”

Lady Catelyn’s cerulean eyes looked over at her concernedly. “That’s morbid child, far too, too…disturbing, for a lady your age to think about.”

(Y/n) stared back at her lady with a challenge issued unashamedly in her (e/c) eyes. “But a lady my age is old enough to watch an amputation without milk of the poppy, old enough to sew up a wound as long as my forearm?”

“You sound far too much like my sons.” Lady Catelyn smiled wistfully, her auburn hair shining as she stood. “Promise me, dear, that you will keep your spirit. You’re a thing of the North, wild and free. I know the south disagrees with you, but don’t let it melt you down to nothing.”

“Never fear, my lady,” (y/n) smiled. “Ro–His Grace says I’ve got ice in my veins. If so, I’m in no trouble because of the early autumn.”
Lady Catelyn chuckled. “Robb always has said your heart was frozen solid.”

Yes, His Grace indeed.

Robb Stark. The Young Wolf. King in the North. The perfect, prideful, problematic golden-child of Winterfell. Disgustingly honorable, as thick-skulled and dim-witted as men are made– His Grace was quick of wrath but slow of thought, ineffably maddening. (Okay, perhaps that last bit was a mite unfair. Robb was a smart lad, he was just positively awful when it came to understanding the obvious.)

And yet how I will miss that scoundrel if he dies.

If he died…Lady Catelyn would be devastated. She might even lose her head in more than the metaphorical sense, for death was the penalty of a traitor. Arya and Sansa as well…and probably Bran and Rickon too. Everything was on Robb’s shoulders, on the shoulders of his soldiers, now. Perhaps that was why they’d won every battle they fought– the northern army had so much more to lose than the Lannisters if they were defeated.

“My lady?” (y/n) began hesitantly, fiddling with the bodice of her gown.

“Yes?”

“When do you suppose the men will be back?”

Lady Catelyn sighed, and in a moment’s time she seemed to age twenty years. “I don’t know. Could be moments, could be hours, could be– wait.”

The sound of hoofbeats filled the air, and (y/n) got her answer.

Back at Winterfell, when (y/n) thought about war and battles, she’d thought that the hardest part would be sending the men and boys off to fight. She was woefully, dreadfully wrong. It was seeing them coming back in bits and pieces instead of whole–it was smelling the shit and gore and death that followed the men like a ghost– that was the hardest. As (y/n) stepped out of the tent, she was met with all that anew, and she fought the inevitable wave of nausea that came with it.

The Greatjon, Lord Bolton, Lord Karstark… Where’s Robb? He couldn’t possibly–
(Y/n) yelped as she caught herself from nearly stumbling over Grey Wind, Robb’s direwolf, who snarled, his bloody maw pulling back to reveal even bloodier teeth.
(Y/n) put her hands on her hips. “You listen to me, you little shit pup, I’ll not be growled at by some mutt who thinks he’s got a whiff of fresh meat. If you bite me, I’ll beat you bloody for it and I won’t even taste any good for all your trouble.”

“(Y/n), (y/n). Are you threatening my direwolf?”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, but it was all in vain. Apparently Robb could still see her even if she couldn’t see him.

“Yes, Ro– Your Grace, because the mongrel growled at me,” she huffed, turning to face her king. “He doesn’t like me, and I won’t have him being rude and ungentlemanly. Can’t have your men thinking he’s less than tame.”

Robb rolled his eyes– the same eyes as his mother’s. They shone like gems in the sun, with all the gentleness of his mother and a masculinity that was all his own.
(Y/n) wanted very, very badly to punch him in the throat.

“For a handmaiden, you sure don’t act very–”

“I’m sure I’m a flawed woman, Your Grace, with many faults in many different areas,” (y/n) snapped, tired of the small talk. “You have my sincerest apologies for threatening and insulting your wolf. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of my brother so that I may relieve you of my obviously burdensome presence?”

Perhaps it was a flash of pain in Robb’s eyes in that moment. Maybe it was anger, or confusion, perhaps. Whatever the case, the emotion was gone in a second, and the King in the North pointed across the camp.

“Should be that way. Good day.”

“Good day, Your Grace.”

(Y/n) wanted to laugh. How perfectly daft.
She was an only child.


***
Several days later….

Robb was having a very, very bad day.
The Kingslayer was gone, escaped. The single most valuable bargaining chip he’d had slipped right through his fingers in the course of a night. What was worse, he’d had his mother, who had willing confessed to the crime, arrested for it. And to top it off all, his cock was achingly hard for the, what was it…fourth or fifth time today? He’d lost count. Battles always left him that way, and he’d had no chance to gain any relief, not with that bloody handmaiden of his mother’s taunting him, making him feel a thrice-damned fool every second they spoke and then, as though torture in the daylight hours wasn’t enough, lurking about at night, walking from tent to tent doing only the gods knew what.

“Probably fuckin’ ev’ry man ‘as willin’,” Robb heard some of the men speculating. “No other reason for prowlin’ about. Wish she’d give me a try any’ow. Never comes by my tent.”

