she just hates the cold

I promised to write @oh-nostalgiaa something to cheer her up this weekend. (Better late than never?) Here are 1000 words of comforting, caretaking fluff - rated Teen only because Jyn has a foul mouth.

She’s almost there. You can’t die in the lobby, Jyn orders herself. At least drag your carcass upstairs to your apartment. That way, the Most Beautiful Man in the World won’t stumble over her corpse in the morning.

But she’s so drained and listless from this awful flu that the walk to the 24-hour drugstore took twice as long as it should have, and she can’t face the climb right now. She sits down on the bottom step, trying to catch her breath; she can hear it wheezing in her lungs, feel them straining to pull in enough air. Her head is spinning, her vision is a little grainy, and there’s a furnace blazing inside her chest. She unzips her jacket and flaps the edges, but then shivers uncontrollably as cold air crawls inside her shirt.

She closes her eyes and leans her head against the banister. Just a few seconds to gather her strength for the trek upstairs. Then she can fall into bed, chug half a bottle of NyQuil and wait for it to kick in.

“Excuse me, are you okay?”

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she always liked
her eggs over easy

don’t break the yolk

she would break it
with her finger

the index finger
on her left hand

I would then
lick it clean

it made her laugh
for some reason

oh yeah, then
two pieces of toast
white bread
thinly buttered

make sure
all the butter melts

“God”, she would say
(not that she
was addressing me)

“I just hate cold globs
of unmelted butter”

[text] im sorry
[text] im sorry
[text] im sorry
[text] im sorry
[text] im sorry

Imagine Woozi being adamant about coming over to your place to take care of you when you’re sick even though you told him not to because he’ll catch your sickness. When he arrives, you told him not to get too close to you but he then says that he doesn’t mind getting sick, as long as you’re getting better.

anonymous asked:

Diabolic Esper x Blazing Heart headcanons, maybe?

  • Elesis tries her best to get a laugh out of Add. Whether it be from cracking jokes, to puns, or trying to make a fool of herself, she just can’t get the silent esper to laugh.
  • Add hates feeling cold in the dead of night. He begs Elesis at night to let him sleep with her for the night. The warmth of her body keeps him nice and cozy at night. They pretty much decided to sleep together at night after the first time they slept together.
  • Trying to keep Add well nourished is a nightmare. Elesis isn’t the greatest cook but she has to force him to eat just so he doesn’t starve himself to death. She sometimes wonders if she’s just taking care of the world’s biggest baby.
  • Elesis is the only one that makes Add feel like he has any humanity left in himself. Others see him as nothing but a dead man walking, but to Elesis, she see’s a young man that lost his way and needs help from someone loving.
  • Elesis once went with Add to his past to see why he was so obsessed with changing it, when they returned, she didn’t dare leave his side after realizing why he had lost his mind.
Wedding Preference #6

Roughing Out A Date\ Masterlist\ Previous Preference


“So I was thinking about the wedding,” you began as you finished dinner for both you and Liam, “and I know you said whatever I want is fine, but I really want you to make some decisions with me.”

He took a stab at his food, picking up a piece of chicken. “Well I know you have been dreaming of a perfect wedding all your life, and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“You’re right, I have,” you admitted, “but I wanna look back on our wedding and see your ideas in our wedding,” you said.

He nodded, “Okay what about I help you pick a date for our wedding,” he suggested. 

“Well I guess that’s a start,” you smiled as you swirled your pasta on your plate. “So what season should we start out with or look at?”

“Well we shouldn’t pick a holiday.” Liam said. “It’ll be ready busy.”

“Okay, fair enough. What about something in the spring?” you asked. “Things are blooming, things are growing, it’ll be the perfect temperature. It’ll be beautiful.”

“The spring is beautiful, but sometimes it’s still cold in March and it rains all April,” he reminded you.

“What about May, then?”

“What about the end of May? Everything would have bloomed and the grass would be green. It’ll be perfect,” Liam smiled.

“Okay then. Are you sure you want this too?” you asked. You didn’t just want Liam to agree because that’s what you wanted.

“Yeah, I really actually want this for us. And that means that we have awhile to plan,” he said. “And I want to help you make this wedding perfect.

