#the cotton fibers are too long if you just pull them apart so you must card them!

[mcromwell]

Weird bullshit my art career has led me to lately: carding cotton balls apart with dog brushes and painting melted safety glass.

[hazellvesque]

your wounds; my sutures

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians/The Trials of Apollo

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Summary: When Will Solace, Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer, is the one who gets hurt in battle, the son of Hades has to step up to the plate and put the skills he learned in the infirmary to good use. 

Word Count: 2,572

Warnings: graphic descriptions of cuts, blood, stitches, and questionable amateur medical practice.

Read on Ao3

* * *

The second he caught sight of the gaping wound in his boyfriend’s shoulder, Nico almost blacked out. It was hard to believe Will was even still conscious with so much blood seeping out.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Will’s voice was strained, yet somehow calm, as if he hadn’t just taken a direct hit from the dangerous end of a sword. He was sitting on the ground, using his good arm to keep himself propped upright. The wound slashed across his shoulder blade, beginning just a few inches to the right of the base of his neck. The weapon had cut straight through his shirt, leaving tattered scraps of fabric as the only discretionary cover for the graphic injury. 

“Nico? Are you still with me?”

“You’re bleeding,” Nico said lamely, snapping back to reality, still not quite believing what he was seeing. 

He’d seen much worse in the past. Hell, he’d caused much worse. But this was Will Solace. He was Camp Half-Blood’s greatest healer. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who got hurt, ever. 

If Nico could, he would resurrect the monster just to kill it all over again. It deserved a punishment far worse than evaporating into golden dust, but at least the satisfaction might quell Nico’s anger a bit. He couldn’t stop staring at the wound. Fortunately, Will was faced away from him. Nico imagined the pained expression on Will’s face, how he was probably fighting to keep his lopsided, reassuring smile bright despite it all. 

“What do we do?” Nico spoke quietly, but desperately. 

The two boys were utterly exhausted. The fight had taken nearly everything out of them. Will’s own healing abilities couldn’t possibly work well right now - he was so weak he could hardly sit upright on his own. Nico thought of shadow traveling to Camp or even to the nearest hospital; he’d have to do some quick thinking to explain the situation to a mortal doctor, but the idea was quickly shut down by the black fuzziness already creeping into the corners of his vision. He probably wouldn’t be able to move himself ten feet without passing out. 

They’d have to solve this the old-fashioned way. 

Will gestured with his head towards his bag. It lay a few feet away, discarded early in the fight and no doubt now containing a few broken supplies and squished ambrosia squares.

“Grab some supplies for me? I don’t want to move too much and make it worse.” Will said, his breathing labored. “You’re going to have to help me clean and close it up.”

“Right.” Nico nodded a little too fast, hardly processing Will’s words at all. 

Nico dashed over to Will’s backpack and tore it open. In moments, the grass was strewn with miscellaneous bandages, ice packs, and burn creams that would be utterly useless in helping solve the problem at hand. He searched for the vial of nectar he knew should be there, and swore under his breath when he found it shattered, the pieces of broken glass nicking his fingertips and the golden liquid seeping into the canvas fabric, causing an utterly useless sticky mess. Reaching further, Nico pulled out everything he thought would be useful - gloves, cloth, peroxide, and the small suture kit box at the very bottom of the bag. 

He rushed back to Will’s side, fighting the wave of nausea that hit him, both from sight of the cut and from standing up too fast. He quickly pulled on the latex gloves, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“You remember the first step in treating a wound?” Will asked.

“I have to clean it. And apply pressure to stop the bleeding,” Nico recited mechanically. Then he paused, head tilted, mouth scrunched in annoyance. “I can’t believe you’re turning this into a medical lesson.”

“Never a bad time to brush you up on your basic skills.” 

“This is anything but basic.” Nico’s hands trembled so hard that he nearly dropped the tools in his hands. “I can’t really see the whole thing. I’m going to have to-“ he gulped, silently chiding himself for how stupid he felt for asking, “-to take off your shirt. Cut it off, I mean. To get to the, uh...” 

Even through what must have been some of the worst physical pain of his life, Will chuckled. “If you want to prevent me from bleeding out, then yes, unfortunately, you’re going to have to see me shirtless. Did you grab the scissors?” 

“No,” Will’s shirt was already torn nearly to shreds, and precious time was slipping away. Biting back his mortification, Nico took hold of the already torn collar of Will’s orange camp shirt and ripped straight down, letting the cotton fibers fall apart in his hands. He quickly tore in two other places, removing the blood-stained fabric entirely. 

Any embarrassing implication of his actions was immediately shut down by the now clearer sight of the dark red stickiness quickly streaking down the right side of Will’s body.  

“Talk to me, Nico, what’s going on?”

Nico half-consciously began soaking the cloth in peroxide. “Isn’t this going to sting?” 

“Like hell,” Will made a hmph sound under his breath, then he laughed, “I know it was super common back in your day to do this-”

“I’m going to forgive you for that because you’re hurt right now.” 

“But peroxide on deep wounds can do more harm than good, so really, this is a last resort, since we don’t have any nectar. Even just clean water or soap would be better, but that doesn’t matter now. Just…don’t use a lot, just enough to make sure nothing gets infected. Give me something to hold on to?” 

With his right hand, Nico held the folded, peroxide-soaked rag precariously close to Will’s injured shoulder. His left hand silently slipped into Will’s and squeezed tight. “Do you want me to tell you when?”

“No, just go for it.” 

He went for it. 

Three of Nico’s senses sparked to life all at once: the sound of Will biting back a scream ringing in his ears, the gruesome sight of the cut bubbling from the peroxide chemicals burned into his eyes, and the feeling of all of the bones in his left hand being crushed by Will’s iron grip as he squeezed in desperation from the pain. 

“I’m sorry!” Nico cried. He twisted the already red-soaked cloth in his hand so that he could use the clean side to put more pressure on the cut. He could feel the heat radiating off Will’s body, which sent an odd shiver down his spine. 

“Don’t be,” Will said, though the tone of his voice would suggest otherwise. “You’re doing everything right. You should be more sorry about the stitches you’re going to have to put in.”

If he hadn’t been so focused on stopping the bleeding, Nico’s arms would have dropped uselessly to his sides in shock. Instead, he let his jaw do the dropping. “The what I’m going to have to put where? Will, I can’t-“ 

“If I can pull a baby out of a cloud nymph, you can learn how to properly stitch someone up.” Will hissed through gritted teeth. 

“But-”

“I can’t be the only one reattaching limbs at Camp, I need help sometimes so you may as well get practice now.”

“I’m not exactly the best at healing people. Quite the opposite, actually.” 

“I’ll talk you through it,” Will squeezed Nico’s hand, which Nico hadn’t realized he was still holding. “If it were practically anywhere else on my body I would just do it myself, but I got hit in the worst possible spot.”

Nico dropped the bloody cloth and sat back on his heels, dumbfounded. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” Will reassured him. “I promise. I trust you.” 

The bold statement made Nico flush, his heart rate increasing even more, though by now he thought that would have been impossible. With his new determination, he opened the small box from Will’s bag. Inside lay a small, curved needle already threaded with a thin black cord, two differently shaped pairs of what looked like fancy tweezers, a small pair of scissors, and a tiny blade Nico hoped he wouldn’t have to use. 

“How do I do this?” Nico steeled himself, swallowing down his doubts. 

Will quickly explained the basic process: Nico would need to use both of the “tweezers” - one of which was actually a needle holder - simultaneously. One would be used to hold the skin in place and the other, as the name suggested, was to push the needle through. Then, he’d have to tie off the thread like a knot and cut off any excess. Rinse and repeat all the way up, until hopefully the cut would be closed well enough to not reopen on the way to get professional care. 

Nico delicately traced his gloved hand across the bottom of the cut, right where he’d need to start stitching. The bleeding had subsided, but Will’s skin was still too warm and bright red. 

He got to work right away. 

The first stitch was the most difficult. Nico had wielded swords as long as he was tall, but the intimidation of putting a tiny, intentional hole in someone was somehow worse. His hands trembled as he pushed the needle through one side, out the other, and knotted the thread tight. 

“Does that hurt?” Nico asked timidly. 

Will hesitated before answering: “Not as much as getting myself slashed open in the first place.” 

Glad to see he still had a sense of humor, despite it all. 