That notion made him angrier than it probably should have. It was none of his business, really, who (y/n) spent her nights with. He was promised to another woman– to a Frey of the Twins. (A woman he’d never so much as seen, but a woman no less.) And, in any case, (y/n) was a foul thing, if fair to look at. It seemed she would rather spit venom at him than even consider that he might be a decent bloke on most days. And that self-righteous Your Grace of hers was as cold, mocking, and disrespectful as a drunk in a sept. She was awful, scathing, and prideful. Seven hells, she’d even made up a brother to avoid talking with him!

So why did he care so much about what anyone thought or said of her?

Not important, Stark, Robb told himself as he walked into his private tent, securing the flap. You’ve got other plans tonight.
Talisa was the plan, actually, but his mother would never have to know.

Talisa, Talisa. There she was, laying across his table, looking at him with those dark, reflective eyes. Foreign, beautiful, intelligent, sweet– she was everything a man could want. Robb knew he should feel guilty, laying with a woman that was not his wife, but his gonads were going to shrivel up and fall off if he didn’t put them to some use. And who better to suit his needs than this beauty? In the golden glow of the lanterns, she could be a goddess.
Just as Robb began unlacing his breeches, the flap of his tent was ripped gracelessly, violently open.

“Pardon my intrusion, Your Grace, but I must have a word with you alone. A message from your lady mother.”

And just that quickly, Robb went from spending stolen moments with a goddess to the devil’s daughter herself.

Once Talisa left, Robb rounded on the handmaiden with somewhat undue frustration. “What is so important that you barge into my tent unannounced, without permission?” he demanded, crossing his arms. “I certainly hope it was important, for your sake.”

Without so much as a blink, (y/n) sat at the table and rested her elbows on it so that she could fold her fingers together. Her (e/c) eyes flickered in the lantern-light, and in that moment she had the look of vile enchantress, full of malevolence and rage.

“Oh, it’s of paramount importance, I assure you, Your Grace,” she intoned softly, her words a dagger behind the silk of her voice. “It’s a message about maintenance of a kingdom. The reputation of a king, the adherence to an agreement made only weeks ago. I’m sure you remember now that I’ve said something. I’m only here to remind you of it, Your Grace.”

Realization didn’t so much as come to Robb as sock him right in the balls. “You did that on purpose!” he exclaimed, incredulous.
“Did what on purpose, Your Grace?” (Y/n) asked innocently. “I do everything on purpose unless it’s an accident.”

Robb felt blood rise to his cheeks. “You– you knew about Talisa, and you came in here under false pretenses–”

“And who said my pretenses were false, Your Grace?” (y/n) snapped, slamming her hands on the table. “Lady Catelyn gave me my instructions long ago. I’m making sure you don’t do anything stupid and throw away a kingdom. Your Grace.”

“It was only for a night,” Robb replied, walking to the table until he leaned over it threateningly. “I’m a king– I think I have some right to my pleasures. I’m not married yet, and can do as I please.”

(Y/n) scoffed, her lashes fluttering against her cheek in a way that should not be so alluring in the middle of her total and complete disregard for his authority. “That’s the problem with kings– always thinking they have a right to this or that. Let me tell you this, King in the North– you only have a right to what your people give you, only for as long as they freely give it, and you have been given a wife. Not a whore, not some random stranger that you’ll fall head-first in love with. A wife.”

“Damn you, woman.” Robb felt guilt claw at his chest, but he could do nothing but stare at this bold, foolish handmaiden who seemed to think she knew everything. That her language could cost her life now seemed of little consequence to (y/n), and Robb fought the urge to threaten her with it purely for the sake of their childhood acquaintance.

“Your mother told me to keep you from doing anything stupid,” (y/n) began again, somewhat more gently. “And she also told me to– to offer an alternative, Your Grace.”

Robb froze. Surely not…

“If you are so weak-willed that your cock controls you and not your brain, I might not be much but I’m what you’ve got.” (E/c) eyes bore into his own, and Robb felt as though he might be sick.

“No. You and my mother have gone mad if you think that I would take you against your will to save face for some treaty made with a crusty old codger that would trade half of his children for a milk cow,” Robb ground out, folding his arms. “I’m insulted that you both think so little of me. I had thought I seemed more honorable than that.”

“Oh, gods help, I’ve ruffled the peacock’s feathers” (y/n) snarked, rolling her eyes that shone with light from the lantern flame near her face. “You’re insulted by everything. Why would you assume it would be against my will, hmm, Your Grace? Shouldn’t I be chomping at the bits to get to fuck a king?”

She really has gone mad, Robb thought, slightly disturbed. “(y/n), really, you don’t know what you’re sayi–”

“For the sake of the gods, Robb Stark, stop telling me what I do and don’t know and listen to your mother. She sent me here because she was concerned and she asked me if I would offer an alternative. I said yes.” (Y/n)’s eyes were molten as she stood, walking around to the other side of the table. The silence that ensued was deafening, and Robb could hear his own heart pounding in his chest.

“Robb, you’re a handsome man and a king, and you might be useful for some things. Sometimes.” (Y/n) shook her head, as though clearing her thoughts. “Whatever. Don’t be a fool. I’ll do the north this one service. If you need to wet your willie, by the gods get it over with.”

