#i’ve been having a string of nightmares that have fucked my sleep schedule

[nightfayre]

things have been rough lately… tale as old as time

[kingofthewilderwest]

Tagged by @writingstellar! Good to hear how life’s going and holy crap I was just thinking about how it’s coming up 10 years since we met.

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag blogs you are contractually obligated to know better.

name/nickname: Haddock. King. Against my will, every other variation of fish-like things you can think of. King Fishy, Fishy, Fishface, Fishyface, Fish, etc.

gender: enby

star sign: 🖕

height: 5′ 2″

time: 12:27 AM

birthday: October 19

favourite bands: Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys, The Dead South, Old Man Markley

favourite solo artists: uhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm... get back to me on that. Can... can Beethoven count? C’mon I fucking have Beethoven music TATTOOED ON ME, we gonna make Beethoven count.

song stuck in my head: a combination of like six Flatt & Scruggs songs and covers rn, most prominently Colors. I have no idea why. I don’t listen to their late 1960s stuff as often, but I woke up and that song came to me with tenacity and wouldn’t let go.

last movie: What was the last movie I watched in my Bad Movie Night group? Was it Leo the Lion????? Oh gosh. That nightmare is the last movie I saw??? Dudes holy shit that movie was a special kind of awful, it was a horrible experience and it’s scarred me forever and [spoilers] why did you make the elephant canonically fuck the emaciated lion?!?!?!

last show: Flatt & Scruggs TV Show. Shut up. I like them. A lot. Hyperfixation gonna hyperfixate. And they’re actually really wonderful and personable to watch, in addition to making great music.

when did you create this blog? summer 2014

what do I post: on this blog? Well, it used to be an analysis blog for HTTYD and more. Now... whatever, but usually fandom-related materials for my favorite shows... Gravity Falls, Fullmetal Alchemist, etc.

last thing i googled: middle finger. to get that middle finger emote up there.

do i get asks? absolutely. sorry that I no longer respond to everything as I once did. I no longer have the time and presence of mind to get to all asks, and it’s no longer a priority in my life or major past-time. but I read all of them and appreciate all of them and really do try to answer peeps when I’m on here and in the mood! Thanks for talking with me so much!

why i chose my url: As a How to Train Your Dragon blog, I thought it would be the COOLEST thing to pick Hiccup’s title. I was in excited shock it wasn’t taken.

average hours of sleep: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I’m sleeping a fuckton lately, like sometimes 10, but that’s not normal to me.

lucky number: 13, 19, 320.

Instruments: Yes. I have an entire sideblog dedicated to my banjo explorations and bluegrass/country music obsession, to rant and rave to like the 0.1 person who’ll see it. ;) Feel free to check it out... I try to make it accessible to like, anyone, even peeps with none music background left beef. Banjo is my latest instrument and I’m proud of how far I’ve come in less than a year and a half. Started on piano as a wee one, got good at it. Added flute and piccolo, got good at it, played semi-competitively at local/state events in high school. Added clarinet. Added viola and played that in college orchestra because it was the one thing I could get INTO orchestra on because they didn’t audition on it. Also own/play to varying degrees of skill or incompetence: pennywhistles, soprano recorder, khloy (Cambodian flute), khene (Southeast Asian pipe instrument), tro (Cambodian spiked fiddle), tro ou (Cambodian spiked fiddle), dizi (Chinese flute), shakuhachi, ukulele, guitar, fiddle, Irish flute, harmonica, didgeridoo, shit why do I feel like I’m forgetting some things. Uhhhhhh... in college I played some taiko, shamisen, and shinobue too? I dunno, just chuck a woodwind or a string instrument at me, and I’ll figure something out. Won’t necessarily be pleasant but there’ll be notes.

what i’m wearing: red pajamas. They have snowflakes on them. they are warm and comfy.

dream job: I know it’s hard work as hell, believe me, my fam’s been in it, but seriously? transitioning to agricultural work. I’m an old-fashioned ass at heart and, as much as my work has serious perks with a flexible schedule, I hate how much of my life is spent on a screen. I’m happiest working with my hands, and I’ve got a green thumb.

dream trip: Dammit, I have to pick ONE place??? fuck that shit, I want to go everywhere, I have bucket list countries in every continent. shit. uh. how about Norway because that’s the home of my ancestors.

last book i read: I’m currently reading three right now. the last one I finished is an obscure Country Music history picture book from the 1960s. Oh hey wow did the bluegrass hyperfixation appear again? WOW YOU BETCHA IT DID. Uff-dah.

favourite food: I’m going to just say a fucking cuisine rather than narrow it down to one dish. Thai food.

nationality: United States American.

favourite song: Foggy Mountain Breakdown. Yes. Flatt & Scruggs came up again. Get used to it. I have fucking had Flatt & Scruggs appear multiple times in my dreams. I have fucking had Flatt & Scruggs more in my dreams than some of my irl friends. 

top three fictional universes: Mass Effect, Fullmetal Alchemist, Gravity Falls

gonna gently tag (no pressure!):

Okay I am sleep loopy so I cannot think of names rn but I might reblog and tag later with peeps because I always like poking friends.

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Friday, January 8- Saturday, January 9th

chapter fifteen: because these things will change

“I’m glad to hear the dogs are working out,” Levi’s psychologist said as they wrote down notes into the notepad in front of him. Sawney and Bean sat by Levi’s feet, fast asleep. “And your children moving back in seems to be beneficial to all of you.”

“They’re not really my kids,” Levi muttered.

His psychologist laughed. “Whatever label makes you happy, Mr. Ackerman. Your relationship with your partner seems to be going well as well. How many panic attacks have you had since I saw you last?”

“A few. A car backfired...at least that’s what Hange told me. Then New Year’s Eve was a nightmare.”

“Understandable, many of our Veterans have issues with that night. There’s about two minutes left. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

“Do you ever think it’s weird that you’re my psychologist? Shouldn’t there be a conflict of interest here? I mean your brother is….whatever he is to Mikasa.”

Zeke laughed before he composed himself again. “Do you think there’s a conflict of interest here? I can assure you that nothing you say to me leaves this room. Eren doesn’t have the slightest idea that I took over your care once Dr. Ksaver retired.”

Levi shifted in his chair, uncomfortably. “No, I guess not. I haven’t told Mikasa either,” he frowned.

“It is none of my business whether or not you tell your child what is going on.”

“She’s not my….”

Zeke sighed, “your child. I do have to say I find it very strange how the girl you raised from the age of nine is not your child.”

“Are you allowed to say that?”

“Probably not,” Zeke relied with a shrug.

“Why do I pay you so much money?”

“Because I am probably the one you relate most to in this whole damn building. It seems our time is up, Mr. Ackerman. Have a safe journey home.”

Levi waved his hand as he stood up and exited the Zeke’s office.

------------

Levi returned home to the sound of the twenty somethings Sawney and Bean ran straight to Eren and Armin who were in the living room on the couch.

The girls were in the sun room.

“I. DON’T. LIKE. THIS. FUCKING. PICK!” Ymir sang out, loud enough that it echoed through the house.

“Why do you always buy that brand when you know you hate it?” Historia asked.

“Because I’m hoping one day they won’t disappoint me. Also I don’t play guitar that much. It’s all about the bass!”

Levi rolled his eyes after he took his shoes off.

Maybe Zeke was right.

These were his damn children.

-----------

As the day went on, a strange feeling began to overwhelm everyone in the house.

It was Friday.

Tomorrow was Saturday.

Hange would be picking up Armin to head back to college.

Zeke would come get Eren.

There was no doubt that Armin and Annie would be okay. They were used to being apart.

But when it came to Eren and Mikasa, nothing was certain.

They had never been this far away from one another when on good terms.

How would rebuilding their relationship fair when there was a distance between them?

Granted, an hour was not that long.

Mikasa did not like to drive long distances.

Eren could no longer drive.

It wasn’t as if they could just walk three blocks and see one another.

Everyone was feeling it, thinking it but no one dared say anything.

When night came, no one said anything when Annie and Armin disappeared into Annie’s room.

Mikasa, however, seemed to stay in the sun room.

Eren found her there once everyone else had gone to sleep.

It was late.

“I thought my sleep schedule sucked,” he teased as he sat down next to her on the piano bench.

“Just finishing up this song. Sorry.”

“I’ve heard that one before. You know it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“But you won’t be,” she muttered.

“Not sick of me yet?” He teased as he bumped his shoulder into her shoulder.

“Pretty much the opposite. “

“I know. We’ve always had bad timing, right? But I’ll come visit and an hour is not that…”

“It’s not that. It’s just...I don’t know. Everything is weird. The last couple of days, things felt normal but once you and Armin leave it, it won’t feel like that anymore.”

“You mean how it used to be in high school?”

“Yeah,” she answered quietly.

“Growing up sucks.”

“It's not just that. Losing the chance to record….what if that ends the band? Then everything I worked for for the past year means nothing. All the shitty dead end jobs. The hours I devoted to songwriting, it means nothing if no one gets to hear it.”

"When was the band set to record?”

“Monday.”

“You’ll figure it out. You and Historia, you two know how to write songs that mean something. Trust in that. Keep streaming. Besides, you’ve got four kids as fans. You should have seen them in the old living room,” Eren laughed.

“That was at your house?”

Eren nodded, “yeah, Reiner was over with his cousin and her friends. They really enjoyed watching all of you. They kept saying bring the pretty ladies back! We want to jam some more!”

Mikasa couldn’t help but smile, “have they heard you?”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“Do they like it?”

“Yeah, they crash practice pretty often but they don’t love us nearly as much as they love you.”

“Maybe we could meet them one day?” Mikasa asked before standing up.

“Come visit and you can,” Eren shrugged before standing up.

“I hate driving,” Mikasa muttered as she made her way towards the stairs.

“Sorry, they haven’t invented teleportation yet,” he smirked.

“You can’t drive!”

“You’re right. So you’ll just have to come to me.” He caught up to her as they walked into Mikasa’s bedroom together.

“Maybe I’ll bribe Sasha….”

“Oh yeah, Niccolo is there. She can see her boyfriend, you can see yours,” he smirked again.

“You’re not my boyfriend yet,” Mikasa muttered as she pulled out clothes to change into out of her dresser.

“Yet?”

She realized her fatal mistake.

This had been a trap!

AND she had fallen for it.

No. She wasn’t going to answer.

So Mikasa grabbed her clothes and went to the bathroom to change.

When she came back, Eren was asleep on her bed.

She hadn’t even been gone that long. She picked up one of the pillows and whacked him in the head with it.

“Ow! Why are your pillows so hard?” Eren asked.

“They’re not. Get on your side.” Mikasa climbed into bed once Eren rolled over to the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Mikasa.”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

------------

Saturday was filled with goodbyes.

Armin had been the first to leave early in the morning with Hange to head back to campus. Eren, Sasha, Mikasa, Ymir, and Historia had all hugged Armin goodbye. They left Annie and Armin alone in the living room while Levi was outside talking with Hange.

The hug between Annie and Armin lasted for a long time.

“I’ll call you everyday,” Armin said as he kissed Annie on the cheek.

“You can just text me,” she shrugged, still not letting go.

“I’ll call you,” he reassured her before giving her a squeeze. “If you need anything…”

“I know,” Annie muttered as she tried to hide the fact she was crying.

“Okay,” he said softly before pulling back. Armin pressed a kiss to her lips before gathering his things and walking out the front door.

Annie and Levi stood there, watching as both of their partners headed back to campus.

“It doesn’t get easier. Watching them leave,” Levi finally said.

Zeke showed up about an hour later. He stood smoking in the driveway.

Historia, Ymir, Annie, and Sasha all gave Eren a hug, welcoming him back to the group but at the same time, bidding him goodbye.

They left Mikasa and Levi alone with Eren.

“Don’t die,” Levi said before taking the dogs and disappearing upstairs.

“Right, of course not, sir. Captain.”

Mikasa laughed to herself.

“So…” Eren said as he awkwardly pulled on his shoes in front of the door.

“Tell Zeke to drive safe,” Mikasa muttered before looking down.

“I will.”

“Okay.”

“Levi’s going to kill me for this,” he took two steps towards Mikasa with shoes on before he pulled her into a hug.

She hugged him back tightly.

“I’m going to have to get social media back. I’ll watch every livestream, okay? Call me whenever you want. And I’ll...I’ll text you.”

Zeke honked the horn. "I should go," Eren said.

“Yeah, don’t keep Zeke waiting.”

“Bye, Mikasa.”

She took a step towards him and kissed him on the cheek.

Eren immediately went bright red.

“I’ll see you later, Eren,” she replied.

Eren walked out the front door, closing it behind him.

Mikasa locked the door.

Once Eren left, Mikasa felt a wave of overwhelming sadness take her as she climbed the stairs to her room.

She climbed back into bed.

A knock came on her door.

“Come in,” she called.

It was Annie who opened the door and stepped in.

“I know it’s only…..I just…..I want him here,” Annie sobbed.

Mikasa nodded as she got out of bed and hugged Annie tightly.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep because I’m just going to wake up alone but I’m so tired,” the blonde girl said as she hugged Mikasa tightly. “And my bed smells like him. I just….I don’t want to do this alone. I’m so tired, Mikasa. But I keep having morning sickness too. I just...I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re not alone,” Mikasa reassured Annie as she still held onto the other girl.

Annie released her. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“And you can sleep wherever. In here with me, downstairs on the couch.” Mikasa took a small step back.

Annie simply nodded.

“You want me to make you some peppermint tea? You said that helped the other day, right? We have so much of it.”

Annie nodded again.

“Okay, wait here.”

Annie slept in Mikasa’s bed with Mikasa after Annie drank the tea Mikasa had made for her.

----------------

Band practice turned into an absolute disaster in a mere matter of minutes.

Historia got her foot caught in a cable which caused her to crash into Ymir.

That caused Ymir to break one of the strings of her bass and crash into Sasha’s cymbal.

Sasha had thrown her drumsticks as she had tried to catch the cymbal before it crashed into the rest of the drum set. She was unsuccessful and fell backwards.

A drumstick hit Mikasa in the back of the head which caused Mikasa to turn around too fast and fall off the piano bench.

Another drumstick hit Annie right in the face.

Levi came rushing into the sun room to see what had caused all the noise.

Only Annie was standing up but she had her hands held up to her face.

Sawney and Bean came running in.

Bean found Mikasa while Sawney found Ymir. They licked both of the girls’ faces.

“Do I want to know?” Levi asked as he stared at all of them.

“I tripped over a cable and then I don’t even know what happened,” Historia said as she stood up.

She offered her hand to Ymir and pulled the other girl to her feet.

Ymir did the same to Sasha and pulled Sasha to her feet.

Levi helped Mikasa to her feet.

“Anyone hurt?” Levi asked.

“Besides my pride? I’m good,” Ymir said before looking at her bass. “I’ll need a new string for my bass though.”

“I got hit in the face,” Annie said as she removed her hands. There was a diagonal red mark that ran from her forehead to her cheek.

“At least you didn’t fall. That could have been really bad,” Sasha said as she inspected her drums for damage.

“Tripping over a cable did this?” Levi asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mikasa answered with a shrug.

“It’s better than last time in the house. Remember that black eye I got?” Historia asked.

“Wait, this has happened before?” Levi asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“A couple of times. We forget to keep track of the cables. I fell into Mikasa’s keyboard and got a black eye,” Historia explained.

“Okay, so now you’re all going wireless. I’ll take you to the music store.”

“How can we afford that? Mikasa doesn’t have her money yet,” Ymir asked.

“I never said you were paying for it,” Levi scoffed as he left the sun room.

“Did Levi just say he loves us?” Sasha asked as she stood up her cymbal.

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Ymir said with a shrug.

"Brats! Let's go!" Levi called out.

They assembled in the living room.

"My car sits four. So who is going? Besides Mikasa," Levi asked.

"Annie's coming," Mikasa said as she linked arms with Annie.

"I guess," Annie replied with a shrug.

"I will go, Captain, my captain," Ymir teased.

"Of course, you are. Sasha, Historia. I trust you here so this was probably the better choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ymir asked.

"How many things have you destroyed in this house?" Levi asked as he walked over to the door.

".....one coffee table. Once. Years ago."

Levi snorted, "yeah. I'm sure the window didn't count."

"That was not completely my fault."

Levi just sighed as he walked out the door followed by four girls.

“Shotgun!” Ymir called.

They got into Levi’s car.

The engine started.

Heavy metal music began to blast.

Levi quickly turned the music down.

All three girls stared at Levi as he started to drive.

“Wait, is this on your phone?” Ymir asked.

“No, it’s a CD.”

“Is it your CD?”

“Yes,” Levi sighed.

“Hmm...didn’t take you for a metal guy.”

“It's a mix.”

“Oh! Let’s see what else is on here!” Ymir hit the button on the radio, skipping to the next song.

Rap music filled the car.

Annie and Mikasa started laughing in the backseat.

“Alright, wasn’t expecting that. Let’s see what’s next,” Ymir said before skipping to the next song.

Country music filled the car.

“Okay, this is weirder than the rap,” Ymir hit the skip button again.

Soft jazz played.

“This right here is what I thought you’d listen to.”

“Why?” Levi asked.

“Because you’re old and boring,” Ymir said with a shrug. She hit the skip again and a famous love song began to play.

Annie and Mikasa laughed much harder at this. Ymir joined in moments later.

“Okay! Silence! I drive in silence now!” Levi yelled as he turned the music completely off.

“Hey Dad, can we stop for food on the way back?” Ymir asked, pushing her luck.

“I’m not your dad.”

“You don’t know that. You could be my dad.”

Levi simply sighed, “don’t make me pull this car over and let you walk back home.”

“You know who would say that?” Mikasa asked.

“A dad!” Ymir laughed.

They made it the rest of the way to the music store. He never would admit that he did truly miss having them around even for all their antics.

Once they arrived at the music store, Mikasa, Annie, and Ymir went in different directions.

Each distracted by the different sections of instruments.

This was worse than when they had been younger and he had taken them to the mall.

Levi ended up finding the devices to make the guitars wireless. He found something more interesting in that area.

“How hard is it to use that equipment?” Levi asked the sales associate.

“Well, it’s very pricey, sir,” the teenager said.

“I didn’t ask for a price. I asked how hard it was to use.”

“Well, I just didn’t think a man such as yourself…”

“Such as...what?”