“Okay but you’re gonna help with more than just the date. We have much more to plan than the date.”


Niall was more than excited about the wedding, more than you thought he would be. He would come to you everyday with a different theme for the wedding. His only big request was it to be in Ireland. You could live with that.

“So I was thinking about that one time when we went to Ireland last fall,” you said as you and Niall cleaned up the bedroom. “It was absolutely beautiful, and I was thinking about having our wedding there.”

“Really?” Niall asked as he put the last pillow on the bed. “I thought you wanted to be a June bride.”

You nodded, “I did, but we have so many memories in the fall in Ireland. We took Theo trick or treating, it was when I met your parents, it was when you took me golfing even if I did suck.”

He chuckled at the memory, “You were bad.”

“Hey! I’m learning,” you laughed, playfully hitting his arm. “But I’m serious, Ni. We would have it in November or October and imagine the wedding pictures. And we can even have a beautiful wedding outside in like a forest area. Wouldn’t that be great?”

He shrugged and sighed, “I like the idea.”

“But,” you waited for his but on why it should be a different date.

“But nothing. I think it’ll be beautiful,” he smiled, laying on the bed. “As long as we have it in Ireland and you’re happy and I get to marry you, we could get married in a box for all I care,” he chuckled.

“Yeah what a beautiful wedding that would be,” you joked. “But as long as we’re happy, we’ll be fine.”

“And like I promised before, this won’t change our relationship. It’ll just make it legal.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” 


Ever since Zayn had came back from tour and proposed, you two couldn’t be closer. You were enjoying each other’s company and you never felt more in love. You were more excited to plan. 

“Zayn,” you mumbled shaking his arm on your bed. “Babe. I have to leave soon and I wanna discus something about the wedding,” you said, kissing his cheek.

You saw him slightly smiled before wrapping his arms around you. He quickly flip you on your back causing you to squeal.

“Morning, baby,” he said, lazily before pecking your lips. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, I wanna talk about maybe a date for our wedding,” you told him. “And I wanted to discus that with you before I leave today.”

“You want to pick the exact date today?” he asked, a bit unsure.

“Maybe not a set date, but a season we see ourselves getting married in. Things change so I’m not gonna hold us to a date,” you reassured. “Like I would like a wedding in the winter, maybe? The snow would look so good and beautiful.”

“But it would be cold though,” he reminded you. “You don’t quite well in the cold, love.”

“I know but my parents had their wedding in the winter and so did your parents, and I just thought…never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway,” you mumbled, rolling yourself out from under Zayn’s body.

“Y/N, it wasn’t a stupid idea. I really like that idea,” Zayn smiled. “I just know my future wife and how she hates being cold.”

You smiled at being called his future wife. “I think it would be a nice thing our parents would like, you know? And maybe it’ll become a family tradition.”

“Okay, I think it’ll be perfect and our parents will love it.”


Harry was all for helping you with planning the wedding. He was excited to get started and finally start your life together. He had ideas from the moment he proposed. Like you, Harry wanted the wedding day to be perfect.

“I was thinking about the wedding,” Harry began as he walked through the city.

“You’re always thinking about the wedding,” you chuckled. “We don’t even have an idea when we want it yet.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” he said. “We have all these ideas, but no where to put them.”

You nodded, “Well I can really see us getting married in the summer. Maybe something like June where it isn’t too hot yet but perfect.”

“Does Y/N Y/L/N want to become a June bride?” Harry asked, slightly intrigued. “What happened to June brides being typical and basic?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “It’s just an idea that I was thinking about because June has really great weather; its pretty.”

He nodded and chuckled. You always said if you and Harry were to get married, you would never want June because that would seem typical. You said you wanted to do something different and not have a basic wedding.

“I know what I used to say, but I thought about it more and June seemed nice.”

“I like June too, babe. I just want to make sure you want it, too because it’ll be our day together,” Harry reminded you, squeezing your hand. “And it’s not set in stone. We can still change it.”

“Okay, then so lets just say June for now,” you decided. “We’ll have a lot of time to plan it.”

“And it’ll be everything you ever wanted. I promise.”