Robb wanted to make some comment about how crude she was, to mock her or refuse her in some way, to find the strength to do the right thing, but he couldn’t manage more than to say, “And the lion becomes the lamb.”

Her hair was silky soft beneath his hands, and her eyes closed at his touch.

“Do you want this?” he breathed, looking for any signs of a lie. “If you don’t, I swear to you I won’t do anything ‘stupid’ as you say. I can control myself, but…if you’re willing, I would gladly use your company.”

“I want this,” was her only reply.


***


It never occurred to (y/n) how large Robb’s hands were. They were large enough to nearly wrap around her head when he held her face as they kissed. One of them wandered to the small of her back, pushing her into him so that she could feel the cock straining in his breeches, and (y/n) was no longer sure if she would be standing upright if she were supporting her own weight. Her sheer breathlessness alone would surely have left her crumpled on the floor– for Robb Stark did not kiss like a gentleman. He kissed like a street rat, like a fishmonger’s son, all taking and no giving, and he left no time for things such as breathing and swallowing.

“If… it helps you,” he breathed into (y/n)’s mouth, capturing her tongue. “You can pretend…I’m Jon. I know…you used to have feelings…for him.”

“Used to.” With all her might, (y/n) pushed away from Robb, gaining least a few inches of personal space. “Right now, there will be no pretending. We are what we are, and not all the pretending in the world can change that.”

Oh, the fire in those beautiful eyes of his at those words. Roughly, Robb snatched (y/n) to him and began to kiss at her neck…if one could call it kissing. (Y/n) felt as though she were being consumed as his teeth scraped her skin, and as his beard scratched at her neck, she decided that being consumed felt incredible. So distracted was she by Robb’s attentions to her neck that she didn’t even know his hands were up her skirt until her moved her knickers aside and touched her.

“Seven hells,” Robb swore, drawing back his hand. “You’re so wet…and for me. Not for anyone else– for me?”

(Y/n) nodded, a little surprised herself.
Robb brought his fingers and licked her wetness from them, using his other hand to rip off her dress.

“Ah, so the wolf does have claws,” (y/n) chuckled softly, unlacing Robb’s breeches. “I wonder if he’ll mount me like a bitch in heat.”

Robb growled at that, yanking off the last of her clothing. “You have quite a mouth, don’t you?”

“Your cock doesn’t seem to mind.”

“My cock doesn’t mind anything at the moment,” he confessed, pulling his shirt over his head. “Before I– before we do this…are you sure you want this? It’s not too late to back out.”

(Y/n) wanted to roll her eyes, but instead, she leaned close to Robb, her mouth at his ear and her breasts touching his chest, and whispered, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Swift and sure, Robb lifted her onto his lap by her bum and claimed her mouth again before leaning back on his hands.

“In here, I’m Robb. Not ‘Your Grace’ or any such nonsense. In here, with you, I’m just a man and you’re just a woman. No more, and no less.” He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “No pretending, as you said.”

“Very well, Robb,” (y/n) said, rolling her hips. “It’s your roof, your rules.”

When he took her, it was fast and hard and without mercy. As soon as Robb entered her, he drew almost completely out and drove right back in, over and over and harder and faster. His hands were everywhere, his mouth drawing patterns in spit and red patched where he’d bit, and (y/n) was lost. She knew her nails were digging into his back but she didn’t care as long as he kept this pace. Her pleasure was building low in her stomach, and she came while Robb’s thrusts were still steady and showed no signs of stopping. She would come another time before his thrusts began to falter, becoming more erratic, signifying the coming of his release. Just before he did release, though, he pulled out and finished on her belly, leaving quite a mess between them.

“It seems,” he said, locking eyes with (y/n), “That someone here besides the wolf has claws.” He reached back to touch his shoulder, and his hand came up bloody.

“Excuse you, I was holding on for dear bloody life,” (y/n) challenged, folding her arms. “That was quite a way to lose my maidenhood, if I do say so myself.”

Robb went deathly pale, and (y/n) once more felt the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed to be a common theme with the King in the North.

“(Y/n), I had no idea, I’m so sorry–”

“Robb, if I’d wanted to be fucked like a virgin, I’d have told you I was a virgin,” (y/n) clarified, finding a cloth to wipe off with. “I wanted you to take what you wanted– needed– and you did. You have nothing to apologize for.”

For a moment, Robb was blissfully silent, and (y/n) could enjoy the view. The King of the North was truly beautiful, if a bit daft. He lay there completely naked, his perfect cock lying flaccidly on his sculpted belly, his rich, beautiful auburn hair curling messily atop his head like a crown. Even his skin seemed to glow a pleasant gold as it stretched around the corded muscles of his delicious thighs, his bulging arms. No word but perfect could describe him in that moment.
It was almost sad that (y/n) had to leave.
“If you’re finished for the night, Your Grace, then I will take my leave.”

As if in a daze, Robb nodded. “My name is Robb. Just Robb. Thought we agreed on that.”

“Fine,” (y/n) half-smiled, pulling on her clothes. “Goodnight, Robb.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Robb asked, rising to his feet.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

(Y/n) smiled. “Then yes.”