“Colt!! Don’t talk to Captain Ackerman like that! I’m so sorry, Captain. My son is better at shoving his foot into his mouth. Go dust something,” the woman said pushing her son in the opposite direction. “What was it you wanted to know about?”

“That equipment, how hard is to use?” Levi asked for the third time.

“Oh! Well, it depends on the programs you use it with.”

“Hmm.”

“There are classes and tutorials out there to teach you. If you have a rough idea, I don’t think it could be that hard. That son of mine figured it out.”

“I’ll take it,” Levi said before he began to walk off.

“All of it?!” The woman asked.

“All of it. Have your son load into my car,” Levi walked off to find the girls.

Ymir was looking at guitar picks.

Levi snatched the box out of her.

“No. Buy the nicer ones,” he said handing her a better box.

“I...uhh...okay?”

“Those strings are shit too. Buy better. Where’d Annie and Mikasa disappear to?”

“That way-ish.”

“Go get them. Don’t let them buy cheap shit. Get better drumsticks for Sasha. I have to move my car,” he said.

Mikasa, Annie, and Ymir were very confused by the fact several boxes were being loaded into the trunk after they checked out.

“We’ll have to deliver the rest,” Colt said.

“When?” Levi asked.

“Tomorrow morning?” Colt asked nervously.

“Fine,” Levi agreed before getting into his car.

The ride home was silent.

Mikasa, Annie, and Ymir were all racking their brains for what Levi could have possibly bought.

Sasha and Historia were watching tv with the puppies when they returned.

“You’re going to have to clean the basement tomorrow,” Levi announced.

“Okay but why?” Mikasa asked.

“Recording equipment has to go somewhere,” he said as he took off his shoes.

“Wait…” Historia started.

“Huh?” Sasha asked.

“Is that what they were loading into the car?” Ymir asked.

“That costs several thousand dollars,” Annie said.

“Levi, you...you didn’t. You couldn’t have,” Mikasa answered.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he said before leaving the living room.

“He believes in us,” Mikasa whispered.

“Thanks, Dad!” Ymir yelled.

This time, Levi didn’t protest.

PING!

Mikasa’s phone went off.

NOTIFICATION:

@jaeger_eren has followed you on Instagram.

---------------------------------

“You want to explain to me why your face was so red this morning?” Zeke asked as he sat down at the kitchen table with a plate of spaghetti.

“Uh..no reason,” Eren said as he sat down across from Zeke.

“You are lying. So what happened?”

Eren sighed, “Mikasa kissed me on the cheek.”

Zeke began laughing. “You almost had sex with her against the wall and you turn red when she kisses you on the cheek?”

“This is why I don’t tell you anything,” Eren muttered as he twirled his pasta.

“Fine, I will stop. But did it truly affect you that much?”

Eren nodded. “It’s different. She’s different. What you walked in on was a ‘caught up in the moment’ moment but now she knows everything and….it’s different.”

Zeke nodded. “I am proud of you, Eren. Now do not fuck it up this time.”

“I won’t. I won’t. I actually had an idea. Annie said I should try to romance Mikasa again. Grand gestures, all that. I had an idea. I got everyone at Levi’s house in on it. But I’ll still need some help.”

“You know whatever you need, I will do it.”

“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Eren launched into his plan.

[bellesque]

Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.1K Warnings/Tags: Incubus Loki, Smut (or at least it’s leading up to it) Summary: It’s your first free weekend in what feels like forever and you plan on snoozing through it without any interruptions. Someone has other plans.

A/N: I really just wanted an excuse to write some smut, huh? It’s okay. This was a little smut-writing exercise. You can also read this on my AO3.

YOU AREN’T SURE of three things.

The first one being that you don’t know when exactly it starts.

Things are a whirlwind, a blur of deadlines and details that don’t seem to fit together. You’re busy, that’s for sure, just barely surviving; your concept of time is distorted with how much you have to get done and stay on top of that once you’re home you have just enough energy to take a quick shower and knock right out. Work, survive, sleep, repeat. Your favorite part of the routine? Definitely the sleep.

You aren’t sure when your nights start becoming more restful. It’s strange, you think, since you barely get even a good five hours yet you wake up refreshed every morning. Or at least ready to face the day.

You tell yourself it’s your circadian rhythm getting used to your messed up workaholic schedule.

The second thing you aren’t sure of is why you start having dreams.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to you—you’ve had dreams before. Only with how much time you spend awake versus how much time you spend resting, dreams don’t come easy. At least, they shouldn’t. You read somewhere that the more active your brain is, the more likely you are to have dreams. Or is it the opposite? You press a hand to your eyes, rolling your neck before you continue with the document you’re currently typing.

They aren’t weird dreams by any means. Sometimes you remember them, sometimes you don’t. You remember one where you screamed at an ex-friend until your lungs gave out, throat hoarse, and that day you woke up feeling closure you never actually got. Another time, you dreamed that you missed a deadline, and woke up so paranoid that you showed up two hours early for work. And more recently, you admit with a tinge of embarrassment, a wet dream.

You’re sure it’s from the novel you had to proofread the other day. Page after page was filth after filth and it left your heart racing, your mind wandering, and a certain part of you wanting.

Goodness, how long has it been since you last…

You shake your head and will yourself to focus.

The sooner you can get this done, the sooner you can go home.

It’s been a pretty shitty day.

You’re practically ready to call it a day; today your boss yelled at you for being incompetent (you aren’t) and your coworker Salome took credit for your work in today’s meeting (she’s a little bitch). You just need a break, damn it.

Thankfully this is your first weekend off after what feels like years. You love your job, but you also don’t want to live-eat-breathe it. Any more time in that office and you’d probably reach your breaking point, exploding into an angry string of expletives and fired notices.

Your night of unwinding and de-stressing goes exactly how you plan it, and you think you can finally get a good nine hours of sleep in. You’re definitely sleeping in tonight. If anyone even tries to wake you up before seven you swear you’ll kill them on sight come Monday morning.

A friend of yours recommends this audio thing for you to listen to. Supposed to help you relax, so she says. So you decide why the hell not, you’re already pretty drowsy, why not conk out two minutes quicker?

You settle in under the covers, getting into the position you’re most comfortable in, and hit play. It’s an audiobook, you realize, narrated by a man with a gorgeously full voice. You allow yourself to get lost in the timbre of his voice. It’s almost hypnotic, entrancing, how musical it sounds. You notice the way his words sound together, how he pronounces his the and said, not paying attention to the story itself, until he becomes background noise.

In less than five minutes, you’re fast asleep.

The last thing you aren’t sure of is what you’re dreaming of before you see it.

It, or him?

The shift in emotion you feel is so quick, so drastic, that you almost wake up. You do. Or you don’t? You’re not sure, and it’s freaking you out. Well, your eyes are open—does that mean you’re awake? You try to regain your bearings—what does that even mean, you are—were?—sleeping in your own bed for fuck’s sake—

“Relax.”

There it is, a silhouette, just by the foot of your bed. Or is it just a shadow? Your heart beats loudly in your ears, and you want to be sleeping peacefully—aren’t you sleeping peacefully?—or just wake up from whatever this is—

“Still your thoughts, pet, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to. But first, please—rest… relax.”

You feel a gentle pressure around your body as your blanket comes up around you, almost like you’re being tucked in like a child who’s just woken up from a nightmare. Is this a nightmare? Are you awake or dreaming? You aren’t sure.

The voice laughs, silky and altogether mysterious, and for some reason it automatically makes you think of dark chocolate. Sinful, rich, and decadent. He hasn’t stepped out of the shadows, but no matter how lovely his voice is you’re not sure you want to see him. It’s instinct. So you shut your eyes tight.

“I’m scared,” you blurt out without thinking.

“I can see that,” the voice answers swiftly. You can feel your hair being brushed away from your forehead. A gentle, comforting gesture. “Although I hope in a few nights you won’t be.”

“What does that mean?” Your question comes out soft and weak, the kind that signals your consciousness is slipping away. What, are you being lulled back into sleep already? So easily?

The voice hums thoughtfully. “Names are power. Shall I give you the power of mine so that you’ll be well-acquainted with me?”

“Who are you?”

“I may have misled you a little, pet.” He chuckles, and it surprises you how warm it sounds. Inviting. “What am I would be a better start now, wouldn’t it?”

You’re jolted back to alertness. Not a person, but… something else? He sounds human. He probably feels human as well. “What are you?” you all but demand.

“Oh, there’s fire in this one,” he remarks. “I quite like that. Well then, sweet, I’ll tell you, since you asked so nicely. I am what your kind know as an incubus—you can look it up when you awaken, but, I’ll give you the short version: I feed on passion. Desire. Lust. Sex.” The way he says the last word makes your skin shiver, and you unconsciously suck in a breath. “But only in dreams. Only in your dreams. Your deepest, darkest fantasies come to life. Everything you want, I can give. Now tell me, isn’t that exhilarating?”

Damn, your head is spinning. The world is spinning. This handsome voice only wants to have sex?

How long has it been again since you last…

“How do I know if I can trust you?” you ask.

His motions pause, and then he resumes with a touch that mesmerizes you into a state of pliancy. And gentle, oh so gentle—your eyelids are heavy, a stark contrast to your body that is on high alert.

“I’ve told you what I am. I wouldn’t want to deceive you to get what I want. It’s always more delightful when an incubus has a willing partner.” A wanton shiver slides down your spine, slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of the strokes of his hands. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to. But oh, sweet pet, the things I want to do.” You feel his voice at your ear, his breath coming in light puffs, and hell, it makes you want him with each passing second. “You’d enjoy it all, I’m sure. I only want to see you come undone. To bring you high into your personal precipice of ecstasy. And I want to watch it all unfold.” You gasp when you feel his teeth nip at your earlobe, your clit pulsing once, in time with the pang of pain and pleasure.

“Will you let me show you what I can offer, sweet?”

The fact that you can feel the gush of heat pooling into your center makes you slightly embarrassed, but it only affirms how much you want this. It’s been too long, and if the both of you can get off then the better.

His nose is running across the side of your face, and you crane your neck as he trails downward, towards the vein in your neck, where he ultimately will know just how affected you are. He skims the tip of his nose along your pulse point, inhaling deeply, before climbing up so his face is level with yours.

“Just say yes,” he murmurs, low and seductive and lulling you into a deeper place of desire, “if you want this as bad as I want you.”

“Yes,” you breathe, a sigh riding on the last sound of the word. “Please, yes.”

The pressure around you lifts, and you briefly wonder if the dream is over. Only it isn’t. This is real, and this is happening.

“Open your eyes first,” he says. “I want you to see me.”

Battling some degree of difficulty (your eyes have been pretty heavy up to this point), you comply. Standing before you is a gorgeous man, lithe and lean, clad in black (is that a suit?) and immediately you know his voice of velvet seduction matches his appearance perfectly. Your eyes rake over this mystery man, his black hair falling in decadent curls and grazing the tops of his shoulders, his features sharp and masculine, and your gaze travels downwards and lingers for a second too long on his…

“I’m glad I could elicit such a positive reaction when I haven’t done anything to pleasure you yet.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice as he appraises you with a look of equal desire. Has he been looking at you like that all this time? The idea that he has floods your veins with delicious fire, your excitement boiling in the pits of your deepest parts.

“Now close your eyes again, sweet,” he says, gently placing his fingers on your eyelids and guiding them shut. “I want you to focus on what I’m doing.”

The heat pooling between your legs is undeniable now, and you wait with bated breath for anything, literally anything. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing, shallow and rapid, as you wait in anticipation. There is no contact between you, and yet the electrifying tension in the air winds you up like a string that’s pulled taut.

And then finally, he touches you. It’s not what you expect, a gentle cupping of your cheek, but the tenderness is not lost on you. He drags a single finger over your nose, running it along your jawline, then down to your neck. Your breathing picks up as the lightest pressure of his finger brushes against your collarbone, going over the hollow where neck meets shoulder once, twice, and then he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, travels down and boldly trails his finger around your breast.

“Gorgeous,” he comments, and it amazes you how you want more. He’s only using a single finger and already you are putty in his hands. “And I would love to see how exquisite your skin is underneath. May I, sweet?”

You sigh, and it sounds more shameless than you want to admit. “Yes. Please.”

“Alright.”

You’re aware of your sudden lack of clothing. At least it feels that way, what with the cool air caressing your curves and the goosebumps that rise on the surface of your skin. You’re topless in front of him. Your first instinct is to cover up, although your hands seem to be pinned to your sides as you lay flat on your back.

He’s silent, the only sounds now both your breathing, yours light as air and his even and level. The air is thick and hot and heavy and you want to do something. Anything, to relieve the delicious ache between your legs.

“May I touch you, sweet?” His pure seduction of a voice cuts through the night air, a few tones lower and ten times more sensual.

Your throat is closed up from the anticipation you’re feeling, and you nod dumbly. Yes, please touch me, you want to say, but the words never come out. The nod, for now, will suffice.

He continues to use a single finger to trace across the mounds of your breast, circling the right from base to areola and then moving to the left until his finger rests on the nipple. You vaguely register the breathy sound you make when he brushes against it—the firm pad of his finger against your nipple causes a delicious friction that makes you think Yes please and something warm settles in the pit of your belly. Your mind is going into overdrive, probably from the sex drought you’ve been experiencing for the past few months.

“So responsive.” His voice is husky, and his praise makes your folds even wetter that you press your thighs together to relieve some of the ache.

And then he’s repeating the motion with more vigor this time, one hand on each breast as he inflicts intoxicating little flicks against your nipples, and you feel like you’re about to see stars. Your mouth hangs open in awe because fuck, never has something this simple turned you on this much.

You let out a full on moan when he squeezes your breasts in his hands, briefly, and then he’s sliding his cool fingers up to cup your jaw and then tracing down the curves of your waist and then settling his hands on your hips.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, his fingers a feather-light touch against your skin, leaving sparks of fire in their wake. It can’t be humanly possible to feel this much, can it?

They’re just hands, you tell yourself in the midst of your hazy, lust-ridden thoughts. How the hell are you feeling this way?

“May I taste your skin, sweet?” His voice is practically a purr. You nod, frantic to receive whatever he has to give.

You don’t think it can get any better but then fuck, you feel something warm and wet close around your nipple and your legs snap open by their own accord. Your underwear feels soaked through and part of you thinks this is obscene but hell you don’t want it to end.

His mouth is doing wicked things now, nipping and sucking and then gently biting at your nipple. It’s mind-numbing, the way he deftly swirls his tongue around your nipple before sucking and biting while his other hand caresses the other. He showers the rest of the skin around your breast with the same treatment until you’re whimpering beneath him, writhing for release—any kind of release at this point—that you know he can give and senses that you need.

“Legs up, sweet,” he purrs, his voice is thick with desire. Hearing it only makes your libido kick up three notches higher, and you eagerly lift up your legs in a V position. He catches you by the ankles, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the insides of each, every action traveling up the nerves that connect to your pussy, electrifyingly delicious and making your walls clench in anticipation. Hell, you want him to touch you. In all the places. You’re just about ready to beg.

He takes you by surprise as he hooks one leg over his shoulder, using his body to shift you until you’re lying on your side. It’s a little unexpected, but you aren’t uncomfortable. Your legs are spread wide, one on his shoulder and the other on the bed seemingly between his knees. It’s probably enough for him to see just exactly how turned on you are.

“My, my, sweet.” If it’s possible, his voice takes on a fuller, darker, ultimately more seductive tone and fuck if you don’t orgasm even once tonight—

“I would like to touch you. Right here, if you’ll let me.” He brushes a finger against your (apparently naked!) mound. “May I, sweet?”

“Fuck, yes please.” You don’t care how needy your voice is; if anything, it’s a reflection of how much you’re craving this. How you want this.

He places his palm flat on your pussy and both of you hiss. Your back arches as you try to grind on his hand, desperate for friction, and he chuckles.

“So eager,” he says, his fingers now rubbing steady circles around your clit. “Would you prefer it if I gave you my cock already?”

You let out a strangled noise because how could he ask such a stupid question of course you want it. You buck against his hand, whining when he withdraws it. It almost hurts how aroused you are, your cunt thrumming with the promise of an orgasm.

“I would love to give it to you already, sweet, but I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait a while.” You can feel your clothes coming back on. “But, since you’ve been so good, allow me to give you a parting gift…”

You’re almost face-down on the mattress, but you’re still mostly on your side. The bed shifts with weight as you feel—you can only guess—him kneeling behind you.

And your world comes to a complete standstill, a wave of pleasure overcoming you and washing over you like a tidal wave, as you feel him just griiiiind his erection into your wanting core.

“Oh, yes, just like that,” you say breathlessly. He has complete control, a gentle yet firm grip on your hips as he presses hard into your clothed wetness, his erection strong and unyielding. He alternates between lowering himself slooowly on you, pressing you down into the mattress with long, even, fluid motions, and then grinding in slow circles in that intensity, before relieving the pressure and humping you in that slow and steady manner again and again until he’s bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

And then he gives one hard long push, grinding into you, his cock as close to your cunt as you can possibly have it, as he whispers in your ear, “Until the next night of ours, sweet.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone. It’s over.

You wake with your clit throbbing and your pajamas sticking to your skin. You’re lying on your back. Not on your side.

You sit up, dizzy and distracted because what the hell was that?

So you sit there, a little dazed from the ordeal (did you orgasm? You’re not sure), and it hits you that you don’t even know his name.

[xxlittle0birdxx]

The Nightmares Find You: The Loneliness of a Lie

Sam's eyes snapped open, half expecting to see the metal hand from his nightmare hovering just above his nose. He blinked at the dim lamp next to his bed. When was the last time he'd had to sleep with a light on? That first year out of the Air Force, maybe, when all his nightmares featured Riley getting blown to pieces. Sam glanced out the windows at the snow falling in fat, fluffy flakes, and burrowed further into the warmth of his duvet. Five things that are real, Sam. One, you're named after your grandfathers, Samuel Rochon and Thomas Wilson… Two, you have a sister named Sarah, and her husband's name is Alan. They just had a baby. Alan Junior, but call him AJ. Sam felt his heart rate begin to slow. Three, your hometown is Delacroix, Louisiana. Four, your favorite album is Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye. Five, you make étouffée almost as good as Granny's… He repeated the litany until his pulse stopped pounding in his ears.