“So what season?” you asked as you watched Louis get dressed from bed so he could go to the studio.

“Excuse me?” Louis asked asked as he slipped on his t-shirt. 

“For the wedding,” you confirmed. “Not really an exact date but some type of an idea.”

Louis had been busier lately. You understood, but that left you alone to think about the wedding yourself. In the middle of your thoughts, you realized you wanted Louis’s input on the wedding. It wasn’t just your wedding; it was yours and Louis’s wedding.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked you, laying down on the bed.

“Maybe like in August or March,” you suggested. “Like if we have it in August, it’ll be warmer but not too hot if we do it at the end of August, but if we do it in March, it’ll be a little cooler and I really like March.”

Louis sat up and thought for a moment, “I like the thought of having the wedding in August,” Louis said. “Sometime in March, the snow doesn’t completely melt, and it’s slushy and gray. At least in August, it’ll most likely be sunny.”

“But March was the month we met and I thought it would be cute to get married in that month,” you pouted, crossing your arm.

“Well, like you said, its just an idea. For all we know, we could change it to January or November. Its just ideas, babe,” Louis told you. 

“I like November,”you mumbled, sitting up. “Do you like November, Lou?”

“Yeah, I kinda do. I actually think November would be a good month for us as long as it doesn’t snow too early next year. I think November would be perfect.”

“Me too.”

concept: Tex fucking hates winter.  it ruins her aesthetic. any weather when it’s too cold to wear a leather jacket is far too cold in the mind of Tex. 

some people can pull off elegant winter looks, Tex is not one of them. It’s all puffy parkas and hands in pockets and her cheeks are all flushed. maybe she could salvage it, but then York buys her a hat with pom poms on the top, and she would throw it out just to spite him, but it’s warm, damn it. and then Caboose makes her a scarf because he knows she hates the cold and look she’s just trying to make sure he doesn’t cry okay and it’s also warm. she can handle wearing something colorful and slightly lumpy if it makes Caboose happy. stop laughing at her Church. 

(damn it Tucker stop taking photos of her and sending them to everyone she is death.) 

cs fic: take the weather from your heart

Summary: CS Neighbors AU. Emma finds herself in possession of a cabin in the wilderness of New England with only one neighbor: a certain Killian Jones.

a/n: This is an ode to pioneer women, New England in the winter, and flannel. So much flannel.

cs fic: take the weather from your heart

Her phone lost reception about twenty miles back and the road went from pavement to gravel to dirt somewhere during that time and she’s in the goddamn middle of rolling, twisting nowhere.

There’s a lingering stillness sitting heavy just above the day, grayness swallowing mountains and frost-burnt grass blanketing the ground in quiet.

It’s such a Granny thing to do: to up and die on her and leave her a stupid cabin of all things in a place that hasn’t seen civilization since before the French and Indian War and takes an orienteering degree to get to.

Just goddamn like her to teach her some murky, cryptic lesson from beyond the grave.

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Seriously, Galaxia’s casual lack of fuck-giving is fantastic.

Who’s up for some Shade backstory and angst about Surviving The Pearl Life On Homeworld and knighthood feelings, you? you? good.

She floats from point to point around the healing fountain, pruning this or that vine and fixing this or that crack in the stone. “After she was…gone…nobody took care of it for a while. It was all overgrown and clogged.”

“But who told you to do it?”

“Nobody–I–I just do. It’s important.”

“Why?” She sits down on the stone steps, raising her head to look at the active, caretaking figure across the pool. “You didn’t…”

She trails off, but Pearl turns. “Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t belong to her…?”

 She comes around the side of the pool to stand before her at the top of the steps. “You don’t see how I could have loved her if I didn’t belong to her. It’s only because I didn’t belong to her that I was able to love her. Do you not understand?”

Shade snaps at her: “You’re a pearl.”

“Yes…?” She resists the urge to say ‘I get that a lot,’ because of course, since the end of the war, she really doesn’t anymore. She’s about to ask what aspect of her life is the problem this time when Shade stammers on a syllable, half-chokes, speaking like it’s the hardest thing in the world:

“Don’t you worry? If…if anyone knew that you act like this…Ammolite would be appalled, mother would be furious–you could never be assigned, everyone would know you’re corrupted.”