***


The next morning, Robb thought surely that night had been a dream. The gashes on his back quickly proved otherwise.

What a woman, he thought as he bathed and dressed himself. She’s more wild than Grey Wind.

Throughout the day, Robb saw no sign of (y/n). It was as though she’d left the camp. Robb almost worried that she had, until night fell and she emerged from his mother’s tent like some night flower. She said nothing to him, didn’t even walk near him, but her eyes said it all.

Go, and I will follow.

As quickly as possible, Robb found an excuse to retire early to his tent, only to wait maddening moments more until (y/n) stepped in, silent as a shadow.

“Good evening, (y/n),” he greeted her softly, standing from his seat.

“Good evening, Robb. Your mother is distraught, you know,” she commented breezily, as though talking about the weather and not a very sensitive subject. “She worries you won’t forgive her.”

Robb walked closer to her, trying to quell his rage at being confronted. Breathe, Robb. “How can I forgive an act of treason?”

“How can you not forgive your mother?” (Y/n) shot back defensively. “Go to her. Tell her you still love her and that you forgive her. You don’t have to remove your guards or anything. Just ease her heart. She’s lost all her children but you, Robb.”

“Who are you to command me, in the affairs of my family and my kingdom no less?” Robb demanded, feeling a knot form in his stomach.

(Y/n) let her fingertips glide over the table, not meeting his eyes. “Just a woman.” She then looked up, fixing him with a hard glare. “Just a woman who won’t fuck you unless you make peace with your mother.”

“You think I need you? Need sex?”

“No. But I think you want it badly enough to do the right thing.”

Angrily, Robb stormed out of his tent, leaving (y/n) standing there by herself. He wanted to forgive his mother, he really did. He wanted to just forget all of it and go back to the way things were before, but he couldn’t. He was king now and he had to act like one. Keeping the respect of the men that were sworn to him was vital, and he couldn’t keep acting soft or he would lose that respect in an instant.

But she was his mother.

Damn that stupid girl, Robb grumbled to himself as he sought his mother’s tent. Why must she be so bloody right about everything?

When he entered Lady Catelyn’s tent, he found his mother crying, eyes red and cheeks swollen.

“Robb, I–”

“I love you, mother,” he interrupted her, walking to her side. “And I will always love you. I forgive you, but…I can’t do anything to outwardly show that forgiveness. To the men you’re–”

“A traitor, I know,” Catelyn sighed. “I’m sorry Robb, I truly am, but I’d do it again a thousand times over if it meant the safety of your sisters.”

Robb wanted very badly to cry. He felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and more than ever he wished that anyone other than himself were king.

“I know. And I respect that,” he sighed. “I just don’t understand it.”

“One day, when you have children, you will,” his mother replied, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “Get some sleep, love. You’ll need your strength.”

When Robb returned to his tent, he found (y/n) lying down, already naked.

“I trust your visit went well?” She teased, sitting up with all the grace of a cat.

“It did. Thank you– you were right,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

“Oh ho ho, I must be dreaming,” (Y/n) laughed. “Robb Stark, admitting that someone was right besides himself? Unheard of!”

“Oh, shove off. We have other things to worry about, don’t you think?”

(Y/n) nodded with a graceful smile. “How will it be tonight? Like last night? Fast and wild?”

Robb shook his head, smiling despite himself. “I was thinking more slow and intense. I want to thank you for your…patience, last night. You were treated rather roughly, and I want to show you that I’m not all carnivorous beast.”

“Interesting. Show me.”

Oh, and he did.

First, he kissed her and languidly explored her body with lips, tongue, and teeth. That in itself was rewarding if only for the wonderful sounds she made when he dipped his head between her thighs and brought her so close to the edge that she nearly cried when he pulled away.

“Oh gods, Robb,” she cried as he gathered her in his arms. “I can’t– I want–”

“Shh,” he soothed her, threading his fingers through her hair. “I want you to come on my cock, again, and again, and again…as many times as your body will allow.”

Her beautiful (e/c) eyes went wide. “What about–”

“I can handle myself,” he chuckled. “Tonight is about you. Tell me truly, (y/n)– do you know how bloody arousing it is to know that you’re bedding a girl brave enough, wild enough, to threaten a direwolf?”

Again, those lashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks, and Robb’s heart threatened to stop.

“Do you know how arousing it is to be bedded by the King in the North? By the man that other men all but worship?” (y/n) asked as he entered her. “That isn’t something any woman could boast of.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, the worship part,” Robb chuckled nervously, ever modest.

“Is it? Or are you talking about my cunt?”

After that, there was no more talking. All of Robb’s attention went to his lovemaking. In a way, he supposed the moans, the sighs, and the gasps were a language of their own. They certainly served a purpose in communication of some form. In any case, the only real words that were said before he came were from (y/n), and they were the sweetest words he’d heard all day.

“Inside me…Finish inside me. I want–oh gods.”

Robb didn’t need to be told twice.
A few moments after it was all over, (y/n) moved to stand, presumably to leave, but Robb trapped her in his arms.