Nico continued his diligent work, taking about a minute to complete each tiny stitch. He’d probably need to do about 20 more to get the wound closed entirely. 

“This...reminds me,” Will said, his voice sounding far-away and dreamy. Whether it was blissful reminiscing or exhaustion, it was difficult to tell. “Of Manhattan. And Annabeth.”

“What about Annabeth?” 

Will was rambling now, taking his mind off the pain in the only way he could. “She was hit in the same place. Protecting Percy. During the battle against Kronos. I was the one who healed her back then. We were all looking for my brother Michael when Percy dragged me out of the search party and said he needed a healer. He was really freaked out, it was kind of scary to be honest. I’m pretty sure that was the first time anyone outside of my own cabin even acknowledged my existence,” Will took a deep breath, and after a heavy pause, he muttered, “I was made head counselor as soon as the battle was over.”

With all the losses they’d faced over the last few years, it was sadly almost too easy for Nico to forget that Will had lost at least four of his siblings during the Battle of Manhattan. Everyone coped with trauma and loss differently, but you wouldn’t look at Will Solace and think that he was hurting. Then again, Will’s optimism and willingness to constantly help others may very well have been a way to disguise that hurt. He hadn’t been able to help the people he’d lost. 

Nico had been about to express his condolences when Will asked, “Where were you during all of that?”

“Convincing my dad to let me borrow his dead army,” Nico laughed humorlessly, the memory rushing back to him. “And helping protect Percy’s parents.”

Will’s head tilted. “What were Percy’s parents doing on the battlefield?” 

“Sally Jackson is a powerhouse of a woman and will stop at nothing, not even a Titan. Plus, I felt like I kind of owed it to Percy after...everything I’d done.” 

Will made a humming sound, as if to say that’s fair. Over the past few months, Nico had opened up more about his early years at Camp Half-Blood. Even now, he felt a pang of regret for how he used to behave towards the people who were only trying to help him. Will didn’t know all of the details, of course, but he knew enough to understand. 

“I remember seeing you out there,” Nico continued, his voice a whisper. “We hadn’t even spoken before, but I knew who you were.”

Will responded just as quietly. “I knew you, too.” 

Not in the ‘I’d heard the whispers about the reclusive son of Hades’ way, or the ‘I knew about the boy who had lost his sister’ way. No; he’d said it like a confession. 

“You-,” Nico swallowed hard, “you did?”

“You kind of fascinated me,” Will murmured. “Can you believe it only took me another year to actually speak to you?”

Nico felt his heart jolt in his chest. Why hadn’t he known this before? If he knew any better, he’d think Will was only confessing this now because of his delirium. Or maybe he’d wanted to admit it for a long time. Nico knew exactly how that felt. 

“And you initiated conversation by asking me to touch your hands that had just birthed a baby. Real smooth, Solace. No wonder I liked you so much.” 

With that, Nico tied off the final suture, cut the excess thread, and carefully placed the tools back in the box. 

“I think...I think it’s done?” Nico exhaled, finally letting his hands tremble freely, begging for the pent up anxiety to somehow release through his fingertips. 

Slowly, carefully, Will reached back behind his head with his left arm, tracing his hand across the delicate stitches, checking for error. Nico stared intensely, only just now taking the time to notice the details of his own work. It was nowhere near perfect. Hardly satisfactory, even. His handiwork was messy, uneven. But it would keep the wound from reopening at least until they got back to Camp. 

“Not bad for a trainee,” Will said finally, dropping his hand and turning to face Nico. “Thank you. Really. You know I never would have asked you to do this if-”

“Don’t apologize,” Nico cut him off. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I...” 

Nico frowned, his brain finally catching up to the scene in front of him. Without the distractions of the blood and sharp objects, the sight of Will Solace shirtless suddenly brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks. He unconsciously leaned back, all too aware of how close they were sitting, but that undeniable tense energy still radiated between them. Speaking of heartbeats…

“How were you so calm through all of this?” Nico asked. 

“Because I had to be. I always do,” Will shrugged without thinking, then winced from the pain. “All in a day’s work, you know? Someone’s got to step up when there’s an emergency.”

“That someone shouldn’t always have to be you.”

“No. You’re right. It shouldn’t,” Will said softly, his gentle eyes locking with Nico’s. 

It wasn’t meant to be a cruel comment, but Nico felt the weight of the words press down on him. He didn’t have the time to come up with a retort before Will spoke again: “Maybe we both have a thing or two to learn about helping others. Or helping ourselves.” 

Will reached out and took Nico’s hand. 

“You’re still shaking,” Will said. “You don’t have to be nervous, you did a good job.”

Nico felt his face grow hot. He stared down at their intertwined hands, then back up into Will’s eyes. 

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” he said. 

[yoongsgguktae]

honey, i’m home 03 | pjm

summary; your relationship with your neighbor has evolved into something stable in your life. this morning, you help ease his tension pairing; jimin x reader genre; neighbors!au | s2l | fluff | smut rating; M(18+) word count; 2.9k warnings; cussing, teasing, oral (m receiving), slight penetration with finger (f receiving), spit, saliva, lots of eye contact, some praise kink, exhibitionism (kinda?), ass slapping, boyfriend jimin, the type of man we all want, and cats

a/n i cannot thank @taestybae​ enough for reading this over, she’s amazing! check out her masterlist for her awesome work. and @dollwithluv​ for always letting me talk about my ideas. ily. MASTERLIST PART 01 | PART 02 | [PART 03]

—

You placed your baskets of fresh fruits and veggies on the kitchen counter with a heavy thump. Today has been a long day of errands, the majority of your Saturday was spent running around the city in the hot and humid weather. Your shirt clings to your body which only amplifies your discomfort. You made the mistake of leaving your food shopping as the last thing on your to-do list. The farmer’s market is around the block from your apartment, it would be easier to grab your groceries on your way back home. That is until you realized the market was crowded and you weren’t able to get all that you wanted before all the stalls started packing up after a successful day. 

You hang your keys on the newly installed hook by the door before heading to your room to change into loose clothing, your body begging to breathe in the comfort of cotton fibers. Jimin insisted on installing key hooks for you; he claims it will help keep you organized, something you desperately need to get better at. He's called you out on many occasions for losing your stuff and he's not wrong. You're well aware of what a hot mess you are, or at least were before Jimin appeared in your life that one night. He’s helped you create better habits and has become a stable influence in your life in the short amount of months you’ve known each other. 

The sound of a cat's meow catches your attention as you pass through your living room, making you halt in place. Kitty Cat rounds the corner from behind your sofa, she pointedly looks up at you, greeting you with her soft meows. "Well hello there darling," you say as you bend to pick her up. She meows again in response, cuddling into your embrace. You glance over to your window, only to realize you once again forgot to close it before leaving the apartment. This must have been the third time this week she has come for a visit, seeking your affection. It has become habitual at this point that you’ve placed food and water dishes in your kitchen and a litter box in your bathroom just for her. You brag that you have become her favorite human, that she likes you more than Jimin.

You grab a container full of apples from the baskets you left in your kitchen. Your hands are suddenly full as you step up the small stool Jimin has placed underneath your window, which has made it easier to pass through the threshold and onto the fire escape. Juggling the cat and fruits, you make your way to Jimin's open window.

"I brought you some gifts," you shout, stepping down onto his matching stool, into his living room. You place Kitty Cat on the oversized cat tower with the other two felines who are lounging in their respective cubies just as Jimin enters the space. "I got you a cat and some fruits."

"You left your window open didn't you?" Jimin asks with a knowing smile as he walks towards you. He slips one arm around your waist, bringing you flush against him, your bodies collide softly. He dips his head and captures your lips gently before letting go with a smile as sweet as honey. You'll never get tired of feeling his mouth on yours.

"I was able to grab the last basket of apples available that you asked for." You hand him the container in your grasp, letting his question go unanswered. You know he was going to continue teasing you if you didn’t drop it. He never fails to remind you what may happen when you leave your window open, “some random guy can just show up unannounced in your apartment.” The smirk he gives you whenever he brings it up makes your stomach flutter at the memory. “I also ordered pizza for dinner, we can have it at my place this time.”

"Thank you." Jimin strides to his kitchen to place the basket down. You watch as he runs a hand down his face while he lets out a groan quietly to himself. His arms extend above his head as he bends forward to stretch his body. He was busy this morning, stuck in a meeting for several hours. His upper body is probably stiff from pacing back and forth like you know he does during those long calls. The look on his face tells you the meeting didn't go well. 