His head swiveled on the pillow toward the framed photo on the nightstand. He lifted a shaking hand and swiped it over his face, then reached for the frame that held a photo of him and Riley on a beach far from any military installation where they could be themselves for a few days. Riley would lose his shit if he could see me now, Sam thought. Working with Tony fucking Stark. Living in this compound with Captain America. Not too shabby for a kid from a place nobody could find on a map. One forefinger traced over Riley's face, as though he could smooth back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. He lowered the frame facedown on his chest and looked to his right. They didn't share a bed very often, but Riley always slept on the right. And Sam couldn't bring himself to sleep on that side of the bed yet.

He wasn't going back to sleep, though. Not now.

Sam sighed and replaced the photograph, then swung his feet to the floor, pulling on an old and faded LSU t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He automatically turned and made his bed, tugging the crumpled sheet back into place before straightening the duvet. Old habits died hard, although he was less precise about it these days. He stepped into a pair of worn slides, and went into the kitchen, too keyed up to do nothing. If anyone asked why he was up at this godforsaken hour of the morning, he could blame jet lag. He'd spent the last several weeks hopscotching across Europe following a few leads about Bucky's location. He'd come back to New York yesterday and managed to evade Steve's attempts to pull him aside, pleading exhaustion.

Sam's hands moved of their own accord, pulling milk and eggs from the refrigerator, rummaging through the pantry until he found a couple of loaves of the crusty bread Natasha liked to use for toast. He selected a knife from the block on the counter and proceeded to slice the bread into cubes that he spread on a baking tray, and then slid it into the oven. He whisked the eggs and milk together with vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon. With nothing to do for the next half hour until the bread dried, Sam rummaged through one of the drawers that held the odds and ends one often found in a house full of people with different tastes and schedules. Random rubber bands. A ball of string. A jumble of pens, half of which were dried out, never thrown out. Ketchup packets from Wanda's late night forays into town for fries. A collection of loose coins from multiple countries. And, a well-used pack of standard playing cards.

Perfect.

Sam shuffled the cards with a careless ease come by years of playing anything from Go Fish to pinochle. Riley often laughed at him for keeping a pack of playing cards with his gear, but a childhood spent working on his parents' boat meant Sam didn't handle idleness well. So he played solitaire, or patience as his grandmother called it, during periods of forced inactivity. She was right. It took patience.

He only paused long enough to remove the bread cubes from the oven and transfer them into a baking dish, then pour the milk mixture over it. He slid the dish into the refrigerator and resumed his game, starting a one-sided conversation with Riley in his head.

I haven't dreamed about the Winter Soldier in almost a year. Dreamed about him all the damn time after Hydra took down S.H.I.E.L.D. Didn't matter what I was dreaming about, it would always shift into that damn metal hand smashing through my windshield and ripping the steering wheel out. I was sure that was it, and my number was up. I've never felt more helpless. Not even when I watched the RPG come straight at you.

So what do I have to feel helpless about? I've got a job I enjoy. Using the EXO-7 Falcon again. Although this time, it's better. I've got Redwing as my wingman again. Or will soon. He should be ready in a week or two. Sarah and Alan are in a good place.

A flicker of movement through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows caught his attention Steve walked past, slipping in his earbuds, dressed for a run through the snowy upstate New York countryside.

Sam looked down at the cards, straightening and aligning them just so. I don't like lying to Steve, but right now it's the best thing for Bucky. I get it. Steve wants his friend back. But I'm not sure he understands that the guy who pulled him out of the river isn't the same guy he knew back in 1944. I understand why… Nobody here knows who he was before he Captain America. I can't imagine how lonely he feels sometimes, but I can't shake the feeling that… No, he did not want to go there. Was it selfish of Steve to want his friend back? Sam supposed that depended on whether or not Steve expected Bucky to just pick up where they left off in 1944. He swept the cards into a pile, then tapped the edges sharply against the counter. He didn't feel very patient at the moment.

Sam twisted his wrist so he could study his watch. It was late enough that nobody would question why he was awake. The pool would be deserted this early. No one else used it regularly, except Sam. He headed into a changing room, stripping off his shirt as he walked. Once he'd pulled on his swimsuit, he dove into the water and began swimming laps. One-two-thee-breathe… One-two-three-breathe… Tuck, roll, push off the wall… As he settled into the rhythm, he let his mind wander once more.

He'd found Bucky.

In Bucharest. Sam didn't know how long he'd been there. He'd last tracked him down in New York City about a year ago, then the trail went cold. But there he was. Tramping through the snow, the collar of his coat turned up, a black watch cap pulled down low over his ears, eyes darting everywhere, jumping at the distant wail of police sirens. He'd cut his hair in New York, but now wisps of it fluttered from under the edge of the cap. He ducked into a stationery shop, and emerged a few minutes later, clutching a carrier bag with black notebook and pack of common ball point pens.

I ought to say something, Sam continued, speaking to the Riley of his memories. I ought to tell Steve where Bucky is. But I'll be honest with you, Riley… He scares me. If a bird shits on his head, is he gonna go off on a murder spree? Where does the Winter Soldier end, and James Buchanan Barnes begin? I don't even know if we can repair whatever it is that Hydra did to him. I don't know what to do, or if there's anything I can do, and it's eating me up inside.

Sam's fingertips touched the wall, and he surfaced with a gasp. He threw his arms over the lane rope, using it to anchor himself in place, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air. That was it. Following Bucky around was like watching an RPG approach in slow motion, and knowing there wasn't a goddamn thing they could do.

'You all right?'

Sam's head reared back, and he lifted the goggles from his eyes, letting them rest on his forehead. Steve sat on a bench on the pool deck, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Even though he wasn't frowning, a line deepened between his brows. 'Fine.'

'You were up pretty early,' Steve remarked, as Sam swam to the ladder and hauled himself out of the water. 'Saw you in the kitchen playing solitaire.' He let a grin soften his features. 'That yellow shirt of yours is hard to miss.'

Sam chuckled. That shirt did make hims easy to pick out. ‘Jet lag.’ Sam grabbed a snorkel and mask from a shelf and tossed them into the deep end of the pool, intending to run through some pararescue exercises.

‘Did you find him?’ Steve asked. Sam could hear the hidden desperation under the studied casualness.

Sam peered at his rippling reflection on the surface of the water, and let the lie come to his lips. ‘No.’

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 01 | BIOS Flash | KNJ (M)

Summary:  It’s been a year since you first met Kim Namjoon, the passionate, talented English professor at the local campus. He’s always been clumsy and aloof, but he’s on a whole new level in terms of “technologically incapable.” One call to IT was all it took to pull you into his life, and with it a whole string of friendships full of flirtatious banter and undying support. 

Your dating situation has been drier than the Sahara for years now, and you’ve wasted too many lonely nights drinking alone, so you try your hand at Tinder. But you’re not getting any bites. When the group finds out, they are more than willing to help--even Namjoon, though he finds it increasingly difficult to deny that he’s hopelessly smitten. You consider their opinions on potential Tinder dates while fighting off feelings you never knew were brewing for the caring soul who becomes the home you never had.

Word Count: 3.9K

Series: Love Bytes (1/?)

Genre: F2L, Fluff, eventual smut, friendship feels, slow burn, fluff, sexual tension, humor Bestfriends!au

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

masterlist // next chapter 

A/N: It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything at all so I apologize for the first chapter being short. I plan on rewriting this beginning once I get into the swing of things again.

Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Saturday nights are the best. It feels like the only time you get to hang out with your friends all week, the one night that everyone’s busy schedules all align. Min Yoongi, the quiet, empathetic bartender. Kim Seokjin, the sweet, creative chef. Park Jimin, the elegant, angelic model. Jeon Jungkook, the silly, driven personal trainer. Kim Taehyung, the rich, successful artist. Jung Hoseok, the energetic, spunky dance instructor. Kim Namjoon, the pragmatic, passionate college professor. And of course you, the IT person for the university Namjoon works for. It’s how you became involved in this tight-knit squad. Truthfully though, the seven of them are beautiful, godlike even. You count yourself lucky to be among them, even by accident.

It seems a little odd for someone so young to be so bad with technology, but Namjoon explained he has a habit of stuff breaking around him --he calls it a curse-- so it held no lasting shock value after you really got to know him. Shortly after he started, you saved his ass by replacing a very expensive projector out of pocket so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the university. He promised to make it up to you, and not just by repaying you the cost of the projector. He was genuinely grateful and easy to talk to. 

It’s no wonder you now call him your bestie.

At first disbelief swirled in your mind that a guy like Namjoon could know so many hot people, let alone be good friends with them. But even Namjoon is pretty for a professor, though it's something you’d never admit to his face. You don’t need him hanging it over your head since it's just an observation, not a confession. Better to let him suffer with the knowledge you think his friends are hot, and that he's mediocre. He doesn’t need the ego boost with the posse of college tail chasing him around campus. 

As you approach the shared flat of Jungkook and Taehyung, you hear the sound of explosions and gunfire. You listen a moment before knocking. Overwatch maybe? Then comes the unmistakable “NERF THIS.”

Yup, definitely Overwatch.

“Get on the payload! Over here! Tae! What are you doing!? Come on!” A high-pitched Jungkook is pleading through panic, but you can barely hear him over Taehyung’s drawn out hollering.

“Video games? That’s the big plan for tonight? What happened to going out to a club?” Hoseok’s disappointed voice carries through the door.

You let out a giggle at the sound before your knuckles are rapping just below the peephole, with 5 knocks knock---knock-knock---knock--knock. From the other side of the door comes the answering knock--knock before it swings open to reveal a grinning, wide-eyed Hoseok.

“Y/N!” The excitement when he greets you is bright enough to melt your heart.

“Hey, Hobi. Huh. Did I miss the party or is this it?”

He rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I hope not.”

You scan the room. Taehyung and Jungkook are surrounded by pillows, controllers in hand with their eyes glued to the television. They don’t spare a glance, even as Hoseok slams the door like a child throwing a tantrum. Namjoon, who is lounging on the couch behind the boys, immediately greets you with a lazy “hey.” You notice a pile of blankets on the floor next to Jungkook as you wriggle out of your shoes.

“You alive, Yoongi?” You’re careful to step over the mess as the bundle begins squirming.

Mint hair emerges from the stack and you hear him groan. “If we’re not going out soon, I’m just going to stay here and sleep. I worked three doubles this week.”

“Three doubles? You sure you’re alive?”

“No,” he pauses, dropping his face back into a pillow, muffling the sound. “But at least I’ve got tips. Tips I can use to drink GOOD liquor and not the cheap stuff Jin is drinking. If we ever leave...”

“Okay, okay. We’re almost done,” Tae mumbles, eyes still fixed on the match.

You plop down next to your friend, stretching one leg across his lap. The response comes with a heavy sigh as Namjoon looks up from his phone. “For real? You know, there’s a whole lotta couch over there.”

He gestures lazily toward the empty cushion to your right. Not wasting a glance, you bring your other leg over his lap and recline fully across the space. “Better?”

“That’s just disrespectful.” He shakes his head as he resumes scanning his phone, but makes no attempt to move you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah….” You mindlessly take out your own phone and open Tinder, hoping to see something noteworthy in your inbox.

Of course there have been crushes you developed in the last year within this group. Each one of them had their own way of flustering you, their own way of making you want to break the barrier between friendship and something more. However, you decided that messing with the group dynamic would be awful and unfair, so you made up a rule called “Firewall”; they were off limits and Namjoon agreed to help keep it that way.

The firewall rule did nothing to stop the biggest crush of all though, the butterflies when he said your name, or when he looked at you; it did nothing to stop the absolute thirst you had for Park Jimin. But you don't dare do anything about it. It would be awkward as fuck when he turned you down, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

To distract yourself from your ever-growing thirst, you downloaded a dating app a few months back. It's been more than a few years since you’ve dated anyone, and even longer since you’ve gotten laid. It's time to do something about it. You can't just keep on telling Namjoon his friend is bangable and pining for even a one-night stand with someone so fine, not when you know it's something you'll never act on.

While you created your own profile a while back, you've kept it a secret from your friends, afraid of the humiliation that would come with the discovery. The problem is that you found yourself comparing every potential match with Jimin. Who could possibly measure up to a goddamn model with a heart of gold? But you’re not dumb; you know you’re not on his level. Lowering your standards allows you to swipe right on a few guys, but your standards can only get so low and there's a lot of garbage to sift through.

Most of the conversations have been boring dead ends that last less than a week. Trying to get laid is turning out to be harder than the campus-wide changeover to Gigabit Ethernet last summer. You still have nightmares about being strangled to death with cables.

“Hey that’s my seat!”

The pout dripping from Jimin’s voice is palpable and you can’t help it when your lips curl into a smile at the sound. It’s almost intoxicating how much pleasure you derive from being able to pull a pouty voice from someone so gorgeous.

Clutching the phone screen to your chest, you drop your head to the armrest and over the edge of the couch to look up at the boy sipping out of a bendy straw. “Move your feet, lose your seat, Chim.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Wanna be my headrest?”

You playfully kick at Namjoon’s thighs, trying to get him to volunteer his seat. Your boy, however, doesn’t have your back. He fails to take the hint or even acknowledge your attempt to move him.

Fuck you, Joon.

For a moment you see Jimin tonguing the inside of his cheek with consideration. You bite down, instinctively chewing your bottom lip. Watching him watch you feels like torture. There’s a hint of those bedroom eyes working over your form and you feel yourself trapped, pinned by the sinful gaze.

As if a switch is flicked, a shy smile creeps across his lips and he feigns innocence. “Maybe later, cutie.”

That man is going to be the death of you. You’re sure of it.

You can hear Jin and Hoseok doing shots down the hall and your desire to join them flares for a moment. Jimin seemingly has the same idea, and makes his way back into the kitchen with his drink. Your eyes follow his form as he saunters across the room, reflexively licking your lips at the way his ass moves in those jeans. You fail to fix your jaw as it goes slack. Your eyes glaze as you’re consumed by thoughts of gripping that same juicy ass as he’s plowing into you with his cock.

A throat clears from the direction of your feet, breaking the sinful imagery in your head. Namjoon is staring at you with that smug ‘do you wanna share with the class’ grin. He blinks in rapid succession and cocks his head to one side, mouthing the word ‘Really?’.

You feel warmth in your face, retorting with a silent, offended ‘What?’, to which Namjoon stifles a hard laugh with a slender finger. He shakes his head and begins typing on his phone. Not even a second later your phone buzzes.

Joonie: You want me to open your legs for him and point?? You got those fuck-me Jimin eyes going.

Instinctively, you flip up the hood on your sweater and tug on the drawstrings, as though they will hide the shame and heat in your cheeks. Your thumbs are like lightning as they move across the screen.

You: DON’T CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS. HE’S TOO HOT. I CAN’T HELP IT.

Joonie: You’re so thirsty. CHILL.

You: I 👏CAN’T 👏

Joonie: You know you could probably get it if you just asked already. You worry too much. He’s used to keeping things super casual.

You: yeah but I’m not

Joonie: I know. You’d make a big deal about it and freak.

You: wow rude

Joonie: I ain’t rude, just honest.

You: The only freaking i would be doin is in his bed

Joonie: Yeah, okay. 🙄

You: awww jelly Joonie is best Joonie. 😘

Joonie: 🤢Nah.

You: Try not to think of me gettin that high-speed hookup

Joonie: Cause it’s over so fast or???

You: …

Joonie: No comeback? Nothing?

You: Oh he’ll cum back alright… And on the front... maybe in the mouth? Idk if he’s got creampie privilege yet...

Joonie: 🤢🤢🤢I wish I was blind so I would never have had to read that with my own eyes.

You: that boy can penetrate my firewall any time 🍆

Joonie: ENOUGH 🤮

A fit of laughter creeps out of you when you look over and he smears a hand down his face slowly.

Joonie: Fuck it. I’m gonna show him this convo.

You: Good luck explaining a firewall

Joonie: You literally just said you want him to jizz all over you. Plus the eggplant, which is generous btw.

You: u wouldn’t know

Joonie: Wouldn’t I? 🤔 We were roommates once.

You: joke’s on you. Now im imagining an eggplant and an avocado, but the eggplant is still Jimin

Joonie: You know what people love? Avocados.

You: Smearing your thick avocado on those hipster girls?

You regret the text immediately, outwardly cringing as you hit send. The last thing you want to be thinking about is Joon’s cock, but with that euphemism, you can’t stop visualizing it in the worst way possible.

Joonie: …Are you done talking about my dick? 😏

“You drinking or what?” Ignoring the heat lingering in your cheeks, you pocket your phone and try to also ignore the way the top half protrudes from your annoyingly tiny front pocket.

He has a shit-eating grin strewn across his face, dimples forming thick creases in his cheeks. “I already pregamed.” He turns his attention to the match, which has been stuck in overtime for the last 30 seconds. “Go get your drink on. I’m good.”

You knock the phone from his hands as you swoop your legs off the couch, and his eyebrows raise at you in warning. “Watch it, Geeksquad.”

Maintaining eye contact, you rise and blink a few times. You have to assert your dominance and let him know where his lanky ass stands. “Oh Em Gee. I’m like. Suuuper sorry, Professor Kim!”

It’s not that you hear Yoongi’s laughter, but more that you see his shoulders moving the blankets in a steady rhythm. Namjoon’s disgusted groan that follows is music to your ears. You’d told him before two could play that game, and you always delivered. The amount of “Professor Kim, please don’t give me detention” lines were cringey enough as you were saying them, but it was that juicy pissed off Namjoon grunt that made every word worth it. With a witchy cackle, you follow the path around the hall that Jimin took to get to the kitchen.

Hoseok is waiting with a full glass outstretched. “Knew you were coming for one.”

You don’t bother asking what it consists of; you merely down the liquid and slam the cup on the counter. Wow, talk about a strong fucking drink. Was there any mixer in that? Man, you wished Yoongi was making drinks instead; he always gets it perfect. Hoseok tends to throw a bunch of shit together and live off the buzz for hours. Thinking about it now, you probably shouldn't have downed it that fast. But hey, thirsty girl and all that. You take what you can get.

“Aaaaahh, Y/N! My good friend!” You know Jin is already cocked as his arms constrict your airflow with the tightest of bear hugs.

You wheeze out a sound of surprise before your arms come up in a rigid motion to awkwardly pat him a few times. “Hey Jin. Started early?”

“Had the day off!” he states proudly. The loss of his body heat makes you shiver, but your lungs thank him for the relief.