“Please don’t use that word for it.”

“Well, what should I call it then?”

“Do you really buy all that? Word for word? Her Will The Current and Every Moment, Every Thought and A Pearl Is Perfect At Any Cost?”

Shade wraps her arms more tightly around herself, as if she feels a cold wind, and turns just away. “I hate the way you say them.”

“You hate everything about me. You hate everything I stand for. You hate that I stand for anything at all.”

She turns back, meeting her eyes abruptly, looking shaken and hurt through her veneer of calm. “No! Oh…no…I–” And then, her perfect face crinkles, her head falls, her hands travel up to her shoulders. She bows over the stone floor. Her gem lights up to project what she can’t say.

“This is not what I ordered,” the memory says, over the image of an arm on the wrist of a pearl, its fingers clenching and recoiling in disappointment. “I am trying to present an air of professionalism here; you’ll have to make another.”

Shade, a younger Shade, newly formed and shy, visibly gathers her courage and tugs on the Ammolite’s sleeve. “What, you–” slips out before she hides her anger for the company’s sake. “What.” She whispers something in her ear. Ammolite raises an eyebrow and turns back.

“If you will permit it, Captain, this unit would like to speak to you, with utmost deference, on her own behalf.”

The gem’s face near fills the circle in the air. “Bold,” she says, “but my Diamond appreciates boldness–even in a pearl, up to a point. Say your piece then.”

She kneels. Trembles. Grovels. It’s quite a show. “With absolute respect to your will, ma’am, and trust in your decision, I ask only for your consideration. I am terribly sorry that my projection is not to your specifications, but I have been one of the best-behaved, most efficient units here since I first formed it. Any other you could get would be unlikely to exhibit such a high standard. If you would allow me the honor of serving you and your superiors, I believe that I could be enough of an asset to your household that…perhaps you could forgive one shade.”

“Is this true?” the Captain asks Ammolite, who nods. There’s a silence as she thinks it over. “Very well,” she says at last, “if you’re as quick as you say, I suppose you’ll do.”

She bows low in silent gratitude while her new commander waves a hand and begins to walk off. “Just box her up and send her to the address I left you.”

Ammolite turns to her when the client is out of earshot. “Fate has spared you, pearl. Don’t count on it ever happening again. Your commander’s favor and her favor alone will assure your security.”

“Yes ma’am.” In her composed face, there is subtle fear and louder understanding.

The scene in the beam changes. She stands in an office before the aristocratic gem to whom she now belongs. “Well? I’m waiting for an explanation, pearl.”

Her eyes dart to one side. “Of–of course, you see–” 

“I’ll be honest, I don’t think you’re the one who lost that file; you’ve been nothing but dutiful, sometimes I think you never make a mistake–I don’t want to have to do anything drastic, but this is very serious.”

“I–” She knows, of course. She considers the decision; it is not made rashly. “It was–Emerald’s pearl, ma’am. It had to have been. I sent it back to her as soon as you asked, and–and completely removed it for confidentiality–the technicians saw the whole exchange, ma’am, I’m sure they’ll tell you the same.”

And it starts like that–innocent enough, defensible enough, backed up by evidence–and goes on, scene after scene, until she’s capitalizing on the Captain’s trust, lying to cover her few-and-far-between mistakes. Bolt makes an appearance, touching her arm in her desperate, hopeful way:

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“It was more her fault than anybody else’s.”

“She’s really angry, pearl, they might recycle her–”

“What part of perfect at any cost don’t you understand? Remember it could happen to you just as easily. We’re all one mistake away from where she is right now. Let’s stop chattering and work like it.”

Another dozen memories flicker by. Pearl feels the urge to look away from them, to ask “Why are you doing this? It’s your guilt to bear.” But the fear that flashes through the eyes of Shade’s remembered self in each scene hits her with a familiarity that she can’t deny. With every segment of her history, Shade sinks a centimeter lower. By the time she gets to the last one her elbows touch the stone.