You make your way over to where he stood, reaching for his back. His tense muscles visibly loosen at your touch as you press soothing circles into his shoulders. His head moves to crack the tension in his neck, it’s an awful sound that you haven't gotten accustomed to, a habit of his that still freaks you out every time you hear the snap. You continue your soft massages, coaxing him to relax against you. "How did it go?" You tread carefully, not wanting to stir up any more stress in him.

Jimin turns around with a low moan escaping his lips, your hands fall to your side at his movement. He faces you and gingerly grasps your wrists to reposition them back onto his shoulders while he moves to drop his head on your own. “It went terrible,” His arms circle your waist again, he breathes in the smell of your hair before he exhales his continued response, "the client made us wake up early on a Saturday, sit through a three-hour-long meeting, only to say they want to push back the date of the release."

He brings a hand into your hair, wrapping one of the curls around his finger. "Such a waste of my Saturday morning. I could have had you laid in my bed, taking care of you as I should." You feel a soft kiss against your neck, and then another one. He trails small pecks down to your collarbone, his hand moving to grasp the back of your head as the other holds your waist to keep you close. 

Your hands find purchase in his locks, you revel in his selfless affection. "How about I take care of you?" you whisper. He always thinks about you first, your wants and needs, his always coming second. Your nails scrap against his scalp gently. You know how much he loves it, how much it calms him down. “Let me take your stress away.” Jimin groans in response to your ministrations and at your suggestive words. His warm breath fans your neck.

He lands another kiss on your collarbone. "You don't have to do that for me, baby." He brings his lips up higher, giving you an open mouth kiss just below your ear. “Just having you here with me is enough.”

"But I want to." 

His body untangles itself from yours as you move back from his embrace. Jimin lets out a whine at the separation. You slide your hands down his arms, gripping his biceps in appreciation. You have claimed them as yours since you started dating a few weeks ago. And he gladly welcomed your possessiveness; he relishes in your attention and praise, and he’d been unashamed in admitting just how devoted he was to you. You pull him by his hands with a smirk, you already know what he needs. "Come sit on the couch and relax," you hum.

His eyes grow dark with lust as he allows you to guide him into the living room. He takes a seat on his couch, slouching back into the cushion as you pull a leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands automatically find your thighs, running them up and down tenderly. Your own hands find themselves back in his hair as you hover over his lips, close enough to feel your breaths intertwine. 

"I missed you," you whisper. Jimin smiles before he captures your lips in a slow kiss. 

"I missed you more."

You connect your lips with more need this time. Your mouths immediately open to play with each other's tongue in urgency. His hands move up your body, stopping at your ass to palm you. You moan with appreciation directly into his mouth. You love it when he touches you there, it makes you feel sexy when he plays with your backside. His fingers slide under your cotton shorts, tracing the edges of your panties until he reaches your folds. A shiver runs up your spine at the touch. 

You pull back from his lips and drop your face against his neck with a low moan. "I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you."

You feel his body tremble as he lets out a small laugh. He moves your panties aside before he dips a finger around your entrance. He swirls it around, coating it with your growing wetness, and slides his finger up and down your lips tantalizingly slow. "I want you to feel good too." 

You shudder in response, more moans escaping your lips as he continues to rub circles around your clit. His finger returns to your entrance every so often to barely dip inside your heat and return to your folds, using your own juices as lubrication. Your thighs tighten around his waist in response to the pleasure building up inside you, your knees dipping further into the couch on either side of him. 

You trail kisses down his neck as he toys with you. He shifts in anticipation underneath you in response to your attacks along his neck, your teeth and mouth leaving marks against his clear skin. You reach down between your bodies, your fingers grazing his clothed bulge. You start undoing the ties of his sweats, not wanting to delay his pleasure.

As much as you loved the attention he was giving you, your mind was set on his growing need. You pull his hand away from your heat as you get off his lap. Your lips meet again in a quick sloppy exchange before you hook your fingers into his waistband. You catch his piercing gaze as you kneel in front of him, his legs automatically spreading in response to your position with his mouth hanging open. You’ve never set your eyes on a more beautiful man than Jimin, especially when he spreads his legs for you with lust-filled bedroom eyes.

Jimin raises his body off the couch to ease the effort of tugging his pants. You pull them down along with his briefs, just over his ass, enough to release his member from the confines of his clothing. He sighs at the feeling of his sensitive skin suddenly being exposed to the warm air, as if all his tension has been released. Unable to wait any longer, you don't give yourself time to admire the beauty of his cock before you eagerly reach to wrap your hand around his shaft.

You rub your thumb along his slit, playing with the bit of pre-cum that has begun to leak. His gaze is set on your lips as you position your mouth above his tip. Your lips part slightly as you drop collected saliva onto his awaiting cock. 

"Ah fuck." 

Jimin hisses as you use your own spit to lubricate him, spreading it up and down his rigid member in slow drags with your hands. His eyes move from watching your strokes back up to your eyes. "You're so fucking good to me."

His hand finds its way in your hair, he wraps his fingers around the nape of your neck and pulls you towards him. Your lips crash against each other as you continue twisting your wrist to please him, the other hand lightly massaging his thigh. His soft moans flow into your mouth, hot breath can be felt against your tongue. You jerk at his tip, giving it special attention. His teeth pull your bottom lip as he lets out a groan in response. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” You chuckle against his lips. Your own desires stirring with his words of encouragement, you’re determined to give him all the attention he deserves.

You capture his lips once more in a tender peck before you lower your mouth back above his cock. You kiss the pink head softly, his breath hitches at the feel of your lips on him. Your gentle kisses trail down his length, you look up to meet his gaze again. His eyes are blown out with anticipation. 

Your thumb moves around his tip with care as you start sucking the base of his cock with open mouth kisses. Jimin's hips buck in response, his moans are music to your ears. Your tongue leaves a glistening sheen in its wake as you drag your tongue up his length before swirling around the tip and taking him in your mouth.

"Holy shit." 

His eyes flutter shut and he lets his head fall back against the couch as you take all of him ever so slowly. Your hands grip either side of his thighs while you bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks as he continues to hit the back of your throat. His low pants encourage you to increase the intensity of your motions simply to elicit more of them. Your own thighs start rubbing together at the sound of his sinful moans.

Saliva drips down his cock with your relentless motion, coating his balls with your spit. Your hands remain on his thighs, you’ve been faintly leaving scratch marks against his skin. You grip at his tense muscles, you can sense he's holding back, trying to restrain himself from fucking into your mouth. You release him, a string of your spit still connecting you to him. His head lifts from the couch in disappointment at the sudden loss of contact, your mouth was so warm and tight. His eyes search yours in question as his rigid member slightly sways with no support from your hands or mouth. “Baby, why’d you stop?” he whines.

Your hand replaces your mouth once again with long, even strokes. You give him a smirk as you lower your lips to his balls while maintaining eye contact. You've learned how much he loves it when you give them attention. Your mouth starts to suck at one before taking it fully in with a slurp. Jimin threads his fingers in your hair once again, the slight tug feels delicious against your scalp. A low grunt pushes past his lips while you suckle his balls. He hisses out, "Yes, just like that.” 

His body starts shaking, the combined pleasure from your hand along his shaft and your mouth sucking around his base has him seeing stars. You feel his rise in pleasure as his breathing picks up and his moans are dragging out in low guttural sounds. You see the sweat forming along his forehead, his face scrunching up in pure bliss.

From the corner of your eyes, you see a figure appear beside Jimin on the couch. Your gaze sweeps over to find one of his cats looking up expectantly at their owner, wanting her own share of attention. With one of his balls still in your mouth, you look back at Jimin as he becomes aware of the intruder. He watches his cat take a seat on the adjacent cushion as it curiously watches. You can't tell if his cheeks are turning pink because of the pleasure you're giving him or if it's because he's getting shy. 

"Fuck, I can't."

He lets go of your head and grabs at your hands. You release his ball from your mouth, confused on why he stopped you. He reaches for your lips, cleaning up the spit running down your chin with his thumb. He holds your face in the palm of his hand. His breathing is still erratic. 

"I can't do this in front of her." 

It takes you a moment to realize how truly shy he was. "Are you seriously embarrassed to have sex in front of your cats?" You try your best to hold in your laugh. 