Hoseok bursts into laughter, shoving a shot in your face. You find yourself laughing along with him before you down it in one gulp, face instinctively scrunching at the bitter taste of the cheap whiskey. Confused, Jin looks over at Jimin for explanation before succumbing to laughter without knowing what the joke is.

“It’s Saturday,” Jimin says plainly, his eyebrows knotted together in confusion. He’s smiling, but not nearly at the tipping point that Jin has passed to be laughing so hard. “We all have the day off.”

Of course the blonde’s response only makes him laugh harder.

“Man I wish I were that fucked up,” you say, watching the tall man keeled over in laughter.

Jimin pries the bottle from Hoseok’s hands and begins to pour you another shot. His hands are steady as he holds the glass out to you, his eyes warm and inviting. You can’t help but smile stupidly back at him. Soft fingers send a wave of electricity through you as they brush against yours. With a collected breath, you slam the shot faster than he poured it, swallowing the vile liquid as though it could save you from embarrassment of his touch. You reach for the bottle to pour it yourself this time, but the blonde-haired boy yanks it away from your grasp.

“Ah, now that I think about it, you should slow down actually…”

The pouty groan in your throat escapes before you can stop it. His mouth drops open in surprise before spreading into a cheeky grin.

“Aw, so cute!”

“You know, I can just take it back,” you blurt. Even though he has a point, maybe you just want to drink yourself stupid like Jin. Or maybe you just don’t like being told what to do. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

He cocks an eyebrow as if to challenge you, voice dropping an octave lower than normal. “Can you really?”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to abort mission yet you push through. You lean in close, trying to win this game of chicken you've grown accustomed to playing. He’s cheating, moving the bottle towards his back as you reach out. Your brows knit together as his smile grows impossibly wider. Damn that smug face. Your hand lightly traces the denim jacket along his arm, never leaving the contact of his eyes with your own. Instead of a bottle, you find an empty palm at his back, and it instantly grips you tightly.

Surprised but not willing to be outdone, you stand up straight enough to make yourself seem imposing, standing on your toes for extra assistance. For a moment he looks shy, like he might back off. The internal praise your mind produces inflates your ego. But instead he tilts his head to the side and towards you, inching nearer to your lips. Blonde hair sweeps across his forehead and he lets his eyes partially close, biting down on his juicy bottom lip to beckon you closer. Recognizing the seductive tactic, an unconscious restraint purses your lips and you trail shaky fingers across the denim of the other arm until you reach his back.

Feeling across the small of his back, your chest presses against his and you hold your breath to gauge his reaction. A sensual sigh fans your cheek as you drag your hand down, hoping to find the bottle and end the game. You'd like to go nurse the remainder of its contents and die of embarrassment. Again you find his hand, though as you grab this one, he intentionally drags your palm across his ass; he flexes his glutes as he does so, giggling when your jaw drops open.

“Wow, you would put me in this position, Y/N?” He clicks his tongue teasingly. He knows he’s already won, but he decides to put the nail in your goddamn coffin. “Such a dirty girl.”

The darkness in his eyes betrays the playfulness of his tone. Jaw still slack, the sinister expression of the man before you pins you in place. Desperate for escape, you suddenly notice Jin, who is standing unusually close. He takes a swig from the bottle, heavy-lidded eyes darting between Jimin and yourself. As Jimin breaks eye contact as well, you use the opportunity to slip from his sweaty hands and create distance. Jin is grinning like a madman.

“Such a dirty girl!” Jin croons, looping his arm around your neck.

“Such a dirty, girl!” Hoseok chimes in, hooking his arm with Jin’s.

You sigh, ducking out from beneath from the boys and leaning against the countertop behind you. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Two short buzzes alert you to a message. Tapping the power button, you check the screen discreetly to make sure you’re not missing a Tinder message. The flash of Namjoon’s text sparks disappointment and a hint of annoyance. You whisk away his message from the lock screen with a flick of your thumb.

“We can change that!” Jin assures, rushing into the next room, followed by an amped up Hoseok. “Taehyung where are your keys?”

“Huh? You’re not driving!” There’s a scrambling sound and the familiar jingle of keys.

“Well duh. I’m just saying you have the best car.”

“Yeah, but I want to drink too so we’re calling for Ubers. Who’s riding with who?”

“Drinking buddies! Pair up!”

You fail to miss the way Jimin’s eyes slowly drift over you as he passes by; it’s as though he wants to devour you --and god, would you let him after that intense eye-fuck. He pauses for a moment, letting his tongue dart out as he turns his head back to you. It looks like he might have something to say, but instead he smacks his lips and shakes his head.

On the counter sits the bottle, nearly empty. As soon as he’s out of sight, you take a hearty swig, finishing what you’re pretty sure is half syrup, half Jin’s spit. The recoil of the taste is easier to handle than whatever the fuck that was.

As you round the corner you nearly bump heads with Taehyung, who is sprinting down the hall towards the bathroom. “Gotta pee quick. Hold up.”

You find yourself distracted by the very fit Jungkook army-crawling his way around the floor, the muscles in his arms bulging with each movement. “You guys see my other shoe?”

Yoongi yawns as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “A shoe?”

“Bless you!” Jin and Jimin are cackling, the familiar windshield wiper laugh drowning out the groans from the rest of them.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’re sitting cross-legged on the thick platform beside the front steps of the apartment. The concrete is chilly and you’re grateful for the layer between your thighs and the stone. Jin had climbed into the first car with Tae, Yoongi, and Jungkook. They were probably already halfway there at this point. Hobi was bouncing his leg impatiently as he sat on the step beside you. You can tell by his grumbling that he was more than a little irritated about having to ride in the second car. Namjoon and Jimin were relaxed though, talking about their movie plans for tomorrow.

The glow of your phone is the only thing saving you from catching eyes with Jimin. On screen is a half-written profile of someone trying not to get caught by their spouse; you crinkle your nose and swipe left. Nope. In its place you see the thousandth picture today of a grizzled man holding a fish. Nope. Next is a shot of a guy looking down into the camera and you swear you can see up his nostrils and into the cavity where his brain should be. Nope. You continue on like this, cringing at each profile before swiping left. You’re not sure how they can get worse, but they keep finding a way.

Then you see a smile that’s fairly captivating. You tap on the next photo, expecting it to suck, but it doesn’t. Scrolling down, you read a humble, self-deprecating blurb about a confident dude with a clear love of cats and exercise that brings an awkward smile to your lips. At this point, you’ve swiped left so much that it’s become habitual and you’re feeling uneasy about doing the opposite. There has to be something awful you’re missing. You scan through a second time, begging for some kind of dealbreaker to ease your twitching finger. Still uncertain, you scroll back up and decide to look through some more pictures.

When you tap on the next photo, a steamy image of nude chest appears. The outline of abs glisten below in the reflection of a mirror, a towel draped lazily around his waist just below a dark, delicious happy trail. Your hand instinctively comes up to your mouth, teeth clenching down on a curled finger. As you drink in the sight, the breath catches in your throat and a fire burns in your chest, spreading quickly down your stomach to the heat in your pussy.

It’s then that you feel your stomach drop, the horror of another presence looming over the screen with you. Hoseok sits with his chin resting on a palm, staring down at the same image with a concentrated gaze. For a moment only your eyes move, now acutely aware of the man to your left. You’re frozen in place, hoping the shame will kill you instantly so you don’t have to face the following moments.

You sit motionless, like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll forget you’re there. You pray his perception is based on movement as your teeth sink deeper into the flesh of your knuckle, letting only shallow breaths escape. But as the seconds pass, they grow increasingly unbearable. You turn your head, ever so slightly, immediately locking eyes with Hoseok. The crooked smile on his face speaks volumes louder than the whisper that follows.

“Such a dirty girl.”

[millie1536]

No Matter Where Or When

TW: Anxiety, Panic attacks

During their first few months Anne and Maggie seemed to have picked up exactly where they left off, the two of them were almost inseparable. So it surprised everyone when the two of them began avoiding each other. They would tense up whenever they saw one other, avoid eye contact and barely spoke.

She doesn’t need you anymore, Anne thought to herself as she lay awake one night, She’s got Bessie, Maria and Joan now. They’d never hurt her, unlike you. Anne rolled over and folded her pillow over her ears, but you can’t block out your own thoughts. You mad her watch her best friend die. She had to stand there and watch as your head was cut off. She always felt sick after executions, imagine how she must have felt after yours. She nearly passed out during a beheading, remember? And she didn’t even know the person. She hid behind you so she wouldn’t have to see and she still had nightmares for weeks afterwards. You knew that and yet you still put her in the position where she was forced to stand beside you as you died. Anne shut her eyes tight, doing everything in her power to block out the thoughts, Some sister you were.

 Maggie’s shaking hand hovered over her phone, She’s not going to like being woken up in the middle of the night. She’s already avoiding you, do you really think she’ll appreciate you calling her at 2 in the morning because or a stupid dream? Bessie’s more than happy to let you sleep in her bed so why bother Anne? Even if she is awake she’s probably with her cousin. Kathrine needs Anne more than you do. She’s just a kid, you’re an adult. Maggie let her hand drop back beside her. If you’re worried about annoying Bessie then Joan’s probably still awake, her sleep schedule is worse than Parr’s after all or you could go to Maria. Maybe she’ll let you play with her hair until you fall asleep. It’s not like Anne could do anything anyway. Even if she did talk to you on the phone it’s not like she’s going to jump out of bed and run over here to give you hug. Maggie bit her lip as she dragged herself out of bed. Maybe she would if she was your real sister but she’s not. She’s just a friend, or at least she was. She doesn’t want anything to do with you now. It’s like everyone says, your just the band. You don’t matter. Maggie could feel the tears building up as she crept into Bessie’s room.

“Maggie?” Bessie asked groggily, she was an incredibly light sleeper, “What’s wrong?” Bessie moved over to make room for Maggie. The guitarist didn’t say anything as she crawled into bed and curled up beside Bessie. “You’re alright, would you like to go back to sleep?” Bessie asked as she wrapped and arm around Maggie. Maggie just nodded before shutting her eyes.

It’s just you and Anne, see? You’re both alright. Maggie thought to herself. Annie’s right here. By the time Maggie drifted off to sleep she had almost convinced herself that it was in fact Anne holding her. Almost.

 The changes in Anne and Maggie’s behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed. Everyone, including the audience, had seen the way Anne would look back at Maggie during the show only for her head to snap forward when she made eye contact with the other woman. They had stopped hanging out together between shows or texting each other until one of them had their phone taken away and was forced to go to bed. The two of them seemed more exhausted than both Cathy and Joan combined and Anne’s sense of humour seemed to have taken a holiday.

“What’s going on with those two?” Aragon asked one night, Anne having retreated to her room almost immediately when they returned home from the theatre. “They were always so close, it was like they were joined at the hip or something.” She said, remembering the days when Anne and Maggie had been her ladies in waiting.

“I’m not sure, but Anne’s hasn’t been sleeping much lately. Something’s bothering her.” Kitty’s hand fidgeted, she hated that she couldn’t help her cousin with whatever she was dealing with.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jane said, “It’s not unusual for them to be a bit jumpy.”

“Yeah, but Anne’s usually better at hiding it.” Anna pointed out.

“Plus Anne’s always the first person Maggie goes to when she’s struggling with something.” Kitty added.

 “Hey Anna, Bessie wanted to-“ Maggie stopped mid-sentence, “I’m sorry, I should have knocked.” She looked down at her feet, all the confidence drained from her. Maggie had a habit of walking into a room and talking to someone before actually checking if they were there. This time Bessie had asked her to see Cleves was still up for dinner that night but the only person in the dressing room was Anne.

“Don’t worry about it,” Anne tried to smile at the nervous girl but just ended up looking as anxious as she felt, “It’s alright.”

“No.” Maggie said suddenly, “It’s not alright.” Despite how quickly she had spoken her voice was still quiet, “I know better than to barge in like this. I never used to do it.” Maggie was gone before Anne could respond.

 “Now what?” Kathrine asked as she tried to think of a way to get her friends to talk. Bessie’s idea had flopped and had only resulted in both Anne and Maggie being even more on edge around each other.

“We need to get them somewhere they can’t avoid each other.” Jane thought aloud.

“We could lock them in a room together.” Catherine suggested, only half joking, “Or not.” She added when 7 pairs of eyes glared at her, “Or we could not do that.”

“What about a family dinner?” Cathy thought.

“Yeah, ‘cause the last one went so well.” Maria said, remembering what had happened when one of Anna’s dogs had gotten loose.

“Sorry about that.” Anna apologised for what must have been the hundredth time.

 Kathrine took a deep breath before knocking on Anne’s door.

“Yeah?” Anne asked, not getting up off her bed.

“Hey, can I come in?” She heard Anne laugh.

“It’s your room too, you know.” Kathrine took that as a yes and entered the room. Anne was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop in front of her and her guitar in her lap.

“How’s it going?” Kathrine asked, trying to sound casual.

“Alright,” Anne shrugged, “I’m struggling a bit with this chord progression but I’ll get it eventually.”

“I’m sure Maggie would be more than happy to help you out.” Kathrine seized her opportunity. She noticed how Anne shifted a little at the mention of Maggie.

“Yeah, but she’s got her own stuff to do. I can work this out.” Anne looked back at her laptop, cutting off the conversation. Something about the way Anne was sitting told Kathrine it was better not to push her.

 “I’m running out of ideas.” Cathy admitted. It had been nearly a month and none of their attempts to get Anne and Maggie to talk had worked.

“Locking them in a room doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?” Aragon raised her eyebrows at the other women. To be honest, not even Aragon was a hundred percent sold on the idea but they were running out of options.

“Say we do trap them in a room,” Joan began, “Where would we do it?” It was a few hours before the group had a plan ready. They chose an old dressing room at the theatre that had been converted into storage. Their reasoning was that there was a camera in the room that would allow them to see what was happening, should something go wrong. The biggest question was how to get them in there.

 “Annie?” Kathrine said in the sweetest voice she could manage.

“Kitty?” Anne responded in a similar tone.

“Could you grab me my spare boots from the storeroom? The zipper on these ones broke.”

“Why don’t you get them?” Anne asked, she wasn’t annoyed at her cousin she just didn’t particularly want to do it.

“Because it’s creepy,” Kathrine pulled a face to emphasize her point, “It’s full of spiderwebs and stuff.” Anne sighed.

“Alright then.”

 “Fuck.” Bessie said, a little louder than she usually would have.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie looked up from where she was tuning her guitar.

“One of my strings broke and the spares are upstairs.” Bessie sighed, setting down her guitar.

“I can go get them for you.” Maggie stood up, “I’ve finished tuning and it will only take me a minute.”

“Thanks Mags, you’re a big help.” Bessie smiled as the younger girl ran upstairs.

 Anne didn’t look up from the pile of shoe boxes she was searching through when she heard the door open and close behind her.

“What happened to this place being too creepy.” She joked.

“Huh?” Anne turned around to find that it was in fact Maggie and not Kathrine who she had heard enter the room.

“Sorry. I thought you were Kitty.” Anne said quickly, turning back to the pile of shoe boxes, “Gotcha.” She grinned when she finally found the one she was looking for. Quickly she made her way to the door. locked. “Real funny Maggie.” Anne rolled her eyes looking over at a seemingly confused Maggie.

“What do you mean?”

“Just give me the key so I can give these boots to Kat.” Anne held her hand out to the girl.

“What key?” Maggie asked.

“The one you used to lock the door.” Anne was starting to get a bit fed up with the guitarist’s games.

“I didn’t lock it.” Maggie told her and something about her eyes convinced Anne she was telling the truth. Anne set the boots on the floor before turning calmly back to the door. However, her next move was anything but calm. Maggie flinched when Anne rammed her foot into the door in an attempt to open it. Nothing happened. A few kicks later and Anne gave up, instead pacing up and down the room.

“Are you alright?” Maggie asked after a minute or so.

“Fine.” Anne’s reply was harsh, harsher than Maggie had ever heard her. Sensing that Anne wasn’t going to talk anytime soon Maggie sat back against the wall and just watched the woman pace.

The changes were subtle at first, an increase in pace, breathing becoming a little less even. Maggie could tell something was wrong. Eventually Anne gave up pacing and went back to kicking the door. After a minute or so she began banging her fist against the wood, and then she started yelling. Maggie had to cover her ears when Anne began screaming through the door. She wasn’t paying much attention to what Anne was saying but it certainly wasn’t the kind of language Jane or Aragon would approve of. Maggie wasn’t sure when she became aware that Anne had stopped shouting, only that it worried her. Removing her hands from her ears and opening her eyes Maggie looked around the room. It took her a moment to spot Anne huddled in the corner, watching the door with wide eyes.

“Anne?” Maggie asked. Anne didn’t respond, “Anne? Are you alright?” Again there was nothing. Maggie decided that it was time to bite the bullet. She knew that Anne would prefer it if Cathy or Kitty were here instead of her but they weren’t. “Anne? Anne, can you hear me?” Maggie said, a little firmer as she approached the queen. She tried to remember what she’d seen the others do when Anne got like this. “Anne, it’s alright. You’re safe here.” She repeated the words she’d heard so many times. Gently, she rested a hand on Anne’s shoulder. Anne responded to the touch, but not in the way Maggie had been hoping. Her eyes flashed towards Maggie before she scurried away under a table. Maggie thought that she might have laughed under different circumstances. Carefully she crouched down in front of the table, making sure to give Anne some space.

“Anne, where are you?” Maggie asked, remembering how Anne had gotten through to her that night at dinner. Anne shook her head, whimpering. “Anne, can you describe where you are?” Again Anne shook her head.

“You need to go.” She said after a moment, her voice shaking as she looked Maggie in the eye, “You need to leave before someone sees you.”

 “Okay, this has gone too far.” Kathrine grabbed the key to the storeroom but Aragon stopped her.

“Look.” Kathrine did as she was told and looked back at the screen. Anne had retreated under the table, out of sight, and Maggie was crouched on the ground a metre or so from Anne’s hiding place.

“Yeah, Anne’s having a panic attack, I know.” Kathrine snapped.

“But look at Maggie.” Catherine raised her eyebrows, “I know it’s not ideal but maybe this will help them sort out whatever’s been going on.”

 “Why? Why do I need to leave?” Maggie asked, trying to piece together what was going on.