“I don’t hate you. I just…don’t know how you did it. How any pearl does it. Sticks up for somebody else when she’s clinging to her own gem by a shred of light. I’m not like you,” she says—arms still coiled around herself, dropping tears onto the floor. “I’m a coward.”

Pearl doesn’t know what to say. It is so rare that she can even guess at what is running through someone else’s mind; she had always assumed that it would make things easier. It doesn’t. She isn’t any more equipped to fight someone else’s memories than she is her own.

Wordlessly, she descends the few steps and kneels beside the bowing figure, placing her awkward arms mechanically about her. Shade looks surprised but shrinks into her embrace, accepting the comfort of her own. She lets her tears soak the shoulder of this non-uniform, this free gem; and then her elegant hand traces upward, through the curl of hair against Pearl’s chin, over her cheek, and spreads, gently, carefully, over her gem. She feels its abject shape; its brittle nacreous layer, abused by a thousand years of war, embedded with a few tiny motes of shrapnel that were healed in rather than dangerously extracted; its surface warmed by heavy use, emotion, moving sand, building spear after spear.

“I’ve survived,” Shade whispers. “You’ve lived.”

@cupcakemolotov was assulted by angst and requested murder fluff to make it better. She gave me a prompt but this does not fill it at all, oops. Quick and probably rough!

Shelter Me

Caroline’s lungs burned and her feet were a mess of bruises and cuts, her high heels discarded early when they hindered her escape.

There needed to be some kind of directory, a who’s who of witches, werewolves and vampires in major metropolitan areas. Caroline was a damn good vampire, fed tidily and didn’t kill, but there were some things she just didn’t know.

That Patras was home to some seriously traditional witches – the kind that believed that the only good vampire was a dead vampire – was unfortunately one of them.

She’d gotten in yesterday morning, passed out as soon as her hotel room door was shut, full from the flight attendant she’d snacked on just before the seatbelt light had gone on. It had been dark when she’d woken up and once she’d thrown open the window she’d been able to hear faint strains of music, fast and heavy on the bass.

It had only taken Caroline a second to decide to start her tour of the city by checking out the nightlife.

Such a mistake.

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Aelin & Rowan Have a Snowball Fight

           Aelin and Rowan had felt the chill of winter creep into the land. Clouds rolled in and so did the rain. But the harsh, biting rain soon turned to fluffy white snow. Rowan didn’t mind it one bit, but Aelin hated it with a passion. It wasn’t because it was her magics reaction but she just hated the cold. It was loathsome.

           “C’mon!” Rowan tugged at her arm, that childlike recklessness overtook his normal serious self. His grin was wide and he was headed towards the door.

           “It’s just cold!” Aelin stubbornly argued. There was no reason to submit herself to such weather. Only emergencies caused that.

           “But it’ll be fun!” Another tug, another smile. Aelin rolled her eyes as a smile grew on her face, his giddiness was infectious.

           “What do you mean, fun?” She squinted her eyes at him. Then she lifted a finger and pointed it at him severely. “Are we going to train? I will have none of it!”

           “No, I want to have a snowball fight!” Finally, after much pleading, Aelin moved her feet towards the door, yanking a jacket on along the way.

           “Fine.” She stomped her feet and started toward the icy blanket of white outside. Aelin and Rowan stepped foot outside and closed the door. The trees had snow all over them, as did most of the landscape. The silence wasn’t crushing but … peaceful. She had to admit it was beautiful. But before she could observe further she heard a snicker and bam! Piercing cold hit her face and fell to the ground. It took Aelin a few seconds to register what had happened before she turned to Rowan who was already creating another sphere of snow.

           “Ooh, I’m gonna get you!” Aelin caught on fast how to make a snowball. Both with fae liked speed they had amassed mounds of snowballs and had created walls to hide behind. Aelin peeked around the corner of her wall. There wasn’t any movement but her pointed ears twitched at the sound of movement. She knew Rowan was going to fake her out.

           Turning, Aelin palmed a snowball and threw it right at Rowan’s face. As it exploded, Rowan was already moving to retaliate. His snowball missed as Aelin dodged out of the way. Soon they were a blur of hit and miss with snow explosions and cold faces. A crowd had gathered along the outside of their arena. Aelin and Rowan paused when they noticed.