"Yes, ok. It feels extremely awkward when she's staring at me while you suck me off," he huffs. His cock continues to stand rigid while he explains. 

It's just you, him, his cock, and Kitty Cat stuck in a moment of silence before you burst in laughter. He furrows his eyebrows at you, not amused by your outburst. "Are you laughing at me? You think this is funny?" 

You fall back to the floor on your butt as Jimin scoots forward on the couch, giggles still tumbling out of you. He stands to pull his sweatpants back up before he bends to scoop you with little effort. His strong arm holds your thighs in a tight grip against him and his other hand suddenly makes contact with your rear. You feel a stinging smack against your ass cheek just as he settles you over his shoulder and you gasp.

"I'll teach you to not make fun of me." His hands slip under your shorts, rubbing his palm over your sensitive skin. 

"Oh no, I'm scared." Without a moment of hesitation, he gives you another smack, but this time you moan in response as he palms you again to soothe the sting. He turns, heading in the direction of his room, away from the eyes of his girls.

He drops you on the bed, your body bounces against his mattress, your laughter hasn't stopped. He closes his bedroom door and turns back towards you. Jimin grabs at your calves and pulls you to the edge of the bed. "You won't be laughing once I'm done with you."

—

< PART 02

all rights reserved © 2020 yoongsgguktae copying / redistributing the work is not allowed

—

reviews are always welcomed :)

MASTERLIST

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.3/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word count: 2,834 Warnings: none Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: HUGE round of applause and thanks to @yespolkadotkitty, my friend AND beta reader (!!!), whose writing you should also check out! Enjoy!

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~  Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

The noise of the ball could still be heard until the late hours of the night.

You, however, decided to retire as soon as you returned from the gardens, returning to the main hall as discreetly as you could and requesting that you be showed your rooms.

Your father had obliged and blamed  “overexcitement” for your eagerness to retire, which you didn’t bother to argue. Whatever aided you in escaping this night– in escaping Loki – you would gladly endure.

It felt like an eternity before your father made a motion and drew your attention to the far corner of the room. Thor was there, smiling like he’d never left as he took your arm and escorted you to the guests’ wing.

As the sounds of the string quartet quieted, your thoughts only increased in volume. Once again you found yourself at a loss for what to say to Thor. But before you could think of anything, he beat you to the chase.

“Did my brother keep you entertained?” He asked, looking down at you.

Your grip on his arm tightened subconsciously when your mind returned to what Loki had said in the gardens.

Tell me, little one, when you’ve finally wedded him and resigned yourself to a life full of everything you despise, how long will it take before I find you in my bed, whimpering in the dark, begging me for the comfort your husband cannot give?

You cleared your throat, hoping that the crimson rouge on your cheeks would hide your blush. “Yes. He was… charming.”

Thor chuckled. “That does sound like Loki. He has a reputation for charming his way into a woman’s bed on a whim.” He smiled, like this was a fact he was unbothered by.  “Though I’m sure he behaved for you.”

You tried to laugh, and it sounded hollow. What would Thor think if he knew what Loki had said? How he’d pinned you down like a cat with a mouse, watching you squirm beneath the claws of his words if only for his own amusement? Or worse, that you might have, possibly, maybe, enjoyed it?

Luckily, the gilded door to your room saved you from continuing that train of thought.

“Well,” you said quickly, letting go of Thor’s arm and giving him the briefest of smiles. “Good night, then.”

Thor returned the smile – though his was certainly longer and more genuine – and kissed your hand in farewell. “Goodnight, my lady.”

The term of endearment rang unpleasantly in your ears and you did your best not to grimace, slipping inside your room without a word.

The door clicked shut behind you and you slid unceremoniously to the floor, letting your head fall back against the wood while the most miserable sigh of your life passed your lips.

You hated it with every fiber of your being, but Loki was right. You were tired of Thor already.

Your eyes shifted listlessly over the room and you pulled off your slippers, pushing yourself up again. Despite the size of it, the bedroom felt stuffy and confined. A four-poster bed canopied with luxurious red curtains took up a ridiculous amount of space. There were a few dressers, a vanity, a clawfoot tub hidden behind a folding screen. Your window – the first thing you checked – was sealed at every edge, with no hinge or latch in sight. No nighttime escapes, then.

You went into the bathroom, wriggled your way out of your dress, undid the last curls of your hair, and scrubbed your face red until the garish makeup was gone and the water from the faucet turned clear.

When you changed into a chemise and fell onto the bed with a dramatic exhale, all you wanted to do was sleep.

But once your head hit the pillow, all you could think of was Loki.

Try as you might to push him from your mind, Loki wormed his way into your subconscious. The light of the sun faded from your window, the stars came out and twinkled, the music from the dancing hall permeated the walls in low tones, and still you couldn’t escape him. When you finally fell asleep somewhere in the long hours of the night, he walked through your dreams. Your sleeping eyes could see him more clearly than if he stood in front of you: his white billowing shirt, raven hair curling in the wind. You thumbed over the curve of his lips in your mind, traced his jaw and ran your hands down his chest.

Your dreams pulled you deeper. He was everywhere, now – his hands gripping your hips, pressing his lips fervently to yours while a pleasant buzz filled your nerves and warmth pooled in your stomach. Even in sleep you could taste him, the salt of the sea on his lips mixed with something sweeter. You moved with him like the tide, gasped for breath at his attentions, arched your back when his hand disappeared between your legs, and––

You jolted awake with a gasp. The quilts were quickly abandoned when you threw them off and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, setting your bare feet on the cool floor while your chest heaved for breath, a thin layer of sweat over your skin.

“What the hell?” You breathed weakly, pushing your hair back and trying to quiet your pounding heart. Your eyes were wide in the dark.

You didn’t sleep again that night.

~

The terms of your engagement were solidified that morning.

While last night’s gala had been a stressful coming-out to high society, today’s more mundane events were much easier to keep up with. You saw nothing of Loki, and barely any of your fiancé – there were a few more words spoken, engagement rings gifted. The golden band and heart-shaped garnet around your finger felt more like a pair of handcuffs.

What vague idea you had of your future was outlined more clearly over breakfast: you would leave this week on a ship called the Marie Valette for a town in southern Norway – Thor’s original home, apparently – and the wedding would take place there, in about six months’ time. According to your father, the traditional waiting period would “allow you time to acclimate to your new life.”

To you, it sounded like plenty of time to conjure an escape plan. Or, if all else failed, plunge into the ice-cold waters of Scandinavia and drown.

Thoughts of a similarly dreary nature were occupying your mind when you took to wandering the halls on the third day of your stay, looking out at the gardens through the tall glass windows. It was too hot to be outdoors, and even inside the sweltering temperatures couldn’t be avoided. Strands of hair clung to your skin and beads of sweat trickled down your back. What you wouldn’t give for a shirt and trousers instead of the heavy, cotton dresses you were expected to wear.

You twisted the ring on your finger and stared up at the thin wisps of cloud against the blue sky, thinking about your betrothed – who you’d seen exactly none of since your second day here. He was always called away to the tasks that required more attention and care from him than you did. Though, it may not have been through any fault of his own; Odin was grooming Thor to take over his empire, and no doubt it was a challenging and time-consuming task. Had your father ever entertained your interest in his business, you might actually know something about it.

Maybe then I would’ve had something to talk with Thor about, you surmised.

Apart from his constant absence, there was nothing inherently wrong about Thor. But as kind, as polite, as congenial as he was, you still couldn’t bring yourself to love him. Every brief interaction was entirely performative. You couldn’t help but feel like it might be the same on his end: he always said just enough, had some practiced excuse to leave, and whether or not it was legitimate, the fact remained that you were left alone.

And then there was Loki.

Your mind had plagued you with insatiable dreams of him for three nights in a row. You tried desperately to convince yourself that it wasn’t him you desired – just the freedom he represented, the mystery and allure of a life to call your own. So why were your dreams full of nothing but tangling your hands in his raven locks, pressing yourself against him and kissing him, tearing open his shirt and running your hands over the warm skin beneath?

Something large and hand-shaped pulled you from your thoughts when it ghosted over your back, and you shrieked.

“Heavens, aren’t we skittish,” Loki observed, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. His handsome face was decorated with a smirk – the kind that inclined you to think he startled you on purpose.

You pressed your hand against your chest to calm your pounding heart and glared at him. “What do you want?”

Loki clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, raising an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better, little one, I might think you didn’t care for me.”