“Stay,” he rasped. It wasn’t quite a question, but wasn’t quite a command either.

It was an invitation.
“But your mother–”

“Doesn’t need you as much as I want you.”

For a beat, there was silence, and Robb though that (y/n) might leave anyway.

She didn’t.

That night, he slept the best he had in months.


***


(Y/n) always swore she’d never let a man make a fool of her, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t a fool for Robb Stark.

It had been months since (y/n) had started sleeping in his tent, and she found herself wishing she hadn’t. Of course, she enjoyed it– (y/n) had learned to love chasing pleasure as much as anyone– but she began to enjoy it too much. The kisses they shared were still savage and passionate, but they were now also sweet and tender beneath the roughness. The sex became more than just something to satisfy needs– it became loving and powerful beyond words. (Y/n) was becoming too attached, too emotionally invested. She dared not think of what that implied, and she certainly dared not think that he could feel in any way the same.

For the sake of the realm, she prayed to the old gods and the new that he did not.

Love had always come with difficulty to (y/n). It seemed that no matter where she looked for it, it was denied to her, and when it wasn’t, well…it seemed her affections were ill-placed. She always loved the beasts, the bastards, and the broken things, all of which she either could not have or did not want. It was maddening.

Not to mention the insidious monster that is man’s love of scandal and gossip.

Lady Catelyn began to question (y/n)’s absence from her tent in the night immediately after the first night (y/n) spent with Robb Of course, when asked, (y/n) told her the truth, and Catelyn only smiled.

“Serve him well, dear. You’ve always been strong-willed, so I trust you’ll be able to keep him in line better than I will.”

(Y/n) felt the need to say that her sway over Robb didn’t come from her will so much as a tight grip on his balls, but that seemed somehow inappropriate.

But there were others whispering besides Lady Catelyn, and (y/n) knew it. They whispered awful things. Things that were completely and utterly true, for the most part.

It bothered Robb.

“They call you a whore,” Robb told her one night, angry and self-righteous as always. “They have no right to call you anything, least of all a whore.”

“No,” (y/n) replied with a grin. “You don’t pay me a single copper. That makes me a slut, not a whore.”

Oh, how angry he’d been at that. (Y/n) could still feel his handprint on her bum if she thought about it hard enough. She smiled at the memory, and stopped as soon as she realized how fond she was of Robb. This had to stop, this warm, bright feeling in her chest. (Y/n) couldn’t go on like this– it would kill her when he married that Frey girl if it did.

Things had to change, or something horrible was bound to happen. (Y/n) couldn’t allow herself to walk along with Robb where she was allowed to follow, prattling on about this or that. She had to stop poking fun at him, kissing him frivolously whenever they were alone, treating him like she would a lover.

It was going to hurt worse than the seven hells combined, but (y/n) could not allow herself to love.

***


Robb had never felt like this, not even that one time with that whore from Lys.

“Oh seven hells– bloody fuck, girl. Ah–stop, gods, are you trying to–”

“Suck your brain out through your cock? Yes.” (y/n) smiled cheekily.

Robb took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly as he positioned himself at her entrance. “I love you, you foolish girl.”

As it turned out, Robb was the fool, as usual. (Y/n) went completely still against him and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t say that, Robb. Especially not if you mean it.” Her voice was as cold as the Wall, and Robb fought off the urge to shiver even as his body flushed in preparation for his confession.

“But I do love you,” he murmured, brushing the hair from her face. “You must know that.”

“I didn’t. Even so, it doesn’t matter– you’re promised to a Frey, remember. That’s why I’m here.”

“(Y/n), I don’t think you understand,” Robb sighed as he pushed into her. “I would call off that agreement in a heartbeat for you, if you felt the same, damn the consequences– do you? Feel the same?”

Robb’s whole world collapsed with just two words.

“I don’t.”

Robb swallowed. “Look at me. Look me in the eyes and say you don’t love me.”

(E/c) eyes met his own, hard as Valyrian steel. “I don’t love you. You will marry that Frey girl, and she’ll whelp you litters and litters of little wolf pups for the north to dote over,” (y/n) spat bitterly. “I don’t love you. Never will, Robb. I’m sorry.”

“So be it,” he murmured, his chest physically aching. “Leave me.”

(Y/n) moved away, standing to dress.“Yes, Your Grace.”

Robb caught her hands before she could move them, and he stared into her eyes as she looked down at him. “My name is Robb to you. Always.”

Without another word, she left.

Robb’s heart hurt so badly that he could not even cry for fear that he would shatter like glass.


***


(Y/n) could do nothing but cry. Her own words echoed in her head and stabbed her in the gut every time she thought them.
I don’t love you. I don’t love you. I don’t love you.

The gods had given (y/n) a gift for lying. She could do so without hesitation, spinning tale after tale until she had convinced the world that the sky was red and the clouds were piss-green. Sometimes, she almost fooled even herself.

And now, thanks to that, Robb Stark thought she didn’t love him when he was the only thing she wanted and would ever want again.