“They’ll kill you too if they find you here.” Anne pressed herself further against the wall.

“Anne, no one’s going to kill me. We’re at the theatre, remember?” Maggie said as it all fell into place. “You’re safe here, we both are.”

“But… Henry…” Anne stammered, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.

“He’s gone. He’s dead.” Maggie reassured her. Anne’s eyes seemed to grow distant as she thought about what Maggie had said. Slowly her hands made their way up to the thick scar around her neck.

“Maggie?” her voice was weak and full of fear.

“I’m here.” Maggie said. Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, Maggie slowly crawled under the table. She couldn’t help but relax when, as soon as she was in arms reach, Anne latched onto her.

“It hurt.” Anne said, her voice muffled by Maggie’s hair, “It hurt so much.” Maggie could feel the tears soaking through her shirt but she didn’t care.

“It’s alright, it’s over now. You’re safe with me.” They stayed like that for a while before Anne pulled away.

“Sorry.” She said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, “It’s usually Kitty or Parr who has to deal with me when I’m like this.”

“Anne,” Maggie’s voice took on a serious tone Anne had never heard before, “I don’t mind. I’m not ‘dealing’ with you, I want to help you. You’re my sister.” Maggie hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud. Both Anne and Maggie froze.

“But… I thought…” Anne stopped to collect her thoughts, “I hurt you.”

“No, Anne you never hurt me.”

“But it was my fault you had to watch me die.” Anne’s voice rose as her breathing became more erratic.

“Hey, that was not your fault.” Maggie said firmly, then with a much softer voice she said, “Anne, you need to breath, alright? Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Maggie began to demonstrate, “That’s it. Good, you’re doing so well.” She encouraged Anne as she attempted to mimic Maggie’s breathing.

“I thought you didn’t want me around anymore.” Anne spoke so quietly that Maggie almost missed it.

“What gave you that idea?” Maggie asked, Anne just shrugged.

“I just thought that you didn’t need me anymore, now that you’ve got Bessie and the others.” Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I will always need you. You’re my best friend Annie, no matter where or when we are.” Maggie pulled Anne back into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.” Anne mumbled into Maggie’s shoulder.

“No, stop.” Maggie tightened her hold on Anne, “You have nothing to apologise for. You’re my best friend and I love you and I will always be there when you need me, I promise.” It took Anne a minute to respond, and even when she did she worried that her voice would crack.

“I love you, too.”

[bastogne-boys-blog]

NyQuil

Pairing: George Luz x Reader

Warnings: none just fluff. not really edited

Word Count: 1503

Taglist: @gottapenny

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George knew that the prospect of sleep was far from guaranteed but that did not stop him from tossing and turning all throughout the night. He felt all drowsiness (along with most of his hope) leave his tightly closed eyes. George attempted laying on his stomach, back, and side but to no avail. There was no use. George Luz could not fall asleep.

Distressed, George's hand absentmindedly gravitated towards his wife sleeping soundly next to him. He slowly intertwined the locks of her hair in between his fingers like he was plucking a nylon stringed instrument. His hand grazed the surface of the goosebumps that were scattered like constellations across her skin and his chapped lips softly whispered in her ear. "Y/N, you awake?"

Y/N could feel the fragments of her dream fizzle and the reality of her bed sheets and George's voice set in. She sighed. The good night's sleep she seldom had was starting to circle the drain. "George, it's after midnight. Go to bed." Sealing the deal, Y/N turned her back to her husband and used the pillows to block out an impending retort.

"I've been trying to this whole time but no matter what I do, I just can't fall asleep. I've tried literally everything but nothing seems to be working."

Silence was the best, worst, and only reply he got, for Y/N was avid in the quest of regaining her dream. "Y/N? Y/N? Y/NNNNN?"

George exhaled. He didn't want to do it but the circumstances left him with no other option.

“Y/N, I don't know if you know this but you swallow an average of eight spiders a year and I just wanted you to know because I see a big one on your shoulder."

Y/N awoke with a start and hastily thrashed trying to swat the pretend insect so that her heart would stop beating a mile a minute. Her hands flew about wildly as she exclaimed "Get it off! Get it off!"

However, her efforts were abruptly halted as the shrill laughter of her lover cut through to her ears. George clutched his stomach, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was the perpetrator of this heinous prank and found it absolutely priceless.

"George Luz, you are a national dipshit." She declared with a snit as her cheeks were covered in a sheen of color.

"Well, Ms. George Luz, I do try." He chuckled heartily and in asking for forgiveness, kissed the very same shoulder that fell victim to one of his usual pranks. "I had to get you up somehow."

Exasperated, Y/N rubbed her temples, for her patience was dwindling. "But why? Why did you have to wake me up?"

George's expression took an unexpected softening. "I already told you, Y/N. I can't sleep at all and it's making me frustrated. I'm sorry I woke you up but I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't this desperate."

Y/N sighed. There was those nights with nothing pleasant to offer that often haunted her poor husband. Nights that were unwavering with relentless nightmares or in this case, insomnia. "Have you tried reading? Or your breathing exercises?"

George solemnly nodded and rested his head on her chest, where it had layed many times before. "Yeah." he muttered.

"What about drinking some milk? That always seems to knock you out cold."

"I already looked but we ran out. Same with the NyQuil. "

Y/N felt ashamed of her earlier outburst because it seemed all of the misfortunes were happening all at once for George. He felt disheartened and in his time of need, she raised her voice at him. The guilt loomed over her shoulder like a watchful shadow, critical of the next move she was about to make.

"George... how about I go to the 7-11 that's down the road and get you some NyQuil?"

Her husband lifted his head, allowing the light that was departing from the moon to illuminate his affable features. In agreement with his emotions, his brows rose and his eyes widened in shock. "Y/N, are you nuts?"

Y/N shrugged. "Well, I have to be since I'm married to you."

"Touchè. But seriously, it's two in the morning. My love, I can't have you do that for me."

Y/N could admit that her actions were instantaneous and lacked careful thought but her generosity outweighed the left side of her brain. "Sweetheart, I want to do this. I feel a little bad for how I ignored you earlier and I want to make it up to you." Reaffirming her decision, Y/N kissed his lips and her fingertips delicately brushed the surface of his cheeks.

"Y/N, you didn't make me upset. I'm not angry at all. I understand why you ignored me; I can be a bit annoying especially at two am. Just, please don't go to the store for me. I'll be fine."

Y/N smirked. "It appears we have reached a stalemate. But y'know what helps when that happens?"

"What?"

"NyQuil."

"There's really no talking you out of this, huh?"

"Nope." Y/N slid out from under the duvet and pulled her robe on her shoulders. George followed suit with an unnerved expression. "Wait, it's really late, sweetheart. It's dark and you don't know the kind of people that are out there."

"If you're so nervous just come with me."

George Luz could only scoff.

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"George, we came here for one thing and one thing only. And that thing is NyQuil so put the hershy bar down."

"Alright. Alright. I'm putting it back."

Dressed in nothing but a robe to cover their pajamas, George Luz had dutifully followed his wife out into a nearby 7-11. The journey was less than ideal. It was cold and the street lamps were their only source of light. But regardless, they reached the convenience store and were greeted with an incredulous look from the clerk, believing he had taken too many night shifts to actually convince himself that he was seeing a couple at this time of night. The speakers played cheesy 80s love songs and the overhead, artificial lights were nearing the end of their spell as they flickered on and off.

Y/N searched every aisle, every shelf and rack but unfortunately came up short. It also didn't help that her husband decided now was a good time more than ever to try out all the pick up lines and puns under his belt.

"Are you from Japan? Because I'm trying to get in Japanties."

"You're name must be Coca-Cola because you're so-da-licious."

"If I had a garden, I'd put your tulips and my tulips together."

George's pleasantries were all but pleasing to the impatient girl. Each minute that passed subsequently became minutes that ticked away at the growing time bomb in her chest. Becoming dissatisfied with the lack of over-the-counter drugs the 7-11 had in their stock, Y/N dragged her husband by the collar of his robe to the next convenience store. However, at this store (and the third and fourth) they were faced with the same result. The hands of her watch traveled so quickly she couldn't keep up. The hours grew long and her forbearance shortened.

Y/N accepted defeat. She didn't want to but she did. Y/N and George returned home just in time to see the sun peak through from the ground. "I guess I really fucked up our sleeping schedule." George chuckled as he set the house keys on the counter.

Y/N found no amusement in their failed pursuit. She collapsed on the sofa with a fed up attitude as the situation still vexed her. "Is NyQuil the holy grail or am I missing something? You would think after searching for hours and hours we would be rewarded. But no. Nothing ever goes right for us."

George sighed as he delicately took the hand of his wife and kissed her left ring finer. "Y'know... despite the mishaps, I actually had a fun time."

"Really?" He nodded.

"I'm still fucking tired." George let out a breathy laugh. "But I got to spend time with my love."

Y/N fell into the warm embrace of her lover. His arms locked in place around her waist. "You're too good to me, Luz." said Y/N as he massaged her back, trying to ease the tension.

"You joking? That's all you my love. You're the one willing to buy me drugs at two in the morning. What more could I ask for?"

"Oh hush."

"Ok how about this?" George placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You and me will call in sick for work today and spend the rest of the day napping and watching movies?"

The corner of Y/N's lips turned upward and with it, lifted all of her stress and anxieties. "You really are too good to me, Luz."

[breakyourhaloandley]

01: All I Need Is One More Broken Heart

I let out a shaky breath, smoke seeping out from between my lips. The small exhaust fan above me is buzzing, threatening to break any day now just like everything else in this apartment. Jake would kill me if he knew I was smoking inside, but I don’t see how it matters. This place is a glorified garbage heap so a little cigarette smoke isn’t going to make a difference. 

Lifting the bottle of white wine up to my lips I take a long drink before staring back at the person in the mirror. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I really care, but I’m sure it’s not the ‘proper’ time to be drinking, whatever that means. Black eyeliner is smudged under my eyes and my long black hair is in desperate need of brushing. I’ll get to it later, sometime when I’m not stuck in a fucking spiral of drunkenness, sadness and utter lack of care for my wellbeing. 

The front door clicks and I hear someone fumbling with keys, I guess Jake is back. I flick the rest of my cigarette into the toilet before flushing away the evidence. I stumble, almost losing my balance as I make my way up to the kitchen where he’s fixing himself a plate of questionable Chinese leftovers. 

His eyes dart up to me, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. I see it in his disappointed scowl. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon Andy,” he states, motioning towards the bottle in my hand. 

“And this is white wine, not liquor.” I retort, needing anything but a lecture from one of my bandmates. None of them have any room to talk. 

“You know we have band practice tonight, right? Tour starts in a week.”  “Don’t remind me” I groan, well aware of the ticking time bomb set to blow up in my face in a matter of days. 

I should be excited, it’s our first major tour. We’re headling the AP Tour this year along with my friend Matt’s band, D.R.U.G.S. I should be, but I’m anything but excited. A few months ago it would have been a totally foreign concept to me, the thought of not wanting to be on tour. Yet things change, people change and in what feels like the blink of an eye the things that used to fill you with joy become your worst fears. 

It’s not that I don’t love music anymore, it’s not that I don’t want to be in this band or that I don’t want to sing anymore. It’s that I don’t want to deal with the things that come with it. The screaming fans who think I’m some perfect fucking idol they should look up to, someone who can save them from themselves when little do they know I can’t even save myself. It’s the interviews, the time schedule, the sleepless nights in a bunk too small for my legs, it’s the loneliness despite being surrounded by people night and day, it’s the expectations. 

I wonder if the fans will notice, notice the new cracks on my perfect exterior where the flawed human being is threatening to breakthrough. I don’t know what happened, but something changed on the last tour. It was as if this darkness had consumed me. The funny thing is that I had actually made a vow to myself at the start of our first tour that I wouldn’t drink. I’d seen alcohol destroy too many of my childhood idols to ever want such evil in my life. 

Like most promises, this one wasn’t kept. It was our second tour and during the kick-off party, I had a fatal lapse in judgment. Someone handed me a drink, the stench of alcohol was potent but I drank it anyway. I can only compare the feeling to someone who is about to drown, and right before they open their mouth and let the water fill their lungs, they manage to resurface gasping for air. All the anxiety, the fear, the demons that have haunted me since childhood were suddenly quiet. I felt free, happy, confident and social. 

I no longer cared what people thought about me, like that life-saving breath of fresh air, I felt alive. 

I guess you could say I went overboard, I started drinking every night and that’s when the darkness started creeping back in. The shadow slowly wrapping its cold fingers around my throat and after the tour ended it spiraled out of control. Bad decisions, at least those that I can remember, haunt me yet I just keep making them. 

So now I have a week before the tour starts, a week to get my shit together.  “And are you fucking listening to me?” Jake snaps, pulling me out of my wine-induced haze. 

“Uh yeah-”  “I said you can’t pull the shit you’ve been pulling on tour. No more ending up on the stage floor crying and making a fool of us. John said that-”  “Thank you, Jake, I’ve seen the videos I don’t need a lecture.” I cut him off. 

---

The walls burst down the second I see him, like floodgates opening-up and memories that I thought were buried suddenly resurface like it was yesterday instead of a month ago. He’s standing there, silky black hair concealing his face. He’s too busy tuning his base to even notice that I’ve walked in. His tattooed fingers work the strings of the instrument and I’ve never been jealous of an inanimate object before now. 

My heart is racing in my chest and I swear to god he has to hear it. I feel a knot in my stomach and I’m not sure if it’s that or the hangover making me feel like I’m going to throw up. Ashley looks up, his caramel eyes fixating on my lanky frame. Eyes dart up and down and wait, was that a grimace? He sets his base down and his boots click as he walks towards me. 

“You okay Six?” he asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. 

“I’m fine Ash.”  “You’ve lost weight,” he comments, the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. 

I’ve been steadily dropping weight since our first tour, I don’t know where it got out of control but like most things in my life, it did. God, I want to be fucking wasted right now, anything but dealing with this. 

This dance we’re doing around each other is new, and I don’t know the steps to it. All I know him as is my best friend, the person who’s been there for me since the start, warmth in cold, oxygen to a drowning man. 

I can still feel his lips on mine, the night it all went to hell. It was the last week of the tour and after killing almost an entire bottle of whiskey we made a fatal error. The circumstances that led us to that error are blurry, blacked-out sentences in the story of my life. What I do remember has become my own personal hell that plays on a loop in my brain. 

The heavy motel door slams shut, the outside world ceases to exist as time stands still in some little town in Texas. Those tattooed fingers are dancing along the outline of my hip bones, my back pressed up against the cigarette stained wall. I’ve wanted this moment since we met, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me, to be the center of his attention and desires. And here we are, our lips inches apart, a hurricane about to make landfall. 

His hands glid up my bare skin, following the contours of my torso. A shiver goes down my spine and I feel my heart about to explode. “Kiss me” I whisper my breath catching in my throat. 

Our lips collide and I melt, surrendering myself completely over to him. I part my lips as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his nails digging into my pale flesh. There’s a roughness to it that drives me mad and I can taste the whiskey on his lips. 

He pulls me over towards the bed, falling on top of me as the bed creaks under our combined weight. His fingers lace in my hair before violently pulling it back. I let out a moan all the nerves in my body firing. He has complete control over me, I’m a puppet on strings. 

I tug at his belt, leaning up and whispering in his ear “I want to feel you inside me” I don’t care what the consequences are all that matters is this moment. 

He pushes me back, quickly standing up. My heart stops in my chest as he shakes his head, a disgusted look across his face. “Fuck” he breathes pushing his hair back. 

“W-What?”  “God, what are we doing? No... Andy, I’m not gay. I- fuck I’m drunk. Look we can’t do this, I’m not attracted to you and I’m sure as hell not gonna fuck you.” 

My heart shatters into a million pieces, this has to be a dream... no a nightmare and I will myself to wake up. Only I don’t wake up, “Ashley...” 

“Look I get it, you’re uh- you’re gay. I kind of always suspected that I guess. But I’m not and this isn’t going to happen. We’re bandmates, I’m your friend and we’re both just drunk.” I stopped listening to the words coming out of his mouth but the next thing I knew he was out the door, something about sleeping on the bus. 

We ended up doing the whole awkward day after ‘talk’. Let’s just forget about it, neither of us meant for it to go that far, we can just carry on as if it never happened. Bullshit. 

And now we’re here. It’s been a month since I’ve seen him, the longest we’ve ever gone since he joined the band two years ago. He stares at me, I guess expecting me to say something from this mutually agreed-upon script we’re supposed to be acting out now. Words fail me though, all I feel is the lump in my throat and it feels like it is suffocating me. 

“You’re taking care of yourself, right? You said you were going to get better about that. Cutting down on cigarettes and drinking, eating better.” I can’t tell if the concern in his voice is real or just for show. Did I even say that? Maybe I did, but I didn’t mean it. 

“I’m not going to drink this tour.”  “One out of three is better than nothing I guess.” he jokes, though I don’t think he believes me. 

“I uh- I’ll be back in a sec.” I manage to get out before brushing past him and away from the others. 

I barely make it into the bathroom of the studio before breaking down. Air is hard to find as I gasp for breath, the tightness in my chest getting so bad that I swear I’m going to pass out. I brace myself against the sink, my knuckles turning white from the death grip I have on it. Tears well up in my eyes before falling, mixing with the black shadow around my eyes into long black streaks down my face. 

There is no way I’m going to be able to do this tour sober, I don’t know why I’m fooling myself. I want nothing more than to be half a bottle deep in whiskey right now, all these fucking emotions shut off. Sliding down against the wall onto the tiled floor my head spins from the hangover and lack of oxygen which only increases the nauseous feeling in my stomach. I try to convince myself this is just another panic attack but the feeling of death is so real. I lean over the toilet, pushing two fingers back into my throat until I feel my gag reflex kick in. I throw up the little that’s in my stomach before leaning back against the wall. 

My hands shake and I’m unsteady on my feet as I push myself off the ground. I rinse my mouth out with water and try my best to wipe away the smeared makeup before walking back out to where the rest of my band is. They’re already practicing, the sounds of drums and electric guitars drowning out the sounds of my little breakdown. I try my best to force a smile and join in, but I feel disconnected from them, from the music, from life. 

We practice for hours, and I feel every second of it. While the rest of the guys talk about ideas for the tour I slip out the back. I light up the second I step outside, the nicotine calming my nerves instantly. I’ve smoked half the pack before I even realize it, but the health of my lungs doesn’t make my list of concerns. 