Your mind flashed back to the dreams you’d been having, and your face flushed. “Evidently you don’t,” you managed, smoothing down your dress and pushing a strand of hair back to retain some semblance of composure. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t you?” He asked, tilting his head and clasping his hands behind his back. “I came to say goodbye.”

Your irritated demeanor faltered. The only interesting thing in your life – loathsome and irritating as he was – was about to leave you. “Oh?”

Loki’s sea-green eyes caught the change in your voice and he chuckled. Damn it, he had you positively wrapped around his finger.

“My ship leaves in a few hours. It seems our coincidental encounters must come to an end. Your journey to Europe is not a short one, so this will be our last meeting for some years, I’m afraid.” He turned slightly solemn at this, and you were suddenly reminded of the polite, eloquent Loki you met in the tavern.

“Oh,” you repeated, and tried your best not to look disappointed. “Where to?”

Loki shrugged, unclasping his hands to pull at the dark fabric of his wide sleeves. “West. I’m overseeing a shipment of goods to Kingston.” He said it like he’d practiced and recited the fact many times.

Your eyebrows pulled together slightly and you took a moment to marvel at the fine features of his face. If you didn't know better, you would’ve thought he was carved from marble. The sharp lines of his jaw and mouth, combined with the softness of his ocean eyes... he was a mystery inside and out.

You remembered what Thor had said about him. He has a reputation for charming his way into a woman’s bed on a whim.

"You're staring again," Loki pointed out, smirking.

Your eyes snapped a bit wider and your forehead wrinkled in a defensive frown. "Well, if this is the last time I get to see you, I'm allowed to look."

Loki chuckled deep in his chest- a musical sound that echoed against the walls. He took a single step towards you, but it enclosed you. You moved backwards out of instinct, staring up at his face as the honey-coated words slipped through his lips.

“But you want to do more than look, don’t you?”

This time, you didn’t slap him. Instead, you stood speechless while your face burned and your stomach twisted into pleasant knots. Of course there was no way he could know about your dreams, right? Or were you truly that easy to read?

No, he couldn’t possibly know. He was trying to goad you for his own amusement. 

You blinked. Of course. He’s only teasing me because he can’t have me.

The realization was strangely freeing. To your surprise, you smirked. “Well, I might suggest that you stow me away aboard your ship and get me out of here, but…” You raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Like you said before– you would rather I resign myself to misery and come crawling to you later, yes?”

Loki’s smile still hovered over his lips, but you could tell that you’d caught him by surprise: his hands had dropped, and his beautiful eyes were narrowed. Calculating. Curious.

“I couldn’t,” he said slowly. His eyes flickered over your face, and he shook his head as his smile faded. “I couldn’t take you away. Not for the reason you think, but I… ” A distinct moment of palpable silence stretched between you like a chasm, and you found yourself wondering who you were looking at. This merchant’s second son, this courteous stranger, this aggravating man you couldn’t stop dreaming of.

Who was he, really?

Then, just as quickly as it happened – gone. Loki smiled easily and took your hand, raising his eyebrows as he pressed a farewell kiss to your knuckles. His breath was warm on your skin.

“You must write to me, though,” He said, straightening with a wicked smirk. “I can’t wait to hear of your plans to escape. I’m sure they’ll be positively thrilling.”

“Something tells me that if I confided in you, my plans would mysteriously fail,” you insinuated, narrowing your eyes.

Loki shook his head, stepping back. “Little one, if there’s one thing you can count on me for, it’s not to spill your secrets.” He winked.  “I already know one or two, don’t I?”

~

“Daughter, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

You were pulled out of your thoughts with a jolt and cleared your throat. “Yes,” you lied, turning your head to look out the carriage window. The green palm fronds and cobbled buildings of St. Thomas passed by as you journeyed towards the docks, where The Marie Valette was waiting.

You were leaving today.

“I’m told the estate and grounds are even grander than the ones here – it’s been a family home for generations. You’ll be well-occupied until your fiancé arrives.”

“Why isn’t he going there now?” You asked sullenly, glaring at the people who you passed like they were to blame for your state of being.

“He is the heir to the largest shipping company in the Caribbean. I think you can count on him to be busy.”

“Of course I can,” You spat sarcastically, feeling your blood heat up and rush to your face as your anger crested. “A husband who’s never there, while I live in a country I’ve never been to, away from everyone I know. How could I possibly be unhappy?”

“I know you’re still cross with me,” your father said, notably exasperated, “but I believe you will come to respect Thor in time.”

“Respect,” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“What about love?”

“Love?” Your father chuckled, like it was a ridiculous question. “I had no idea you were interested in such a thing. You never have been.”

Your nostrils flared and your blood boiled, but you didn’t respond. There was no point to it – and if this was the last time you would see your father for half a year, you didn’t want it to end in a shouting match.

The carriage slowed to a stop and the valet opened the doors, helping you out. You stepped onto the road and the smell of the sea hit your face, warm and salty-sweet, and your heart wrenched. It was the same scent that permeated the memories of your nighttime excursions.

The sea in Norway wouldn’t smell the same. It wouldn’t look the same, either– there would be no aqua blue or pale white sand, only deep, dark green and ice-cold waves, breaking endlessly against the rocky shore.

You wished now that you knew how to swim – maybe then you could jump ship while still in the southern hemisphere. Compared to the cold and lonely future that awaited you across the Atlantic, living alone on a desert island didn’t sound so bad.

The valets took your trunks away to be loaded onto the ship. Your father exited the carriage and came up beside you, smiling and squeezing your shoulders. “Come now, chin up. You’ll be living in luxury, after all. Odin’s ships are the Caribbean’s finest.”

You hummed flatly, looking out at the row of ships docked in the port. Big and small, old and new, their names printed in wide letters along the hull. Carved birds, mermaids, and other figureheads posed stoically on the bows of their vessels. Sailors and merchants hauled cargo, passengers fussed over their belongings. But something was missing.

“Father?” You asked slowly, gripping his sleeve to get his attention while your eyes trailed along the docks. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head. No, you weren’t mistaken.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Look,” you said simply, and nodded to the bay.

The Marie Valette was nowhere to be seen. 

-----

A/N: thanks for reading! The tag list is still open. xx

Tag List: @neontiiger​, @un-consider-it​, @jessiejunebug​, @nerdypisces160​, @lokiisntdeadbitch​, @e-wolf-90​, @cursedmoonstone-blog​, @kikaninchen-2​, @bluebellhairpin​, @evy-lyn​, @midnight-queen-1​, @travelingmypassion​, @harrybpoetry​, @adefectivedetective​, @absolutecraziness13​, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7​, @timetraveler1978​, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin​, @ornate-ribcage​, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon​, @yespolkadotkitty​, @befearlesslyauthenticc​, @ladybugsfanfics, @thisisaclusterofablog, @groupies-do-it-better, @just-the-hiddles, @quenilla, @amyy-moonlightt, @pandacookieowo, @thatweirdwalangpake, @alexakeyloveloki

[luniellar]

Sorry Not Sorry - Chris Evans X Reader (One Shot)

Summary: Chris may be your boyfriend, but it sure doesn’t feel like so. You guys have been apart for months since he started his filming schedule again. Thankfully, Chris was finally coming back home tonight. A short fluffy and smutty one shot.

Warning: Smutty

Word Count: 2K

He was right. It was definitely colder now. I should have packed a “poofy” jacket.

Chris’ way of saying “poofy” as he pouted his lips together replayed in my head. What a dork.

I tucked my hands inside the pockets of my denim jacket and pressed my shoulders together to bundle up. The slim black work pants I was wearing provided minimal wind chill protection, but I forgot to do laundry last night and this was the only pair left. Unless I was planning to show up to a client meeting in jeans. I wasn't planning on losing my job anytime soon.

The sun was setting in the background and the sky was doing its magic again. Behind the historic building that towered the city, the pastel purple and pink hues splashed the late autumn sky. Every single purple and pink color was somewhere up there, even the ones that didn’t get a dorky crayola color named after it.

As I got to the steps of the apartment, my phone buzzed in the butt pocket. Darn it, my hands were just getting warmer.

“So sorry, but you are going to have to do dinner without me.”

With a soft sigh, I stuffed the phone with hands back in the tiny jacket pocket. The text clearly impacted my mood because I was annoyed at my stupid jacket pockets. Why did anyone even bother stitching a pocket if it was only going to fit a third of a normal human being’s hand?