It was incredibly good of Lady Catelyn not to question her– the sweet Lady of Winterfell only rubbed soothing circles on (y/n)’s back as she cried, occasionally whispering words of comfort. (Y/n) would never be able to thank her enough for that– without the comfort Lady Catelyn provided, (y/n) would surely have done something foolish. Likely, she would have fled back to Robb’s tent, begged his forgiveness, and told him the truth. Then he would, what, throw away a kingdom for her? There was no way in the seven hells she’d see that happen, and yet…for love, she just might have. The whole concept terrified (y/n)– she’d never had anything that she would watch the seven kingdoms burn for.

The things she would do for love…


***


Robb had never been more miserable in his life. All day, every day, he had only one thought, one all-consuming wish– he longed for the night and the woman he would spend it with. And all night, every night, when he was with his love, he longed to be apart from her, for being with her gave him as much agony as being without her, knowing that she didn’t love him. It had been two months since (y/n) had smashed his heart to bits, and every day since then seemed worse than the last. The only moment he found peace was when he was making love to her, letting his hands roam her body as hers roamed his. Nothing else existed then– when they were together like that, there were no secrets, no lies, no playing pretend. Only the truth remained between them.

(Robb wasn’t sure what the truth was, but it was all he had, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a plank.)

Tonight’s moment of truth had been short, but not so sweet. It left Robb feeling more hollow than before, if that was still possible, and it felt like mockery.

As he got up to put out the lanterns, Robb afforded one last look at (y/n), who lay sprawled across his furs for the moment. She was the very picture of a queen, with skin as smooth as silk and twice as shiny with sweat.

In a few minutes more, she would leave. He would beg her to stay, kiss her and hold her and beg as much as a king can, but still she would go. The next night would be a repeat of this one, and the next, and the next, in an endless cycle of pain and pleasure, of misery and miracles.

Eddard Stark, Robb’s father, used to tell him that if he loved something, to let it go. If it came back, Lord Stark said, it loved him back.

(That was the only lie Robb’s father had ever told him. Every night, faithfully, (y/n) always came back, but she did not love him.)

Just as Robb laid down once more, (y/n) stood, pulling on her clothes.

“Don’t go.”

“Is that a command, Your Grace?”

“A request. One I make every night, and every night, you refuse me.” Robb didn’t bother to hide the pain and accusation in his voice. He was useless at being subtle anyhow. “Stay with me, my love.”

“Robb, I am not ‘your love’ and I can’t stay because if I do I’ll–”

(Y/n) froze but for shaking her head as she pressed her lips together.

“You’ll what?” Robb asked, leaning up. “What is it?”

It was difficult to see, but after a moment Robb saw that (Y/n)’s sweet, precious eyes were filled with tears, and, unable to stay away, he went to her, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, looking up at him with pain in her eyes. “I just can’t, it hurts too much and I’m n-not strong enough–”

Robb gathered (y/n) into his arms, and she sobbed violently into his chest– it was the screaming sort of sobbing, the kind that came from only the most acute pain. Robb wished he could take it all away, wished he could take on all her burdens, all her cares– his heart ached at the thought of her pain.

“Sh, there, dove. My sweet, sweet queen, don’t cr– oomph.”

She shoved him. That little wildcat shoved him from her. At first, Robb was angry, but (y/n) had stumbled so far backwards that she’d fallen into a heap on the floor, where she looked up at him pitifully.

“Don’t call me that. Call me anything but queen, Robb, please.” her voice was so raw and broken…it scared the shit out of him.

Before, either of them could react, though, one of the guards asked permission to enter, saying he had urgent news. Once he’d put his breeches on, Robb invited him in, and the guard wore a grim expression.

“A raven came, your grace. The Twins were invaded last night, and every last Frey was slaughtered in the struggle. Here’s the message, written in the hand of Lord Tywin Lannister himself.”

Robb read the letter six times over before he truly began to believe it. Every last Frey, gone…Robb knew he should feel something– grief, joy, whichever– but he felt only numbness.

“Thank you for informing me, ser. See that you tell each of the lords and arrange a meeting of the war council at first light.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The guard bowed, and once again the two lovers were alone.

The tent was silent as a tomb.

“I no longer have to marry,” Robb thought aloud. “I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not.”


***

“Robb?” (y/n) sniffled from the ground, clutching her legs to her body.

“Yes?” He answered hesitantly from the bed, where she had all but ordered him to stay while she cried.

“Will you– will you hold me?”

“Of course.” He walked over, scooped her up, and carried her to his furs, where he lay with her, their bodies entwined.

“Robb? Do you still love me?”

Robb frowned bitterly. “You ask me that as if I could stop.”

“Truly, you do love me? Still?”

She knew that would make Robb angry, but she needed to know beyond doubt. (Y/n) was so afraid that her heart felt nigh to bursting. She hoped Robb couldn’t feel her whole body tremble as she was pressed against him by one of his strong, powerful legs.

“Yes. For as long as I still have breath, I will love you.”

“Even if I lied to you?” she asked, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Even if I hurt you because I thought it was the right thing to do?”

“(Y/n) what are you saying?” Robb demanded as he sat up, his hair sticking up in a thousand different directions.