I listen to the sounds of the buzzing street on the other side of the building, closing my eyes as I try to find a moment of tranquility. 

“Andy we need to talk.” his cool voice says from behind me. Ashley walks over to face me, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from me. I watch as he places one between his pale pink lips, the flame flickering in between the cracks of his cupped hand. 

A dirty little secret about Ashley, he’s known to smoke a cigarette or two whenever he’s stressed. He loves to preach about hating them, how disgusting and dirty they are but compared to the things he used to use it’s nothing. The thing about being so close to someone is you know almost all of their secrets, you’ve met all of their skeletons and Ashley has more than his fair share of them. So I let his theft slide. 

He blows the smoke out in a white cloud before sighing. “I told John that on hotel nights I’ll room with one of the other guys. I think it’s best that way.” 

I scoff, laughing at his feeble attempt to act like we’re not completely fucked. “Is it?” 

“I figured it would be easier for you.”  “Wow you’re so considerate” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm. 

“Andy you said that we would just agree to forget about everything. Just be normal bandmates. I know you’re hurt but it’s just the way things are. Maybe it’s my fault, I let you believe there was something when there wasn’t.” 

Ashley was my lifeline when I moved here. A month of living in my car before meeting him and the others had taken its toll on me. I was on the verge of giving up and crawling back to Ohio with my tail between my legs. Then I met him and he showed me a warmth that kept me going. He was there the nights I broke down in tears, missing home and second-guessing myself. He was there when I needed advice, guidance, someone who I could trust. Even when I started drinking he was there, making sure I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, pulling me together the next morning... and now it’s over. 

“I’m sorry for fucking things up. I just... miss what we had, friendship, whatever you want to call it. I’m drowning Ash.”  “I’m still your friend Andy. Don’t be dramatic, you’re twenty now you don’t need someone babying you.” 

My heart aches, I tried to fight it for so long. I tried to tell myself that it was hopeless to have these emotions for someone who would never want me the way I wanted him. I tried to convince myself that the truth wasn’t the truth, that I wasn’t madly in love with the man in front of me. I am in love with him though, and for a few moments on that fateful night, I thought he loved me back. 

“When I asked you to kiss me, why did you?” I ask bluntly. 

He is clearly thrown by the question, and the calm facade he is so perfect at maintaining drops for a second. Just long enough that I can see he is human, not some robot immune to emotions. “I don’t know.. maybe there was a part of me that wanted to try it, maybe it was because you asked. Maybe it was the whiskey.” 

I close the gap between the two of us, the smoke from our cigarettes mixing in the air. He doesn’t move back, just stares at me, his face once again expressionless. “And you felt nothing?” I whisper. 

“Nothing Andy.” We stand there, motionless in the cool Hollywood air. Kiss me, punch me, insult me, push me up against the brick and fuck me, do something. “Then I guess I’ll just forget about it,” I reply. 

He places the cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Goodnight.” he simply says before walking away. 

[theolddarkmachine]

Dead Space - an end, a beginning (A Prologue)

It starts the day the hero falls. Crashing in a blaze of glory of twisted metal and burning ozone, he leaves a scar on the Earth that changes everything.

And Keith sees it all.

Chapter 1 of 11

Tags: attempted Horror Elements, Zombies, Violence and Gore, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending i swear

Also on AO3

A/N: So I’ve been thinking about this fic for over a year now, and I thought that it would be great for a Big Bang. That being said, my schedule got fucked and I couldn’t hang with the Big Bang any longer. While a bummer, means I can post this on my own time now, which is far from a bummer lol SO, with that being said, please enjoy my attempt at the zombie au I could never get out of my head. Plans to update will probably be every other week unless my schedule gets back to normal sooner rather than later

********************************

It starts the day the hero falls. Crashing in a blaze of glory of twisted metal and burning ozone, he leaves a scar on the Earth that changes everything.

And Keith sees it all.

“Shiro,” he breathes, as he watches the dust cloud begin to settle from where the bright light had crashed itself into the desert.

Sad news today as we report the loss of the Kerberos mission.

The news report plays itself like a broken, repeated loop through Keith’s head as he revved the hover bike’s engine. It snarls like a hungry animal before taking off, streaking through the night toward the dark bloom marring the sky and hiding the stars.

We’ve received confirmation that the cause was pilot error.

A memorial was held today to celebrate the lives of the three crew members lost.

Gritting his teeth against the scalding memories of the televised lies that battered themselves against the inside of his skull, Keith pushed the hover bike faster. Its growl keens higher, almost pained as if leeching off the bitter thoughts tickling the back of his tongue.

Keith had known that they couldn’t really be lost. That he couldn’t have really been lost.

He’s felt it in his gut like an undeniable truth that had wrought itself into his blood, and burnt itself into his bones until it was all he had felt. Shiro was alive. He was sure of it in the very way he was sure of the steady cadence of his own heartbeat as it battered its shape into the back of his ribs.

It was a truth that Keith had ended up fighting for.

One that he had ended up losing everything for.

At the end of all things, he had been the one to burn the carefully constructed card house of his own dreams down to the ground, and yet he couldn’t even find it in himself to regret it. After all, he wasn’t sure he could even want those dreams if it had meant abandoning his truth.

Abandoning Shiro.

“He never gave up on me,” Keith had snarled, teeth bared as he’d struggled against the tight hold of the guards, all the while his focus set on Iverson. “We can’t give up on him.”

Then, when that had fallen on deaf ears and on the broken on the back of a pitying stare,

“I can’t give up on him.”

“Son, you have to let him go,” Iverson had said, low and slow, as if speaking to a frightened animal. Keith’s sure that’s what he had looked like anyway, with the blood smeared across his chin and the edge turning his gaze into a sharp weapon.

“He’s gone.”

“He isn’t gone,” Keith growls in reply to the phantom voice that had plagued his nightmares, echoing his own past sentiment before he had been forcefully dragged from the Garrison’s ground. There’s a tang of deja vu that fills his mouth as he follows the very same path he’d torn across when he’d left, the bike carrying him across the dirt as he was blinded by his fury.

Now, his gaze is all too clear as he eyes the cloud that looms ever closer upon his approach to the point of impact.

Light, bright and domineering over the night, grows like a bleeding halo up from the dirt as he starts to cut his speed.

Nothing could surprise him about seeing the Garrison already there. Something dark and twisted moves behind his sternum, sinking its claws into the bone as it hisses that they must have already known that he would fall.

Slowing to a crawl, Keith cuts the power to the bike and lets it settle into a stop just outside the ring of light cast around the impact zone by the tall construction lights.

The white of the lighting dulls the scarlet earth of the desert, sucking the color out of the scene and turning it monochromatic as Keith pushes his gaze along the ground and over the large tent that stands as a center point of the light rigs.

Shoddy fencing, nothing more than chain link and metal poles, stands between him and the makeshift camp, and every few feet stands signs that read MILITARY PROPERTY NO TRESPASSING in thick angry red lines.

It forces a chuckle from his dry throat as he pulls himself from the bike, and leaves it standing behind a dried bush.

Funny, he thinks as he pulls the bandana that hangs loosely around his neck up over his nose, and makes a grab for the knife that’s attached to his hip. With an expert flourish, he pulls it free of its sheath, and boldly steps up to the fence.

The Garrison wouldn’t have spared much personnel for this venture to avoid suspicion, that much Keith knows. Pair that with what little time had passed since the crash, he was certain that those who would be there would undoubtedly be busy.

Far too busy to notice him as he cut his way through the flimsy metal wire.

It gives without much pomp or circumstance, curling in like a dying bud as Keith pushes through the gap he’s created.

Silence, eerie and thick lays across the camp as he flips the knife in his hold, letting the flat of the blade press against the inside of his wrist as he moves quietly toward the tent’s opening. The well lit area leaves no shadows to cling to as Keith boldly walks across the dirt, gaze weary as he watches for any sign of movement.

The air is still, settling over him like a second skin and stalling the breath in his lungs as Keith pushes the tent flap to the side and steps in.

A beep, high pitched and steady, greets him as he lets the canvas fall closed behind him to trap himself with the scene set before him.

Bodies clothed in white biohazard suits lay across the ground, crumpled and twisted like marionettes cut from their strings as they surrounded a table at the center of the tent, almost like a macabre sacrifice.

The soft hiss of radio static provides a soundtrack to the quiet as he tracks the ring of bodies.

Only one is set outside of it.

Face tilted sideways, the Garrison officer stares up at Keith with eyes wide with frozen terror and mouth open around a silent scream. Darkness paints the inside of his gaping maw an unnatural black, coating his teeth with an odd grime and making the few inches of his mouth look like an unending depth.

Swallowing down the sudden spike of his own heartbeat, Keith tears his stare away from the officer, carefully stepping over him and making his way to the metal table, and the body that lays atop it.

Thick straps of old brown leather lay across the body’s chest, waist, and legs, holding it down like an animal.

Holding him down.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, voice a harsh rasp as he takes him in.

He looks the same, and yet wholly different.

The harsh lines of time cling to his face and the scowl he wears in his sleep leaves him looking wane and aged. A scar, bright pink and tight with its newness, cuts its path across the bridge of his nose, leaving the skin puckered in a painful way.

The hair that sticks to his forehead with sweat is a startling white.

But it’s him all the same. Keith can tell by the solid cut of his jaw, and the full bow of his lips, and the lone freckle that marks his skin just below his ear.

“Shiro,” he says again, the name soft and reverent as he reaches forward to brush the hair back from his brow.

Keith’s fingers barely brush his skin, but the heat radiating off of him still licks at his fingertips all the same.

Growling lowly, he takes his blade to the straps, jerking the sharp medal through the leather and letting them fall limply at Shiro’s sides.

“I’ve got you,” Keith says in reassurance, both for himself and the prone man before him as he pulls him into a seated position. A small sound, caught between a gasp and a moan cracks the quiet around them as Keith settles Shiro’s arm along his shoulders and pushes his own around his waist.

Double checking his hold, Keith drags a steady breath between his teeth and then stands, carrying all of his weight.

Carefully, he pulls him along, making his way over the bodies and taking special care to avoid the officer that lay in front of the entryway.

The night is still silent as he pushes them through the tent’s opening, and something about the harrowed stillness raises the hair on his arms. A small trickle of icy fear slowly traces the knobs of his spine as he pushes them quicker across the dirt and through the fence.

Something’s wrong, he thinks, cutting his gaze back and forth across the open earth in search of the reason for the sudden blooming burn of a stare at the center of his chest.

The shadows just outside the lights grow deeper, darker, turning more dangerous as as he pushes Shiro’s lax body onto the back of his bike.

Climbing on in front of him, Keith tugs the bandana from around his nose and pulls Shiro’s arms around his waist. With a quick movement, he ties the fabric tightly around Shiro’s wrists to keep his hold around him.

Giving the knot a sharp tug to test its hold, Keith finally settles his hands on the handlebars. Revving the engine, he almost jumps at the sudden loud snarl of his bike as it’s amplified by the stiff quiet.

Without sparing a glance back, Keith lets the bike fly across the dirt back in the direction that he came. It’s a quick trip, only made to feel long by the worry that grips his lungs in a crushing vice.

At every turn he imagines an official finally catching up with them, and at every turn he’s met with nothing more than the shadows painted across the ground by moonlight.

Cresting over the small hill that separates his part of the desert from military land, Keith finally lets his breath escape between the cage of his teeth. The hiss of it is loud, even over the sound of the engine roar as he starts to slow their speed, finally bringing the hover bike to a halt just outside the barely there shack that was home.

Unease clings to him as he leverages Shiro off of the seat, holding tight to the hands still tied around his waist. With Shiro’s weight fully supported against his back, he’s able to move a bit quicker as he gets them both to the front door.

Throwing one last look over his shoulder, Keith stares into the darkness that stands behind them, unpunctuated by headlights or movement.

The sense of foreboding feathers out through his veins before he sighs and pushes them through the door.

The air trapped by the wooden walls of the shack is cooler than that of the outdoors, but its still dry, burning Keith’s throat with every quick breath as he moves Shiro through the small living area and toward the bedroom.

It’s a small space, not necessarily meant to be a home, but it always worked for him. Having been the only thing he’d inherited from his father after his death, it had become something like a sanctuary.

With a short grunt, Keith maneuvers Shiro’s unmoving frame through the doorway into the even smaller bedroom. Shuffling slightly and inelegantly, he gets the unconscious man seated atop the worn blankets of his bed before finally untying his wrists.

Gently, and with infinite care, Keith leans Shiro back against his pillow. In the darkness of his room, he looks less gaunt, the shadows of the room masking the lines that mark his face. For just a moment, he almost looks like the man he had been before he’d been lost to the vast expanse of space.

Moving quickly across his room to the bathroom tucked in the corner, Keith wets a washcloth, pointedly ignoring his reflection in the mirror before returning to Shiro’s side.

“What happened to you?” He muses to the quiet of the room as he carefully wipes the washcloth over Shiro’s skin. Dust and dirt collects on the wet fiber as he repeats the motion across his temples and along his hairline. Deep rust stains the light washcloth where it catches dried blood from a wound hidden beneath his hair.

The soft touch pulls a sound, low and desperate from Shiro’s lips.

Keith tries to ignore the lightning that zings through his veins when it sounds a lot like his name.

“Shhhh,” he hushes, dragging the cool cloth over the bridge of Shiro’s nose thoughtfully. Losing himself to the repeated motion, minutes, or maybe hours pass before Keith finally drops the washcloth on the side table before pushing himself up. Letting his gaze linger just a moment longer on Shiro’s face, Keith exits.

Carefully shutting the bedroom door behind him, he makes his way to the shoddy table that’s pushed into the corner. Dropping himself down into the lone chair there, he reaches for the communication radio that takes up about half the table’s surface.

With a quick twist of the dial, he powers it on. Loud clicks and hums fill the small space as it comes to life, catching on the radio frequency for the Garrison.

It wasn’t always the best connection, but it’s all Keith has now as he slowly turns the knob ever so slightly until the static picks up a tinny voice.

“—gone——rogane—— gone,” Keith hears the frantic official say into the staticky waves.

“—gone—— all dead——help,” the voice continues, fading in and out and growing ever more panicked. Something in the way the official trips and stumbles over his words causes Keith pause as he cuts his gaze toward the bedroom door before leaning in closer. Turning the sound up, he tries to make out more.

“Send—— they’re dead—— help—”

The transmission cuts off with a blood curdling scream. It’s filled with anguish, and cuts deep into Keith’s bones as he pushes back from radio, quickly turning it off as he snaps his gaze back to the bedroom door.

Time clings to Keith’s skin as he stares at the worn wood, waiting long enough to make sure the sound hasn’t woken Shiro. After several minutes pass, he turns back to the radio, carefully turning it back on and lowering the volume.

This time the only sound that greets him is static.

**************************************

[this-lioness]

We have a rule that the first Christmas with any given cat (whether it’s a permanent addition to the pride or a foster that we just happen to have at Christmas), we don’t put up a tree.

The reason for this is obvious to anyone who owns, lives with, or who has maybe met a cat once in their whole life.  If you are not one of those people, the reason we do this is because a new cat will take one look at your marvelous tree and fuck your shit up.  Not just once, but every single time it collapses into a cataclysmic disaster all over the floor, and after you have painstakingly picked up the mess and put it back together again.

It’s a toy.  It is a gigantic, sparkly, crinkly, dangly, glittering, climbable (and best of all FORBIDDEN) toy, and every part of it is wonderful.

None of our current pride give two shits about the tree, so they have been thoroughly vetted and cleared for tree cohabitation.  A couple years ago one of them stole a stuffed pizza slice ornament and declared, “You can have the rest, but THIS ONE is definitely a toy” and we decided we could live with that.  But the rest of the time they’re good.

When we first moved into this house we were fostering-with-the-intent-to-adopt a young cat named Cooper.  Ultimately Cooper didn’t get along with our cats long enough to stay (Spencer was the only one who liked him, because who DOESN’T Spencer get along with), but by the end even Marc and I were pretty raw to Cooper.

He was a sweet cat, there wasn’t a mean bone in his body, but he had been saved from feraldom in the nick of time, and also probably had some pretty strong Bengal in him, and holy shit was he ever a fucking nightmare of hyperactivity.  We had this cat for THREE MONTHS before we saw him sleep. He would TEAR APART anything in a bag -- food, garbage, didn’t matter. If it was a bag, there was a slim chance it contained food somewhere in its depths, and he was going to find it and eat it.  We regularly came home to find the garbage bins overturned and trash strewn everywhere.  

We liked him, but he definitely tested us.

We did not have Cooper over the holidays, but if we had he definitely would have been a “no tree nohow” cat.  If I’m being realistic, we probably never would have been able to have a tree if we also had Cooper.

Now last year we had two rescue kittens, Jack and Oracle, who were scheduled to go to their new home on New Years Eve, so last year we didn’t put up a tree either.

What we did instead was fill the console in front of our TV with those vintage light-up ceramic Christmas trees.  I’ve been picking these up at auctions and yard sales and here-and-there for a couple years now -- I’ve got about 12-15 of them, probably? Different sizes and colors and styles.  When laid out they look like a light-up Christmas forest, and it’s really pretty. Also, it was so much easier than dragging the tree down from storage, assembling it, putting on the lights, then unwrapping all the ornaments and hanging them, then having empty boxes taking up space for three months while we marvel at this tree. ALSO, we don’t have room for a full-sized tree.  At the old house we could kinda’ make it work, but in the current house, the way it’s laid out, there’s just... no room for a full tree.  So we have “half a tree” that we put up, and it’s STILL inconvenient having to move furniture around for three months and not being able to access outlets and blah blah blah. Basically, I’m a liiiiittle over having a Christmas tree. I had the idea of making one of those big, like... string trees? Something like this:

But ENORMOUS.  And there could be nails in the middle part, so we can actually hang ornaments on it.  The longer I look at this, though, the more it seems like it would be a huge, annoying headache to assemble. So now I’m back to scrounging around for other ideas. I’m honestly happy with our little Christmas Tree Forest.  It’s cute, it’s festive, it lights up, it’s easy to pack away.  But now we’ve got 14+ years of Christmas ornaments that we just like... what, throw out?  Donate? Am I gonna miss them?  I don’t think I’m gonna miss them. To say nothing of the eight million boxes of ornaments that my Mom expects to bequeath to me. So I don’t know, I have to think about it some more.  I am actually fine with getting rid of most of our ornaments, maybe just keeping a couple sentimental ones, and figuring something out.  I just need to come up with an idea that is economical, not a total drag, easy to display and easy to store in the off-season.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 3--Insomnia

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: Insomnia. Ienzo has trouble sleeping.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Ienzo could not stop his eyes from fluttering shut. Demyx’s cheerful, lively chatter seemed to go in one ear and out the other, leaving him with bits and fragments.