“Just try to look at the bright side?” Chris’ voice echoed in my head.

Biting my lips, I ran through the positive scenarios of not having Chris around. No company for dinner meant that I could eat anything for dinner and get away with it. Thoughts of cinnamon toast crunch and frosted flakes ran through my mind as I seriously contemplated each option as I opened the front door of the apartment. The familiar, but faint scent of leftover morning coffee lingering hit my nose.

I dropped the keys on a small table by the door and dragged my body to the living room. I threw my work bag on the floor and immediately went over to the thermostat. Chris was going to kill me, but was it my fault that he was gifted with body heat and I wasn’t? I was always freezing and having Chris around was like having a personal space heater, but he hasn’t been around the past few months with all the filming he was getting back into. And, I was the master of guilt tripping him.

I grabbed my phone and texted back.

“I hate you, I miss my heater.”

I did. I really did.

I settled on frosted flakes for dinner because I was craving the cereal milk after a bowl of corn flakes. I also finished the last of the remaining oat milk in the fridge. You know how people say, TGIF? Well, in this case, thank god it’s Friday because our fridge needed restocking and I could finish that on the weekend.

When Chris wasn’t around, it was hard to find time to do anything. Without him, I resorted to what my life was like before he came into it. I resorted back to binge watching random Netflix documentaries and going to bed at 9pm. On days I felt extra adventurous, I would head out to the gym, but that was very rare. I rolled into the couch in the living room and laid there blankly staring at the plain ceiling.

Yesterday, I was hoping that around this time we would be getting take out for dinner and bet on who would orgasm first before the food arrived. Loser would have to wear their underwear to answer the delivery guy.

Last time we played, I gave him the best head ever and he lost before I even got fully undressed. But, he kept on arguing through the entire dinner how he purposefully lost because he didn’t need anyone seeing me in my underwear. Sure, Chris. Whatever you say.

I rolled to the side and faced empty TV screen. I thought I had turned the TV on, but I must have dreamt of doing that because I fell asleep after the last blink in the sweet memories of us.

“Y/N”

I eyes were too heavy to lift as I was still coming out of the sleep haze, but I knew that voice. My heart was already thumping, it recognized it too.

“Babe,” he whispered. This time his warm breath tickled my ears. His lips pressed against my forehead and I groaned.

“I hate you,” I muttered and rolled over to the otherside. My eyes were still pressed closed and I sure as hell was not going to wake up to greet him with happy arms. In my mind, he was a traitor.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He was always the first to apologize.

This was one thing I personally loved about him the most. Even in the worst of the fights, even when I knew I was in the wrong, he was the level-headed being who had the mental stability to pause and apologize. Sometimes, I just want to fight and crush everything we built together, but he would never allow that. I don’t know what I would do if one day he didn’t apologize. I would take that as his way of breaking up.

I didn’t answer him back and I heard some rustling behind me. Chris let out a soft grunt as I heard his body touch the carpet. His hand ran through my hair softly. I opened my eyes, but I kept my eyes forward. The living room was pitch dark and the only source of light was the moonlight that came in through the apartment balcony glass doors.

“I missed you,” he said softly still playing with my hair.

“I didn’t,” I replied, trying to sound cold as possible.

I heard him chuckle and the familiar sound instantly warmed up my heart. “Huh, I definitely have a text here somewhere about how you miss me.”

“Chris! How dare you use that-” I ragingly turned around and met his sapphire blue eyes that still glowed in the darkness. I forgot the rest of my raging sentence.

He smiled and moved his hand to caress my face. “There she is.”

I looked at him completely speechless. He was wearing a baseball cap that framed his face perfectly. The moonlight hit his high cheekbones and the square jawline that I loved kissing was glowing and mocking me. His long eyelashes that were too good to be real on a human tore my heart apart and pieced it back together again. I had to fight the urge to grab on to his face and press mine against it.

“She’s mad at you,” I managed to get out with all the thoughts screaming inside my head.

“She still loves me.” He replied like how someone would answer “yes” to the question if the Earth was round.

“She does not,” I lied.

“She does.” There it was again.

“Actually, she wants to go back to sleep. That way, she doesn’t have to look at your face.”

His smile turned into a full grin. “You are so fucking cute when you are lying.”

I felt my cheeks growing hotter. No, Y/N. Chris is the enemy. Remember, Chris is the enemy. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at him.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered like we were playing footsie underneath the Thanksgiving dinner table.

I couldn’t resist that.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head forward and felt his soft lips against mine. When our mouths opened, I tasted coffee in his breath. Hey, I needed the caffeine kick. Even though I was positive it didn’t work like that. My tongue found his and playfully teased around it. When he pulled away first, I was a tiny bit upset. Okay, I was very upset, but I sure wasn’t going to show him that.

He clearly saw the discontent on face and smiled a sly smile. “God, I missed your taste.”

“I missed yours more,” I argued.

His eyebrows arched at my desperate thirst response. “You know what else I missed the taste of?”

Then, his eyes shifted across the couch. His eyes looked in the direction of my legs, more specifically, the space between them. He slowly got up from the carpet and sat on the edge of the couch. He slipped his hand into my plain boybrief pjs and his finger grazed my cotton underwear. I already knew I was soaking wet just an inch lower from where his hand rested.

Keeping his eyes glued on mine, he slowly moved his fingers until I felt the warmth of his hand through my cotton underwear. I let out a soft moan from my throat that I couldn’t even control. This wasn’t fair. I wanted him so much.

I reached out a hand to grab a hold of his forearm. Underneath my grip, I felt the tensing of his individual muscle fibers against my skin, twitching and fighting the urge to rip off my underwear.

“Hey,” he spoke and his velvet voice echoed around the empty walls of our tastefully decorated minimalistic apartment.

“Yeah,” I replied with as my mind was going crazy about the fact that he was really trying to tease me.

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of a lollipop?”

There was a strange moment of silence before we both erupted into laughter. Our happy sounds were echoing around the entire floor. Other than the fact that this might have been the worst “let’s have sexy time” comment he said, I treasured moments like this. These were the times that lingered around my memories for a long, long time.

I got up from the couch and tore his hand away. “Okay, Mr. Evans. You definitely hit an all time low with that comment. It really sucks out all the intimacy.”

He moved his body closer to mine and kissed my cheek. “Ironic, it was supposed to get me sucking your pussy.”

The way he said pussy sent chills down my spine. I was getting ready to jump on him any moment now. “I mean technically… you can still do that,” I replied, nonchalantly.

He smiled and pressed his lips against mine. Our lips went at each other like we were in high school again trying to show off who was the better kisser. It was sloppy, wet, messy, and a lot of biting. It was still perfect. By the time he pulled away, we were both panting to catch our breaths. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and planted a sweet peck on my neck. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he already knew the cue. His arms dug underneath my back and knees. He effortlessly got up from the couch, holding me close to his chest.

I looked up at him speechless as he casually walked me through the hallways and kicked the bedroom door open. It was dark here too, minus the moonlight filtering through our bedroom window placed on either sides of the bed. He walked over to our California king bed and gently placed me down.

I bit my lip as he stood by the edge of his bed. He dropped his cap first, revealing a messy bed of hair underneath. In one quick motion, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. His pale skin glowed. The moonlight reflected off his broad shoulders and firm chest.

My heart wouldn’t shut up.

His body snaked over time and pinned me down between his legs. Each hand tightly gripped my wrists. The heat from his body was pouring down mine. He arched his neck and placed a kiss on my forehead. Then, he moved over to the tip of my nose, my lips, my chin, and then down on my neck. His warm breath tickled me.

“I’m sorry for being late,” he paused.

“But, I’m not apologizing for how I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

[amwritesstuff]

Burning for You (Midoriya/Reader)

All you wanted to do was go home, have a little glass of wine, pass out, and not get up until well into the afternoon. You figured that was fine. You weren't asking for much, surely you'd be allowed that simple want?

A double shift on your feet was rewarded with nearly the whole bottle. More than what you had planned, but you didn't have plans for tomorrow, so whatever. Pleasantly buzzed, bordering on drunk, you stumbled into bed, konking out before you fully hit the mattress.

Suffice to say, this would lead to being the biggest mistake you would ever make.

The dull, painful beat in your head is what woke you. Your taste came next, grimacing at the mix of morning breath and dry bile. You must have vomited in your mouth just a little, not feeling any crusty chunks, nor smell the sourness. But, there was another smell, much stronger...