“I’m saying that I lied, I’m saying that I hurt you, I’m saying that I’m sorry, but most of all, I’m saying…I’m–” (y/n) struggled to speak through her tears, and failed miserably.

“Saying what, dear one?” he prompted, kissing her temple.

“That I love you.” she whimpered softly.
“You…what?”
“I love you, Robb, I really, truly do, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone ever before and–”

Robb stopped her with a hand. “You love me?”

“Yes, Robb, I love you,” (y/n) replied, all but falling into his deep cerulean eyes. “I lied, before, when you first asked me. I didn’t want you to call off that marriage and destroy everything that you’ve worked so hard to build and I–”

Robb cut her off with a bruising kiss, all but throwing her on her back with his knees on either side of her. He looked like an animal, a predator, ready for the kill. He loomed over (y/n), his eyes searching hers, and he must have found what he was looking for, because he kissed her, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth as though looking for answers to the universe.

“I will make you my queen,” he growled into her ear, literally ripping off her dress. “You will bear me litters and litters of wolf pups, not some inbred southern woman. If you love me as you say you do, I will make you my queen, my wife.”

“Yes, Robb,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as he took her for the third time that night. “All of that, I want it all.”

You’ll have one of those pups you were talking about a little sooner than you planned, (y/n) thought giddily to herself, but she didn’t see any reason to ruin Robb’s fun with the announcement.

“Say you love me.” That was not a request, but (y/n) found herself unable to care.
“I love you. I’ll always love you, Robb. Now and forever.”

The two of them climaxed together, and Robb stayed inside her, filling her to the hilt the whole night through.

(Y/n) never slept better.


***


“Pregnant? Pregnant. Okay, okay, you’re pregnant, seven hells… We’re going to be parents!”

“Robb, darling, seriously. This is our fifth child.”

“So? It’s just as exciting as the first time,” Robb laughed, smiling so wide his face hurt.

(Y/n) smiled the kind of smile that he lived to see. “And does that mean you have to say the exact same words you’ve said the last four times I told you I was pregnant?”

“Yes, absolutely. Because nothing else sums it up as well.” Robb’s heart filled with joy and pride and he touched (y/n)’s stomach. “Maybe another girl this time? Three’s a lucky number…”

“You just love to spoil your daughters,” (y/n) laughed, looking over to where Lyanna and Brienne played in the trees. “They’re as wild as you were.”

“Or maybe another son…Ned and Jon need someone to pick on besides one another,” Robb laughed, watching the boys spar. “Either way, when it comes down to it, their Aunt Sansa is the worst at spoiling them. Even worse than mother, and that’s saying something.”

“I still can’t believe I’m mother to little princes and princesses. I can’t believe I’m wife to a king,” (y/n) smiled wistfully. “I never dreamed of amounting to much. Now look at me. Queen of the North.”

“Darling, you were always queen. It was only that no one knew that but you,” Robb japed.

“Shut up,” (y/n) smirked, elbowing him.

“That’s not fair. I can’t elbow you back because you’re pregnant. Oh my gods, you’re pregnant.”

“Robb?”

“Yes?” He grinned cheekily.

“Shut up.”

Robb laughed. “Never.”

(Y/n) leaned into his kiss, and thanked the gods as she did every day for the wonder that was her husband.

Long live the King in the North.

AO3 link:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/11132970

World's Fair a Hotbed of Health Problems

The Chicago World’s Fair in 1893 saw tens of thousands of people visit the city to view the fantastical exhibitions. With so many people packed in next to the latest (and not extremely safe) technologies, there were plenty of accidents and injuries. The fair’s ambulances superintended by a doctor named Gentles were constantly delivering bruised, bloody, and overheated visitors to the exposition hospital. Over the life of the fair the hospital treated 11,602 patients, sixty-four a day! Some of the funnier concerns treated included:

  • 820 cases of diarrhea;
  • 154, constipation;
  • 21, hemorrhoids;
  • 434, indigestion;
  • 365, foreign bodies in the eyes;
  • 364, severe headaches;
  • 594 episodes of fainting, syncope (drop in blood pressure), and exhaustion;
  • 1 case of extreme flatulence;
  • and 169 involving teeth that hurt like hell
hollywoodreporter.com
Apichatpong Weerasethakul to Shoot Next Feature in Colombia (Exclusive)
“I’ve been wanting to know about all the violence that happened here, and the history of colonization — in a way, to reflect on my country,” he says.

“Thailand’s military junta overthrew the country’s democratically elected government in May 2014. Apichatpong says the country’s censorship system was tough on filmmakers before the coup, but at least the government had a fairly clear stance on what issues were deemed sensitive. ‘We couldn’t touch religion, monarchy and military authority,’ he said. But since the takeover, the lines have blurred, making the creation of art all the more perilous.

‘There is this issue about not being able to present reality, because we are still under the control of the government, which views film as propaganda,’ he said. ‘Sometimes you do something and they just charge you. For example, two theater performers were in prison for two years, because they did something the government deemed an insult to the monarchy — it’s all about interpretation. It’s really like 1984.’