“--you would not believe what the guy had done, somehow got the handle in his eye . We had to sedate him but he was still freaking out--”

“--the thing is after that, he could still see--”

“--And then after that he used the same pan, the same fucking pan, to make noodles for us as a thank you. I mean, of course he washed it, but it’s just wild--”

The chatter faded to a dull hum, and for a second there was no sound, nothing at all. His head snapped up. Demyx had pursed his lips in exasperation. “You know,” he said, “You could have told me to shut up, instead of letting me literally bore you to sleep.”

Ienzo rubbed his eyes. They were hot, and raw. “It’s not that,” he said. “I’m simply very tired.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“Not quite.” A little flutter of anxiety made him shiver. “I think I may be catching cold.”

“Oh, yeah, something’s really going around. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Demyx reached over and touched Ienzo’s forehead. Ienzo, in his exhaustion, realized how stupid it was to lie about sickness when he had a healer sitting right across from him. “That’s weird. I don’t feel anything off. You want me to get you one of the cures anyway?”

Ienzo hesitated. Thinking seemed physically difficult. He could not quite string the right words together. “I likely just need some rest.”

“So go get some sleep, babe. You don’t have anything to do this afternoon, right?”

He almost told Demyx. He should’ve. It was a hard thing to admit. Still harder when his mind felt so foggy. “Well--I told Ansem that I would help him debug that new operating system--”

“He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” His eyes were so soft, crinkling slightly at the corners, as they always did when he was concerned. “Do you want some tea or something? It might make you feel bet--”

“I am fine.” The words came out sharply.

Demyx frowned. “If you insist,” he muttered.

Ienzo sighed. “I apologize. I suppose I’m a bit grouchy.”

He crossed his arms. “I probably need a nap too. I was using magic all morning.” He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “So I guess I’ll catch you later?”

Ienzo nodded, and watched him leave. This was no good. He had to try again. How long had it been exactly since he’d last slept? It was hard to tell. Too long.

He crossed back over to his bedroom. He was starting to detest this space, its claustrophobia, the drafty window. Ienzo settled himself in bed, another shudder of anxiety breaking the ease of stillness. He shut his eyes. Counted to ten, then twenty, then a hundred, trying to soften his muscles. The bed was comfortable. There was nothing wrong with the bed.

The fact that it was the middle of the day made no difference. The same thing happened at night. It seemed as though every night that passed since the coma made sleep a more distant memory. There was also the fact that he’d become accustomed to sharing the space, and being held, and Demyx’s odd training schedule meant he was now often alone at night. He wasn’t used to dependence, and certainly didn’t like how it felt. Ienzo had been so self-sufficient for so long, and this felt like an even bigger setback.

He drew the second pillow into his arms, as though that might calm the achy anxiety brewing in his stomach. Tried to breathe.

Progress was not linear. He’d hoped to be the exception to that rule; after all, he’d slipped through the cracks so many times, what was one more?

He wanted sleep. Needed sleep. His body ached for it. It was entirely psychological, he knew; if he didn’t stress so much about it, likely it would come more easily. But stress was a constant of this life, always pulling him tauter still, even in the rare moments of comfort.

Okay, so, maybe he didn’t need sleep, maybe it was fine enough just resting and breathing, and breathing and resting. It was going to be fine.

He was fine.

----

It had grown dark outside. Ienzo was still, horribly, conscious. Wasn’t there something wrong with him? Why was he allowing himself to get so worked up about this? Why was he wasting so much time? He should be helping Ansem.

He was a touch dizzy when he got up. How he hated having to be corporeal, how finicky and needy the body was, all the time. He went into the bathroom and washed his face, holding the cool cloth over his eyes for a long moment. They ached.

Ansem was, predictably, still hard at work. He was, as far as Ienzo knew, balancing several projects at once, but he was really most invested in anything involving data, especially the fine line between reality and code itself. The new operating system was meant to house code in a more stable manner that was less stressful on their machines. Gummi blocks were always the best replacement parts and lasted far longer than any metal or plastic, but they were hard to come by, so they had to preserve what they had for as long as possible.

“Hello, Ienzo,” Ansem said cheerfully. “Demyx said you were resting. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Of course he’d said something. Ienzo bit his lip. Demyx had become almost uncomfortably protective of his health, but how could Ienzo blame him? How many times had he escaped death now, exactly? (Best not to dwell on that.) “Made any progress?” He flinched at the poor structure of his speech.

“It’s coming along fairly well, all things considered. A couple of minor glitches here and there, but that’s to be anticipated. I believe soon we can start converting over all of our files. Perhaps it might be possible to make it compatible with the gummiphone too, so one can access things on the go. Our hardware isn’t yet necessarily up to par yet but I’m hoping that--”

A finger of pain stabbed him behind the eyes. Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you alright?” Ansem asked.

“Bit of a headache.” He forced a smile. “Would you mind repeating that?”

Ansem turned slightly in his chair. “If you are unwell, you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“I am fine,” he reasserted.

“Ienzo, forgive me, but I had raised you to believe in honesty.”

He felt the blood rush to his face, along with a bitterness. “You weren’t around long, though, were you?”

Ansem’s complexion, in the blue light of the screen, was ashen.

Ienzo swallowed and touched his throat. “Master, I--”

“No. You’re correct in that regard.”

The silence had a weight to it.

“Ienzo. You’re allowed to be angry with me.”

“It wasn’t as if you chose to be thrown into the Realm of Darkness.”

“Heavens, no. But you were told something else entirely, something which you then internalized for months on end--years. Lies are much harder to erase than the truth.” Ansem stood and placed his hands on Ienzo’s shoulders. “I was a fool, a coward. Rather than taking responsibility for my actions, I instead became embittered and sought revenge. You paid the price for my poor decisions.” His rust-colored eyes bore into Ienzo’s, unnervingly. “How is it you feel, truly?”

“I feel…” His heart was racing. “I feel so…” Allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Ansem was a new kind of pain, but in his exhaustion he didn’t have the strength to fight off these thoughts. “I am angry. At you. At myself. At everything. I thought that once I laid it all to rest I would feel at peace but I--”

His gaze was so calm. Ienzo could not bear to look at him.

“I cannot sleep,” he said. He hugged himself tightly. “If not for the nightmares.”

“What is it you dream about?” Ansem asked gently.

“Oh, any number of unpleasant things.” There was something like pressure rising within him, and he wondered if he might be sick. “The day they told me you’d gone mad. When they cut me down. Death, destruction, hellfire… these.” He brushed his hand over his shoulder, and the scars covered by his shirt. Ienzo was aware he was sounding a little unhinged. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m losing my self. ” A razor-sharp pain stuck in his throat. He touched it. The lump forming there seemed to have stopped the torrent of words.

“You are not losing ,” Ansem said. “You are growing, and healing. Processing this trauma is a sign that you’ve stopped protecting yourself from others. Which, believe it or not, is a strength.”

Heat built behind his eyes. “I’ve told Demyx more or less the same,” he mumbled. “Why don’t I believe it?”

“Knowing and feeling are entirely separate.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. His chest spasmed a little with a sob. He was not going to get out of here with his dignity intact.

“You’ve had to rely on yourself for far too long,” Ansem said softly. “I hope that will change.”

He felt the first tears break free. He was simply too tired to fight anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so--”

Ansem drew Ienzo gently into his arms. Ienzo was a trembling mess. It took a concerted effort to allow himself to cry freely and be comforted, though once he did it seemed like he couldn’t stop. This was only worsened by the fact that Ansem smelled exactly like he remembered, like powder and coffee and oranges. Ansem didn’t say anything, and merely rubbed Ienzo’s back in slow circles until the sobs subsided.

The horrible tension of it all had eased, leaving him drained and humiliated. He swiped at his face.

“Come,” Ansem said. “I’ll make you some tea. You’ve had a long day.”

That night, even though he lay in bed alone, he slept deeply, and without dreams.

[buchanannn]

Sleepless (Steve Rogers X Reader)

Summary: Steve can’t sleep, and you’re more than happy to help tire him out

Word Count: 3454

Warnings: SMUT, wee bit of angst, unprotected sex (why do I write it when I don’t support it, oral, lots of of, rough-ish sex, bit of ahem LANGUAGE from cap and u, naughty

A/N: this is like, one of the dirtier things I’ve written, I’m almost ashamed to post it but also like, why wouldn’t I? Y’know. Also I find that I make Steve super rough a lot idk why since he’s like a thicc string bean that probably only enjoys missionary lmao anyway nobody knows what it means but it’s provocative and it gets the people going hehe

When you first became an Avenger, you thought it would be fun to live in the compound. Like a massive sleepover with all of your best friends eating breakfast everyday, training together, watching movies together, making dinner. It was only when you actually moved in that you started to notice all the annoying things about living with a bunch of superheroes. Like Nat's tendencies to creep up on you when you had a hot coffee in your hand, or Tony's midnight explosions in the lab when he was tinkering in the early mornings. Your least favourite, however was Steve. Your quarters just so happened to share a wall with the gym, which had been fine in the beginning; you could sleep in and get to training in literally two seconds instead of the five minute walks that it took some of the others, you always had access to weights on your sleepless nights, the scent that the AI system constantly pumped the room with to get rid of the superhero sweat was absolutely delicious and constantly sept through the walls to your bedroom. Everything seemed like a plus side. And then Steve came along. You couldn't pinpoint when or why it happened, but one day he suddenly decided that he liked working out at night. Probably because the schedule was difficult and he loved having the place to himself. For the first week or so it was okay, you could deal with the quiet grunts and tiny shifts of the weights, that was fine. But then cardio came and the loud footsteps and the constant sound of his fist on a punching bag and suddenly, you couldn't take it.

You hadn't slept well in about two weeks, which wasn't fair in the slightest considering you'd had a total of zero missions. It was your rest time and Steve was ruining it. You had enough. You threw your covers off you, the rhythmic slap of his fist on the punching bag getting to be all to much. Padding across your living space to the apartments door, you swung it open with anger, stalking towards the gym door. You scanned your fingerprint on the scanner and frowned as you waited for your access to be granted. Steve didn't even notice you enter, his pace kept up without a missing beat as you stomped over to him. Once you were close enough to talk to him without it being too loud, you reached out to grab his shoulder. He jumped, his pace faltering as he swung around quickly.

"Christ, Y/N, you scared me." "Dude, I can't fucking sleep. I will literally give you my gym time if you stop fucking working out at night." You seethed. You didn't want to, you had the best work out time for you, when you were motivated in the morning, but you'd be more than willing to give it up if it meant a good nights rest. He looked from your face to the gym's wall and then his eyes widened. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about that- " You immediately felt guilty. Why did you need to yell at him when you could've simply spoken to him over breakfast or something? God you were such an asshole. Your face softened. "No, it's okay. I just haven't been able to sleep."

"Me neither. Hence," he motioned toward the gym equipment. You furrowed your brows. "Why can't you sleep?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been having nightmares."

You looked down at the polished concrete floors with a feeling of shame in your stomach. It couldn't have been easy for him, he'd lost so much. Been through hell and back. When you looked back up your eyes trailed his body. He was wearing only grey sweatpants, dog tags hanging around his neck and swinging across his sweaty torso. His hair fell messily in his face and dark bags hung under his eyes. You were too busy thinking about yourself that you hadn't noticed him.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm really sorry. Do, I dunno, do you wanna come and sit with me? So you're not alone." You suggested. It was the least you could do.

"No, no, it's fine. I don't wanna intrude." He Bega to unwrap the bandages from around his fists. "I've kept you up enough." Without more than a goodnight, he began out of the gym. You were left standing in the cold concrete room, feeling like shit.

The next night, there was no sound in the gym. If it weren't for the twisting of your stomach, you could've slept. But now you were kept up for a whole different reason. You chewed your lip, running a hand through your hair as you slid out of bed. This time, instead of the gym, you were going to talk to Steve somewhere else.

You knocked softly on his apartment door, the sliver of yellow light shining into the hallways from his room hinting to his state. He pulled open the door, wearing a similar ensemble from the night before minus the sweat. "Oh, hey." He smiled. He looked tired.

"I feel really bad about last night." You began. "It was super insensitive and like selfish. I didn't take into account what you were going through and I'm really sorry. You can work out whenever it's fine, really." He smiled softly, letting out a chuckle. "It's okay, Y/N. Seriously." "No, I was a dick." You dropped your eyes. "I mean, a little," he laughed. Your eyes snapped back to his defensively. "But you can make it up by coming to hang out with me?" You rolled your eyes with a wide smile. "Of course." He held the door for you, closing it softly after you were inside. His apartment was a bit of a mess, clothes strewn across the couch, random dumbbells placed across the floor and several sketch books open on the coffee table. "Yeah, sorry," he noticed your eyes. "Honestly, it's cleaner than my place." You laughed. He shook his head in disbelief. "I doubt that." You looked up at him, his slouched shoulders and sunken face barely recognisable. Without thinking, you reach up and press the pad of your thump to the crease between his furrowed brows, gently straightening out the wrinkles. His eyes glanced at you.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Steve." You pushed. You knew it was hard to open up, you'd been through years of trauma that you never wanted to speak about. But you also knew that talking helped. He shook his head as you dropped your hand.

"C'mon. You can trust me." You insisted.

He looked over quickly, scanning the features of your face. He let out a heavy, shaky sigh.

He shook his head as he spoke, as if he couldn't believe he was telling you. "I just, I can't forget these things. These dark, dark things. And I want to." You slipped an arm around his bare waist and lead him to the bed to sit. "What dark things?" "I don't dream anymore." He whispered. "I just remember. I saw my best friend die. And then I watched him try to kill me. I watched a man get sucked into space. I watched Tony sacrifice himself and then fall back to earth. I've killed people. People who were only doing their job. They didn't have any other choice and I killed them." "Hey," you hooked a finger under his chin forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, filling with tears. "You're the good guy. You're Captain America." He broke his gaze from yours, closing his eyes as if he was ashamed. "We can't always be entirely good."

"But we try. You're the noblest person I know, Steve. And I've met a lot of people in my travels." You hesitated, his eyes moving back to yours. "I've killed people too. Good people. But we can't change that now. All we can do is be better. Repent. Grow. Save lives." Your words seemed to provide at least a little comfort. He even smiled, before his mind pulled him back into its darkest parts. "Saving lives doesn't give them back." "But it can balance out the good and bad. That's life. It's a balance. And no, we can't take back what we've done. But we can help restore the balance so evil doesn't triumph." You place a hand over his, offering a warm smile. "You're probably right." He nodded. You know he's not completely convinced and that's okay. It takes more than a pep talk to fix someone. All you can do is be present and support him. "I'm always right." You muttered. He laughed, a quick exhale from his nose. He looked down at your hand covering his and smiled distantly. He turned it over, palm up, and threaded his fingers with yours. He then looked up, blue eyes scanning your face.

"I know this may sound crazy, but can I kiss you?"

Your eyebrows shot upward mouth falling slightly ajar. You waited for the 'Just kidding' or the second thoughts, but his expectant stare didn't let up. "Y-yeah. Of course." That was all he needed. He leant toward you, kissing you softly, at first, and then deepening it as his hands moved to hold your face. You melted into him, his warm hands comforting you as you let yourself lean into him. It had never really crossed your mind, you and Steve, mostly because you never saw yourself as a desirable person, but also because he was your coworker and you were pretty sure that broke some bylaws. But his lips felt right in a way you hadn't felt before. Your hands skimmed down his chest and landed on his waist, his hands disappeared into your hair, twisting into it as he pulled your head closer to his. He used his grip on your hair to pull it slightly, causing your head to fall backward and expose your neck to him. He pressed light kisses down your jaw and to your collarbones, right hand keeping pressure of your hair as he moved. You hummed in appreciation as he moved to the neckline of your shirt. He removed his hands from your head to the hem of your t-shirt, he paused, his eyes returning to yours as if to ask if that was okay. You have him a slight nod and he made quick work of discarding the fabric.

He continued downward, your hands resting at the nape of his neck as he moved below your bellybutton. His hands shoved you back and the aggression was sudden, stirring something inside of you. When he locked eyes with you again you feel the intensity of the stare right down in your stomach. "Is this okay?" His words were sweet despite the hunger in his eyes. "Definitely." You affirmed. Not needing anymore, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and began tugging them down, the shifting of his position making his member very clear against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. You felt a stirring near your core as he tossed away your shorts so only your underwear were left. He appreciated the lacy black pieces you were wearing and you suddenly thanked god that it was laundry day and you'd chosen those over your period pantries. That would've really dampened the mood. You reached up to the waistband of his pants to pull them down but he pushed himself further away so he was out of your grip. Frowning, you watched as he dipped his head between your thighs and nipped at the material. He pressed his palm flat against your wetness and you let out a small moan of appreciation. His eyes flicked up to your face watching as your eyes fluttered shut. Using his middle finger, he nudged the material aside and dipped the tip into your folds. You tried to thrust up into him but his other hand on your waist kept you from moving. "Jesus," he mumbled. "You're fucking soaked."

You're cheeks flushed a bright pink at his words, embarrassed and shocked to hear something that filthy coming out of his mouth. You watched as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and lay them flat against his tongue, making a point of tasting you. He hummed, low, in appreciation and your cheeks flushed even darker. Your heart raced as his eyes peered into yours. Painfully slow, he moved his hand back to your core, pressing his first two fingers inside of your and beginning to circle his thumb around your clit. You let your head fall back against the mattress with a sigh, chest rising and falling heavily as he began to pump his fingers inside of you. He lowered his head, flattening his tongue against you as his fingers worked, the added attention to your over sensitive spot making you shudder. Your hands tangled in his hair and pulled him down closer to you as an instinct.

"Fuck, Steve," you choked out, his name feeling good on your tongue. He seemed to agree, letting out a quiet moan at the sound of it.