Smoke.

You inhaled sharply as your body kicked you awake, regretting it instantly as you were sent into a violent coughing fit. You couldn't get enough clean air in to stop. You grabbed a pillow, shoving your face into it in an attempt to stop. You were able to get enough control to take everything in.

Early afternoon sun filtered from your window, making odd shapes in the thick, black smoke that was wafting through your bedroom. It was exceptionally warmer. But where was it coming from?

Confusion gripped you. What had happened? What was happening? How long had this been going on? Did anyone else know? You needed to get out, you knew you did and you wanted nothing more than to flee. You couldn't move though, breathing hard into your pillow to get oxygen that wasn’t there.

A long creaking from above startled you to drop the pillow, gasping in fright, in turn triggering you to once again try and hack up a lung. Another sound caught your attention as you used your hands to cover your nose and mouth. From the window. Shouts. Screams. Sirens. Help.

You needed help. They needed to know you were there. You took a step forward, jumping back when the groaning creak sounded again. Louder this time. You couldn't tell if the ceiling was bowing or the heat was playing tricks.

You needed to get out. Trying to call for help might take too long when you could at least start to pull yourself out of the heat through the fire escape or into the outside hallway. Luckily, your bedroom door was left open so you could easily tell if it was safe to proceed. It seemed the fire was coming from the apartment above yours.

The rest of your home was full of smoke, wisps of flames were licking along the ceiling here and there. They were more prominent toward the front door. Alright, escape down the stairwell wasn't happening. How much had this spread? Did your alcohol-induced slumber really keep you from waking sooner?

Intense snapping from behind caused you to spin around. You yelped, watching the above floor collapse into your bedroom. Intense heat rushed over you, embers quickly growing as they lapped up your untouched furniture.

You stood there dumbly, watching as your home was burned away. Everything you had, gone in a matter of seconds.

A loud creak from above pulled you out of your pity-party. What the hell were you doing? Your life was on the fucking line and you were crying over some clothes. You could do that later. Right now, the fire escape.

You stumbled to the window, coughing and wheezing. You flung the little tabs that sat under it out of the way and began working to open it. Easier said than done with your shaking. You couldn't muster enough strength. Why? It was a window. Had you missed a latch?

It was painted shut.

God damn, fucking, lazy-ass maintenance!

You were going to make the biggest complaint when you got out. You grabbed a hefty ornament from your shelf and chunked it, the glass easily breaking. You didn't get the chance to break it any farther, the groaning and snapping above caused you to look up. Fire was waving over the bending ceiling, cracks quickly growing.

You lunged back, the mess just missing you, but effectively blocking your exit. You didn't get the time to stand. The apartment had only paused in its collapse, the rest of it catching you off guard long enough to fall onto you.

Wood, smoke, ash, and who knows what else filled your lungs as beams and piping caged you in. What little air you had left was knocked from you as what you thought was a couch landed on your legs and lower back. You felt something crack. Chunks of concrete landed heavily around you, smaller bits bouncing off your arms that encircled your head. One large piece hit the floor a little too close for comfort before gravity pulled it down on top of you. The fire hadn't yet reached you, but the heat was enough to scorch your skin.

The panic that had been slowly building was now spiraling out of control, coupled with your adrenalin, keeping you from feeling too much of the excruciating pain your body was in. You were sobbing as much as your clogged lungs would allow. There were no tears, the heat eating them up before they could form. You were trapped. You didn't know if anyone knew you were here. You would die here.

I'm scared!

Flashes of the night before came to your mind. Then the previous day. Then week. Your life played out in reverse as the ever growing flames nipped at your feet. Your family. Your friends. Coworkers. Acquaintances. People you hated. People you admired. Accomplishments you'd achieved. Goals you'd never reach. Dreams you'd never have again.

Please…

Through your fading vision, you could see your front door. It was missing. A figure was in its place, their bright green standing out almost blindingly among the red. Your brain couldn't quite piece together that it was a person until they moved inside… You recognized that green.

I'm here! Here! Right here! Please!

He frantically moved in and out of your vision several times, muffled shouts reaching your cotton filled ears. He couldn't see you and you couldn't make any noise loud enough for him to hear. Not even a cough. But maybe…

Your arms were still around your head, one stuck against the concrete pressing on you, but the other was only slightly wedged. If you wiggled it just enough you could maybe- there! It pulled free, flopping to the ground before you, your hand hopefully in full view.

That was it. That was all you could do. There was an intense, stinging pain at your side that was quickly trailing up your screaming back. You couldn't feel your legs anymore. Your breath was so shallow, body not having the strength to cough anymore. You were so exhausted…

***

You didn't wake slowly. Nor did you jolt awake. You just… woke up.

Your head rolled against something soft, peeling your eyes open to hazy objects against white. Lights were off but it wasn't really dark. A steady beep echoed from far away. You felt sluggish and heavy, your thoughts trudging through molasses as you tried to take everything in. There was mild soreness that pulsed through your whole being. You wanted to go back to sleep.

A click sound found its way to you. You lolled your head toward it, catching a green blur slowly making its way to you. You blinked in a desperate attempt to clear your vision as it lowered itself into what you thought might have been a chair. Garbled noises slurred together as you stupidly stared at the moving mouth… This was a person.

They stood again suddenly, you moving your head to try to keep up. They sat back down just as quickly. It made your head spin.

All at once you felt awful. You groaned as the soreness you felt escalated exponentially. Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to understand why your skin felt like it was on fire.

Because it had been on fire.

Your head didn't feel entirely clear, but it was enough to remember your apartment had burned down with you inside it. To realize you were in a hospital. To see that Pro Hero Deku sitting right next to you.

Despite being more coherent, you still gaped stupidly at his nervous grin. You blinked, only realizing that he had been talking to you.

“S-sorr-” you were launched into a very painful coughing fit, sending every fiber in your body into uncomfortable spasms. A straw came into view when you had calmed enough, taking it into your mouth without thinking beyond wanting it to stop.

When the lukewarm water had soothed your throat enough did your position click. Pro Hero Deku was holding the cup and straw for you, looking adorably flustered. If you were embarrassed no one would be able to tell from the heat of your burns. Yourself included.

“S-sorry!” He stuttered out, placing the cup to the side. “Don't try to talk right now, okay? O-or move!” He attempted to push you back down as gently as he could. You didn't fight it. You were too weak to even get up on your elbows. He instead raised your bed a little so that you were semi-sitting up. You tried to give him a smile in thanks, only to wince. That hurt too. How badly injured were you?

Deku settled, looking upset. He held your tired gaze for a moment, the only sound being the heart monitor and your shallow breathing. He dropped his head, gripping the sheets tightly.

“I'm… I'm sorry.”

He was sorry? For what? If you recalled, he had saved you. If anything, you should be groveling in thanks! Or at least be able to verbally apologize for not being physically able to. Slowly, you nudge your hand to his, lightly tapping your finger against his knuckle. God, even that little movement was tiring and uncomfortable. He looked up to find your eyebrows furrowed as much as they were able to be in confusion. He sighed and looked away, running his hand through his hair, little bits of stuff flying off.

...Ash. Ash and rubble bits. You just noticed. He was covered in it. His costume also looked a little worse for wear. Had he really been here all this time? How long had it been since he pulled you out of the building? Was anyone else hurt? And, not that you were complaining, why was he allowed to walk around the hospital like this?

“We thought…” his soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “I thought we had gotten everyone. The apartment two floors above where I found you… A little girl had manifested her quirk and it scared her. The fire spread a lot quicker then if it had been caused by anything else.” He swallowed hard, his hair was blocking his eyes from you. “I had heard something falling down the fire escape and noticed a broken window where the fire hadn't reached yet…”

A small sniffle came. His hands were threatening to rip the sheets. “I-if I had checked each floor! I had been in such a hurry to get everyone out from the floors that had been affected, that I just assumed everyone else had gotten out!”

Your eyes widened. No. No, no, no, no! He shouldn't be beating himself up over this! You'd gotten drunk enough the night before that you had slept through most of it! If you had had any more than you had, you would probably have burned to death on your bed! You were alive! Sure, you more than likely had second-degree burns, but you lived!

You tapped his knuckle a little quicker, trying to make a face that would tell him that you'd be alright. That you didn't blame him for anything. You were surprised to find his eyes so glossy, tears quickly building in the corners.