The renowned filmmaker’s latest outlet, then, is researching the histories of countries other than his own — such as Colombia. ‘I’ve been wanting to know about all the violence that happened here, and the history of colonization — in a way, to reflect on my country,’ said Apichatpong. ‘At the same time, I imagine it’s impossible to make a film that’s authentically local. So I don’t believe I can present that — it will be about these foreign eyes, looking.’”

anonymous asked:

What if the chocobros wife want to divorce from them?

OOOOOOOH ANGST! >:D I’m gonna write short scenarios! <3

Tagging some pals: @blindbae, @itshaejinju, @nifwrites, @cupnoodle-queen, @lady-asuka, @alicemoonwonderland, @chocohoess, @ridingchocobros, @xnoctits, @neko-otaku13, @lupanaoflaminar and @wrathwritesthings <3

PERMALINK: https://themissimmortal.tumblr.com/post/161387976875/what-if-the-chocobros-wife-want-to-divorce-from

Ko-Fi (if you like the angst maybe? No pressure as always <3):

https://ko-fi.com/themissimmortal


Noctis: You and Noctis hadn’t been talking much lately. Things had gotten a little tense between the two of you over the years. At first, you thought it was just the two of you going through the regular motions that each couple went through. Truth be told, you thought that the relationship you had with the young King was healthy. You thought you could be happy. But then, small squabbles turned into massive arguments. Shouting led to tears, and tears led to irreparable heart break. You held your shoulders back, paperwork in your hand, as you walked with as much pride as you could muster as the current Queen of Lucis, towards the council room. When you arrived there, it was empty save for your husband- King Noctis Lucis Caelum. You stood by the door, breathing quietly as your eyes took in the regal, handsome features of the man you called your husband. Your breath hitched in your throat as Noctis suddenly turned his head towards you, his midnight blue eyes looking foreign as he glared at you- disturbed from his endless pile of paper work.

“I thought I told you not to disturb me here-.”

“I want a divorce.” You spoke quietly, but surely.

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“Do I have something on my face?”

Thor’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and Loki barely resists rolling his eyes. Thor is not expecting an answer, of course, there is plenty on his face; smudged war paint, blood, grime.

But Loki has been caught staring and it would be prudent to say something.

“I enjoy seeing you with slave hair.” It tumbles out of his mouth, untruthful and too harsh. The expression in Thor’s eyes darkens and he takes a step forward.

“Don’t test me,” Thor warns, voice pitched so deep it seems to be an echo of the storms that Thor currently can’t call.

“Or you will what?” Loki asks, lips wrapping around the last word. He sees Thor glance down at them briefly. Interesting. Even with barely concealed rage in him, held back only by circumstance – they both need to get to Asgard as soon as possible after all – there’s still a flicker of something sensual between them.

Thor doesn’t reply; he doesn’t need to, he basically radiates unspoken threats. The feeling of it sends something uncertain through Loki, forcing him to suppress a shiver. He does not, in fact, enjoy the look of Thor’s hair, chopped and shaved in such an uncouth manner. It changes his face, along with the thick beard, making him ever so slightly foreign to Loki’s eyes, for he’s been long-haired his entire life, even as a toddler. Loki vaguely remembers they both were, locks flowing freely around their faces as they ran towards newest trouble through the golden halls of the palace.

In the face of all the things that have changed between them, it seems ridiculous to be put out of sorts by something as silly as hair.

“Come, brother,” Loki says as evenly as he can, making sure his voice doesn’t waver over the word. “It’s a long way home.”

The Heart of the Mountain - Bagginshield Oneshot

Hi! So I wrote this one-shot for @azriona for @fandomtrumpshate  /  @fandomtrumpshateofferings auction! Azriona donated to Planned Parenthood - kudos! Anyways, this is my submission, so I hope y’all like it!


Bilbo wished he were brave enough to stare down those foreign, blue eyes and tell their self-entitled owner he can fetch his own seed cake, thank you very much.

He wished he could have locked the door and blow the candles and shoo the jolly, messy, dwarf-shaped locusts away.

He wished he were brave enough to be rude to his rude guests. He wished he could snuff that knowing smile from Gandalf’s beaming face. He wished for many things.

He wished that dwarf leader, whatever his name was, weren’t so bloody handsome.

He wished, as he carried the last of his seed cakes and offered it to the dwarf (who didn’t even bother to look up and acknowledge his presence, the arrogant prick) that his eyes weren’t so vividly blue, that his presence didn’t storm through Bilbo’s entire being and filled his humble abode with dreams of adventure, that his voice didn’t vibrate within Bilbo’s very core, that he didn’t smell of earth and rain and ashen pipe-smoke…

He hid in his room, waiting for the normalcy of his life to settle around him and erase Thorin Oakenshield from his thoughts. He fell asleep, dreaming of foreign words and blue eyes and dragons.

Oddly enough, he was displeased to wake up and find the merry company (and its grumpy leader) gone. Almost like a night vision he didn’t dream to its end and now, once awake, failed to remember – he wished for more.

He wanted more.

Bilbo dashed out of his house, contract in hand and handkerchief forgotten, to chase yesterday’s dream of blue, blue eyes.


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