He pulled away, all too soon, and sat back on his heels. He peered down at you with a heaving chest, his gaze dark.

"Touch yourself." He instructed.

"What?" You didn't see the purpose of that when he was doing a perfectly fine job just two seconds ago.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. You knew he wanted a show, but there was something hesitant in you, something that felt wrong about it. But it was what he wanted, so you did it. You moved your hands to your core, circling your fingers over you clit a few times before plunging your first finger inside yourself. You couldn't meet his eye, so instead you closed them and focused on what you were feeling. Your left hand balled up the sheets as your right hand went to town on yourself. You alternate between pumping your fingers inside yourself and stroking your clit until you were close to you orgasm, your chest heaved and your heart raced, small moans escaping your lips as you neared.

"Stop." He ordered, and although you'd never been one for authority, you did as you were told.

"Look at me." His voice was low. You opened your eyes to do as he ordered and found his head tilted slightly.

"Come here."

You sat up, quickly, crawling across the bed to him. He took ahold of your chin forcing you to keep eye contact.

His voice was low and husky as he spoke, the exhilaration and the waiting making him impatient. "I'm going to fuck you now. And it's going to be rough. If you want me to stop tell me. But otherwise, I'm going to hurt you. And you're going to like it."

Your heart rate picked up at his words. You had no idea he had this in him and you were intrigued. This sort of thing had never been your style but with Steve on the other end you wondered how it ever could have not been.

You nodded.

"Speak to me." He growled.

"Yes."

"Yes, captain." He seethed.

Your eyes widened and your face broke into a smile. So that's how he liked it?

"Yes , Captain." You bit down on your lower lip, trying to hide your smirk.

"Hands and knees." He instructed. He shifted as you abided, peeling his sweat pants from his legs and positioning himself behind you. Without further warning, he slammed into you, causing you to squeak a little. He gave you second to adjust to his size before he began slamming into you. The whole thing felt wrong, but so, so right. The sound of his skin slapping yours, his grunts, your long drawn out moans as the head of his cock his your g-spot at certain angles.

He picked up the pace, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, as he slammed your waist back into him. You whimpered, choking out his name as he continuously slammed into your g-spot.

He took a hand from your waist and wrapped it around your throat, pulling you upward so your back was flush against your chest.

He craned his neck to kiss you, hard and dirty, not faltering his pace once as he pulled you closer to him. He massages the side of your throat with his fingers, cutting off some of your air supply but not enough to be dangerous. Suddenly, he grabbed your waist and flipped you like a rag doll. He took your left leg and stretched it above his shoulder, as once again, he slammed into you without warning.

"Oh my god, Steve. Ugh, fuck. Jesus. Oh god." You reached up to grab his bicep as if it would anchor you. You could barely breathe, the pleasure causing your body to shake. You could feel yourself nearing your orgasm, you breath hitching. All of a sudden he stopped thrusting, pulling out of you upon hearing the change in your breathing. Your hand moved to your clit to keep going in his absence but he ceased your wrist roughly.

"Did I say you could do that?" He growled, ceasing your other arm and pinning it above your head.

"I was about to cum." You sighed, frustrated.

"And did I say you could do that?" He moved his face closer to your ear.

"No, captain."

"Blow me."

You met his eyes as he pulled back, frustrated that he wouldn't let you finish but was happy to finish himself. But you complied, somewhat happily, moving onto your elbows and knees to take his length into your mouth. You took your time, licking long stripe up the shaft, but Steve was too impatient. He gathered your hair into his fist and pulled you off of him with a yank. He bucked his hips up into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly. He let out a low hum of appreciation at the sight and you smirked. This man was full of surprises. You took him in your mouth again, this time making an effort to swallow every inch of him. His body tensed as you swallowed around his throbbing head, bucking up into your throat and moaning long and low. You pulled off of him, only to push yourself down again and allow him you take control of your mouth. You expected him to finish there, but he didn't, his breathing hitched and he pulled you off of him, his fist pumping over his cock several times to finish himself off. He spilled himself over your face, his cum landing in stripes over your jawline and chin, a couple drops on your lips. You darted your tongue out to taste him, his moan affirming your actions wordlessly.

"Your turn." He grinned, moving his head down to your core and plugging his tongue in. Your over sensitive, orgasm denied cunt was dripping as he worked his mouth over you. You whimpered as he moved his mouth across your folds and your clit, pulling you closer and closer to your finish.

"Oh my god, Steve. Fuck yes. Like that."

You balled the sheets beneath you, spilling over into his mouth. He continued to pleasure you, drawing out your orgasm until you finally choked out your last moan. Your body shook and total euphoria took over your mind for a moment. You wondered if you blacked out. You wondered why you'd never had an orgasm like that before. You had an itching feeling that it was one that only Steve could deliver.

He moved his mouth up to kiss you and you tasted yourself on his tongue. His own cum smeared across his chin but you could tell he didn't care he just wanted to kiss you. He pulled away suddenly, vacating the room and entering the small door that led to the bathroom. You heard the shower a few moments later and before you could even stand, Steve was back and scooping you up. He only set you down once the two of you were stood under the stream of the shower. You washed off the sweat and cum and filth from your body and leant into his chest. His hands were gentle and sweet on you now and it was hand to believe he was the same man from five minutes ago.

“That,” He whispered, barely loud enough over the streaming water. “Was so much better than a work out.”

You chuckled lightly, brushing back his wet hair from his forehead. “Agreed. Same time tomorrow night?”

[apollomaddox]

                        rum is for drinking, not for burning - present day drabble

The moment they returned to Hogwarts, Apollo regretted it. If it could be up to him they would have never left. Because what were they coming back to? Apollo finding ways to run to Isaac and then finding even more reasons to run away? In Australia, it had been easy to be with Isaac. No one was looking at them and if they did no one cared. There weren’t all of his hands grasping and tugging at Apollo in different directions. But now they had come back to that and he had to put on that Maddox mask that he hated so fucking much. They had apparated into Isaac’s dorm and Apollo didn’t stay long. He mumbled something about going to check on his cat and assured Isaac he would return later that evening to collect his overnight bag.

The walk back to his dorm was quick. He didn’t want to run the risk of anyone stopping him to talk. All he really wanted was to grab his kitten and take a nap. A shower sounded good too but Apollo wasn’t sure he could handle washing the last traces of Australia off of his skin. All he longed for was to drop himself into bed and sleep for hours. But as he stepped into his dorm, Apollo was greeted with his worst nightmare. 

His father stood at the end of his bed and Apollo’s fiancee was sitting at his desk with a sleeping Milo in her lap. Traitor.

“Where were you, Apollo?” Funny...wasn’t a parent’s voice supposed to be a source of comfort? It was amazing to Apollo how his dad’s words could sound so empty and hollow but pack such a punch. Each syllable was like a bruise to Apollo’s very soul. “I stopped by yesterday to touch base with you on some pressing matters and your resident adviser said he hasn’t seen you in awhile. Today we showed up bright and early to have breakfast with you and still...no one in this building has seen you. At least your RA was kind enough to let us wait in your dorm for your return.”

Apollo gritted his teeth and vowed that if he ever got Oliver Davenport in a room alone he’d strangle him. “I was at the library. I have an assignment due tomorrow that I’ve been working on.” The lie came quickly and smoothly. When you live in a house where you can’t be yourself lying is the only way of survival. “If I had known about this visit I would have cleared my schedule.” At the sound of his voice Milo lazily opened an eye, meowed, and jumped off of her lap in order to make his way over to Apollo instead. The way he bent down to pick up the kitten was automatic and was a happy distraction from what was going on in the room. His father looked on disapprovingly but Apollo glanced at her instead and saw her lips twitch up into a small smile.

His own lips twitched up into a smile as Milo started to nuzzle against his chin and purred loudly for all to hear. But Apollo’s smile faded as he followed his father’s gaze and noticed that he was looking at the stack of school books that littered Apollo’s desk. He wasn’t a fool. The books hadn’t moved. They had been there all weekend while Apollo was in Australia and his father had been here. “You’ve never been a good liar, Apollo.” His father’s gaze turned back to him and he felt so small in that moment. “Don’t try and start now.” His cover story fell apart right in front of him but Apollo didn’t show any emotion on his face. And if it was a bluff...well, he didn’t dare call his father out on it. “Come here. Both of you.”

His feet betrayed him and automatically stepped forward at his father’s command while his mind told him to run. She also moved across the room effortlessly towards them and Apollo tried to focus enough to assess the situation. There was a reason he brought her. The thought caused his heart to sink down to the pit of his stomach. And as she reached out, offering her right arm to him, Apollo knew what was happening. The color drained from his face and he felt like he might be sick right in front of them. He had known this was a possibility. His father had threatened him with it when their engagement at been arranged. There’s an easy way to do this, Apollo. There is also a hard way. Let’s keep it easy? Apollo had agreed because he thought he could do it. He could make his father happy and have what he wanted on the side. But then he came to University, met Isaac, and wanted so much more.

“Apollo.” He turned to his father and saw him motion for Apollo to reach his own hand out. He shifted Milo into his free hand. No. His fingers trembled as he reached forward and he felt bile raising in the back of his throat. Stop. Her fingers slid along his. Small, slender, and much more fragile than the hands he was used to. Don’t. Her index finger slid up his wrist and over his forearm with gentle precision. The same path Isaac had traced when they were seated at the shack in Australia. Please. She wrapped her hand around his arm and tried to offer him a smile but he could only think about the way Isaac’s had grabbed onto his arm each time Apollo pushed himself deeper into him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his father pull out his wand and press the tip to their linked arms. He looked past her shoulder and found a focus spot on the wall of his dorm. Isn’t that what Cassio said to do? His eyes never left that one spot. Not when his father started the vows. Not when she agreed. Not when Apollo agreed. He didn’t dare look at their arms because he couldn’t bare to look at the silver strings of magic linking them forever. Feeling the heat from the vows as it twisted and curved around their arms was enough. Apollo didn’t think he’d ever not feel that burn again. Before he had always thought by some miracle he would get out of this marriage. But now? The only way to get out of marrying her was death.

After his father performed the unbreakable vow and things were in order, they didn’t stay. She hugged him and kissed the soft spot under his ear but Apollo didn’t move from that very spot. His father clapped his meaty hand over Apollo’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze but he didn’t dare tear his gaze away from that spot on the wall. Once they left and he heard the door to his dorm close, his knees buckled and Apollo fell to the floor. Milo slipped out of his grip and jumped on the bed. Apollo could feel the wetness coating his face but he didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t have the energy to do so. The only thing that snapped him out of it was Milo. He had started digging through Apollo’s pillows and meowing. At first he chalked it up to Milo wanting to play. But then something caught his eye. Milo was dragging something out between his pillows.

A letter.

He crawled towards the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. “What do you have there?” Milo dropped the letter in front of him and then jumped off of the bed. Apollo reached for it and turned it over in his hands. There was nothing on the front of back of the envelope. He dove into the letter wondering if maybe it was from her. Maybe she didn’t want this either. But as his eyes scanned over the letter, Apollo was met with mixed emotions. His first thought was that this wasn’t real. The second was that it was too good to be true. He reread the letter trying to find a hidden meaning or code. Nothing. He sighed and turned it over in his hand, half expecting more information but there was still nothing.

The second is that if you are not interested in going to the meeting, you will immediately destroy this letter and never speak a word about it to anyone.

He glanced to his nightstand and saw a half empty bottle of rum.

He glanced to his nightstand and saw a half empty bottle of rum. He reached for it and brought the bottle to his lips, taking a reassuring swig of the burning liquor. Should he? Should he destroy it? Should he take it seriously? What did he have left for him? His future was allll planned out and there was no stopping his father. He could work the job his father wanted and marry the girl his father wanted. He would father as many child as his father wanted and probably even die the way his father wanted. That darkness took a hold of him and Apollo tipped the bottle of rum over the letter, watching as it soaked through the paper. It was foolish to think there was a way out of this life he lead. There was no hope for him and it was foolish to think this society could help him.

No one could help him.

But as he pulled his wand out of his pocket and lit the end of it with a fire spell, Apollo couldn’t bring himself to burn the letter. He thought back to an hour ago when he had been curled up by Isaac’s side in his childhood bedroom. He thought back to days ago when Cassio promised to help him through this. He thought back to Cassio telling him not to give up. If this society was real, Apollo could learn from them and find a way out of this unbreakable vow. Maybe he could learn enough to fucking take the life he actually wanted instead of the one handed to him.

He extinguished his wand and used the end of his comforter to dry out the letter.

And then he downed the rest of the bottle of rum.

[skymeria]

Olympian OC asks

I’ve done this already for the protagonist of my current WIP, but have been tagged again (can’t find the notification again now so can't remember who tagged me but thank you) so I’ve decided to do it again but this time for Katarina Aplin - my protagonist’s love interest ;)

Rules: Bold those traits and aesthetics that apply to your character.

OC: Katarina Aplin

APHRODITE      laughter-loving | sweet smiles | dressed in silk and satin | flower in their hair | thrives on attention | sees the world as a runway | unapologetically sexual | the sea washing their ankles | in love with love | stirrer of passion | cunning concealed by painted lips | secret daggers | doves | revolution in their kiss | delighting in the waves | flirtatious winks | strolling along the beach | staring wistfully from a balcony | this is how to be a heartbreaker | your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive | wants to be adored | gets turned on by danger

APOLLO          glitz and glamour | art galleries |2c sheets | notebooks filled with poetry | bathing in the sunlight | the powerful urge to create | collecting vinyl records | beautiful cover of wonder wall | playing multiple instruments | tasting like sunshine | healing touch | speaking in prophecies | smile mingled wrath| shunning lies | sporting shades | hanging out at music festivals with their friends | sleeps naked | arrow to the heart | paint brushes | probably has a Tinder account.

ARES     armed for battle | wants to raise a dog with their significant other | soft spot for children | gives piggyback rides | scarred body | blood on their hands and face | willing to fight the world for the ones they love | fights against injustice | warm hugs | well-worn combat boots | boxing gloves | bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles | fist raised in protest | ignites revolutions | fear is a prison | more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think | exhausted | damaged goods | force to be reckoned with | red roses | curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS     keen sense of a hunter | freckles like constellations on their skin | piercing eyes | disheveled braid | moonlight peeking through the shadows | the calm of the forest at night | lying on the grass and staring at the stars | mother doe and her fawn | protecting their kin | the moon shimmering on a still lake | quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree | running with wolves | bonding while circled around a campfire | not being much of a people person | arrow hitting a target | popping egos | patience on 3% | touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA      discerning gaze | unreadable face | the patience of a lifelong teacher | quiet museums | owl perched on their finger | armor that intimidates | eye for architecture | plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses | studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid | big fan of logic | loves brain teasers | go-getter | balls of wool displayed on shelves | ancient buildings | sweaters in neutrals and cool colors | hair done up | can kill you with their brain | heads to the library often to research | sharpened pencils | abs that can cut steel | stoic statues | pottery classes.

DEMETER     soil-covered hands | smile that can bloom flowers | skin loved by the sun | being the mom-friend | can lift you and your friends | flowers kept in the pockets of overalls | takes pride in their beautiful garden | speaks to their plants (elementals) | leaves rustling in the wind | stalks of wheat | picking fruit | greenhouses | heart as strong as a mountain | values simplicity | daisies dotted across a collarbone | curls crowned with flowers | folded pile of sweaters in warm hues | pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS          drunk shitposter | on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second | seductive smirks | untamed curls | rich fabrics on dark skin | sleek-furred panthers | theater masks | stage productions | receiving a standing ovation | rose caught between their teeth | being the baby of the bunch | wild parties that last from sundown to sunup | creeping vines | inspiring loyalty | grand opera houses | masquerade balls | rolls of film | shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor | pouring champagne into flutes | lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS      the calloused hands of someone who knows labor | sweaty brow | flame burning in their eyes | inventive mind | broad shoulders | steampunk goggles | nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes | ashes | striking a match | blueprints for future projects | fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades | wrestles with bitterness | work boots have seen better years | wrinkled plaid shirts | iron melted in blazing fire | huge jackets | crafting masterpieces | greased-stained overalls | fascination with robotics | pain is fuel | stack of weaponry | even their muscles have muscles.

HERA          resting bitch face | dressed to the nines | cows grazing on a pasture | cool rain | loving and hating fiercely | hand clutching a string of pearls | large chandelier with glittering crystals | plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims | romance to realism | pictures of the sky while flying on a plane | files that under ‘fuck it’ | downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix | like their selfie or you’re grounded | knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man | dark eyes that penetrate your soul | marble and gold.

HERMES          devil-may-care smile | ink-stained hands | always up-to-date on the latest technology | will steal your french fries | does it for the vine | shitposter | puts googly eyes on everything | meme hoarder | long drives on the highway | ma and pop diners | spontaneous road trips | folded maps | fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop | shooting hoops on the basketball court | chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations | goes jogging in the morning | mixes redbull with coffee | menace on april fool’s | hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON         storm with skin | colorful coral reefs | waves crashing against the shore | the sea casting its spell | stroking the soft fur of a cat | their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop | tousled locks | clothes smeared with paint | owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more | leather jackets | fondness for diy projects | handwriting that flows across the page | nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin | velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams | mood as ever-changing as the sea | the roar of a motorcycle | compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS          thunder in their heart | running on coffee | flash of lightning| natural charisma | eloquence | badass in a nice suit | aficionado of history | force of nature | lenny face | pretends they don’t have feelings but they do | nightmare-filled nights | proud arm around their lover’s waist | high-rise buildings | planes soaring through a cloudless sky | technician on the piano | maintains order | strong handshake | juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease | most likely to be voted class president out of their peers | expensive watch.

I’m not gonna tag anyone specifically because I can’t remember who I tagged last time, but if you wanna do this then please do and tag me so I can see!

[shannarc-a]

olympian aesthetics

APHRODITE.

laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO.  

glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath,shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

ARES.  

armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS.  

keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

ATHENA.  

discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses,studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes

DEMETER.

soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

DIONYSUS.  

drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second,seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

HEPHAESTUS.

the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets,crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

HERA.  

resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

HERMES.  

devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers

POSEIDON.  

storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

ZEUS.

thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, expensive watch

tagged by: grabbed it from @neoninjutsu​

tagging: i’ve been seeing this all over my dash for days so if you haven’t, do the thing