           “Well,” Aelin said with her hands on her hips, “you gonna just stand there or join in?” Her laughter let loose something among the crowd and they rushed forward, joining in. Aelin saw Evangaline and Lysandra go up against Aedion and Ren. Smiling, Aelin watched her love ones join in on the fun. She didn’t catch Rowan sneaking up behind her. But Rowan didn’t have snow. Aelin let him approach this time, knowing it was different, and was right when she felt his arms wrap around her waist to hold her.

           “Fireheart,” he purred, “you look ravishing.” Aelin smiled and leaned into Rowan. But Rowan had other ideas and lifted her off the ground. He swung her around and dropped her into a snowpile. Bewildered, Aelin kicked Rowan’s feet out from under him and he went down easily. Aelin smirked at her success and grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it down his shirt, giggling the whole time. Rowan gasped at the cold and pinned Aelin to the ground in one swift movement. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, savoring this simple fun. Rowan leaned down to Aelin and planted a kiss to her forehead. He pulled back and laughter was in his eyes.

           “That is a snowball fight.”

Drow Ranger is the hero you want to like but you can’t really because she’s just terrible at everything and it just makes you hate her. And she knows that. She acts the cold and distant lone ranger so that she doesn’t get her hopes up of keeping a friend when she eventually disappoints.

lovely, dark, and deep - ch. 2

Bellarke Red Riding Hood AU - Bellamy and Clarke grow up together in Arksmouth, a village cowering in the shadow of a wolf. The wolf is only kept at bay by monthly sacrifices of the town’s livestock on the full moon. When the wolf murders Harper, Clarke’s sister, killing for the first time in 20 years, Clarke is caught in the middle of a wolf hunt. Who can she trust when even Bellamy, her best friend and the man she’s fallen in love with, could be the wolf?

part: 3/8  |  wc: ~4.5k  

Previous: prologue || chapter one || picspam || read it on AO3

Dried blood crusts on the skirts of her dress, but she can’t bring herself to care. She feels blank. Empty.

She thinks back to just a few nights ago; Harper had told Clarke she had a secret. She can still see the flash of her sister’s smile, bright and full of life. The memory twists before her eyes. Echoes of laughter and hushed whispers resound in her mind, the thoughts coalescing into the twisted bastard child of dream and nightmare.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and leans her hands against the table in front of her, a wave of grief sweeping over her.

That night, she had tried to get Harper to tell her what she meant, but Harper thrived on attention and she loved teasing Clarke. So of course, she never told Clarke what the secret was. And now she never would. But Clarke can’t be angry at Harper for keeping secrets. After all, Clarke never told her about Bellamy.

Now, she can’t help but wonder if Harper’s secret that night had anything to do with why she’d been in the north square last night on a full moon.

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tinuviel-undomiel  asked:

FSP prompt: Belle has a cold so Gold nurses her.

Belle knew something was wrong when she woke up. Her throat hurt and her body just felt wrong in that strange way that came with being sick. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the blankets in the hope that she could go back to sleep and wake up feeling better.

“What’s wrong?” she heard from next to her. Apparently, Rhys had either already been awake or her sulking had roused him.

“I’m sick,” she said, not even bothering to hide the self-pity in her voice. She hated being sick.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those who can’t handle illness,” he teased her as he reached over to touch her forehead with his hand while she resisted the urge to throttle him. “You are feverish, though,” he continued, sounding a lot more sympathetic now.

She whined a little at the loss of contact and rolled over to bury her face in his side. He was warm and soft and comforting and she didn’t want to let go once she had a good grip on him. He sighed a little indulgently and pulled her into his arms.

“Do you want me to have the doctor called?” he asked her and she shook her head.

“It’s just a little cold,” she replied. She hated seeing the doctor unless it was absolutely necessary. “I’ll be fine, just let’s sleep a little longer.”

“If you insist,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But if you’re not better by then I’m going to have Lizzie bring you tea and broth and park you in front of a fire until you’re feeling better.”

She hummed a little bit in agreement with his plan. It sounded nice, and being cuddled was already making everything feel a million times better.