“I-” he took a breath in an attempt to compose himself. “I wanted to be here in case you woke up before… You haven't been out long. The doctors said you might, but…” He was ever so gently holding your hand now. The material of his gloves scratched painfully against your raw skin, but you didn't protest. You wanted the comfort it seemed to bring the both of you, and the physical discomfort it brought you was enough to stave off the fatigue that was quickly creeping in.

“The doctors… I volunteered to be the one to tell you and they agreed that it might be better for you hearing this from me if you woke up, a Hero…” A few tears escaped, which he quickly wiped away. You'd seen him cry on the news without issue, why was he trying to keep a brave face now? The beeping of your monitor picked up a little. What was he trying to say?

“Your injuries… You inhaled a lot of smoke and embers, causing burns inside of your mouth and throat. You mostly have second-degree burns and very few third-degree…” He swallowed hard. “Your right side and lower back have fourth-degree burns and your legs… had them.”

Your legs…

Fatigue forgotten, you desperately made to sit up. Deku vehemently protested but was hesitant to force you down and cause you more pain. You had to see. You needed to see.

It was a struggle, but you managed to confirm it with your own eyes before your body gave out. Instead of your legs stretched out to form lumps beneath the sheets, there was nothing. They stopped less than halfway down your thighs.

There were no tears or cries of anguish. You felt… empty. Hollow. Even the heart monitor was evening out. You were in shock. Understanding what was happening, but not fully grasping it. Beside you, Deku was quiet. Letting you take your time. When you turned your head to him, he looked ready to burst.

“I-I… I wish that was it… They told me that fourth-degree burns have a high mortality rate and they got infected from debris being lodged in them, so they… removed your legs. Your back and side… are also infected.” His voice had grown small. “A-and t-there's… there’s-”

He couldn't get it out, gripping your hand a little tighter as he hiccuped to keep his tears in. But, you didn't need him to finish. You already knew the words he was choking on.

You were going to die.

Again, you understood it but weren't fully comprehending it. It was strange. While burning alive in your apartment, you were in a panic, thinking you were going to die when help had been right there. A charcoaled body lying under debris, waiting for some poor sap to stumble upon you and begin the process of trying to remove your corpse that would probably be melted to that couch.

Now? You were in a sterile, scratchy hospital bed. In pain, in shock, missing your legs, and still dying despite all the effort. With one of the top five Heroes now weeping over you, profusely apologizing for not getting to you sooner, for not thinking to check every apartment, for not saving you.

You made a strangled noise, pulling at your trapped hand to get his attention. It took a moment, but he eventually did quiet, sniffling and wiping away the thick streams of tears that he just couldn't seem to stop. Good. You were too tired to stay awake much longer. You took a few shuddering breaths, making sure to keep your voice to that of a breathy whisper as to not irritate your throat too much. You needed him to hear, regardless of his protests.

“S… save,” your gums and jaw hurt and your tongue was having the hardest time working correctly, making your words come out garbled. This was going to be difficult. “You save… m-me.” Jeez, you were out of breath. “Th… than’ you… 'ey, s'op cr… ‘ryin’.” He looked up at you when you tapped his hand again. You didn't know if he was blurry due to your eyes having trouble staying open or if you yourself were crying. You squeezed his hand weakly as you gave a small smile through the hurting pull of your face.

“You... 'ave me. Don’... you… dare thin’... you didn’, yeah?” God, you were beyond ready to sleep. You took a moment to catch your breath. “Sm… smile? P’ease? Wa…” You were fading fast but were determined to get what you wanted to say out.

“Wan’ see… you smile… p'ease, De'u…” A stream of air left you as you relaxed. That was it. That was all you had. Your eyes were hardly staying open, but you saw it.

The thousand-watt smile Deku was known for cut through your darkening vision. Regardless of the clear sorrow he held, tears still falling, it was every bit as joyous and bright as the television and photos portrayed, if not more.

With that image imprinted in your brain, you stopped fighting, slipping off to sleep.

[bookofryk3r-blog]

Anthropia, the World Above All. In it, all characters from every human spun tale, ever. Any gibberish uttered by infants, if imaginative, conjures up whatever is suitable. Any tome ever left to rot, any computer disc snapped into two, all of them existed in Anthropia Whenever a homo sapiens sapiens reflects on what it means to be conscious, we undertake the notion that consciousness follows natural order and natural sciences. Consciousness seems to play a large part in the reality we perceive around us. These words of mine, woven together like the cotton or the fibers of your shoelaces, are merely an agreement we have made as co-existors.5 We believe that there is sense in this. Yet our perceptions of all things are limited by the devices we use to sense and measure those experiences of all things. There is a bottle-neck effect when you then consider that all of the calibration measurements used to gauge the world around us are then converted/reduced into an electro-chemical function inside of our human minds. We tend to think that consciousness lurks in the depths of those murky waters, somewhere between neurons, ethereally. Imagine that I showed you how to fiddle with the wires in the back of the television set. Given enough time,  you would come to perceive that consciousness is a phenomena occurring inside of the television. You would be able to change the channels of your mental dialogue with the wireless remotes of Cognitive or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. You can still the waters of the roughest thoughts and emotions if you find your breath. If you find that inspiration. That meditative moment of acceptance and bliss and gratitude for your every experience. That little bit of inspiration is all that is required for entry into Anthropia, the World Above All. You see, dear Undertaker, Anthropia, the World Above All, exists as a fused reality of deep imagination and natural science. The gods bring rise to thunder and lightning, no matter how frightening or not. No matter the emotion, the natural world exists for that emotion. The two realities are parallel and inseparable. In space, we are furthest from everything and closest to everything than we'll ever be. We have yet to find life in the places we will, we have yet to hear any communication of distilled intelligence from anywhere besides here. In our cranium sits the most complicated structure we know. Science has recently uncovered that neurons connect together in ways that make 11- dimensional shapes. And yet when we sleep at night, we dream and process boatloads of information. Frequencies leap through our skull into the nighttime air, in the form of wave functions, and yet no one finds this peculiar. Imagine a neutron as a sort of transceiver. An electrical component that is so scientifically advanced that it exists through higher dimensions. What we can perceive with our eyes and our measurements will obviously be a neutron, but how many of the things in our lives are just reflections and projections of things we merely imagined? Do we not just come to an agreement, in the hopes that there is some sense in this world? That there is some purpose or rhyme or reason? There exists Anthropia, the World Above All. You can believe that it exists, or you cannot. The Yggdrasil is but just one of the trees that cover the land. There is a Hanging Tree for all of us, A rope tossed around the neck of this horse of a tree, and you pull the reigns towards the path of suicide. We all die, every day. Even if we never entertain a simple thought of suicide, ever, we will go to another tree and watch someone hang themselves. There are many Wednesdays in Anthropia, The World Above All. And with every Wednesday, comes a hanging. In the air, one of you must have been sacrificed to dawdle there like a drapery or a shawl for this horse of a tree. That is the nature of World Trees in the Garden of Eden. A Wednesday might be a Thursday somewhere else, given the relativity of space and time. But all things come to their end in Anthropia. When the chakra's been drained from our minds, we'll flow off into some other form of intelligence, somewhere else, hopefully trying to save lives and love and support as many whatevers as possible. Into the World Tree of Yggdrasil, we must venture. You, Undertaker of Them, will and are always called be called, “Yod1.” You will be transformed like a Pokemon child  into the wandering  sprite of this story. I am the One Above All. Every thought that you have will be from my Creation, as I sit within the Source. I will teach you the ways of understanding my World Trees, and all of the mythos of a beautiful existence. There are no Stairways to Heaven here, nor anyhwhere. They are a blurred perception and dilation of what heaven already is. Your enjoyment and only pleasure stems from reading more and more of these words because you are as focused as a neurosurgeon, which is a very taxing experience. Why you continue to endure such a pain is beyond me. Each second ticks by and every letter gives off this new, vibrant idea that you enjoy reading and so you keep reading on like this until a voice of priority steps in a decides that your attention must be carried elsewhere. I simply ask that you endure reading  as long as you desire the ability to focus. I look at the year of 1961, when the Soviet Union dropped the bomb. This nuclear bomb was the the Sovereign of All Bombs. It was the last nuclear bomb/test to have been dropped, my sources tell me. If you took a trip to the tip of this mushroom, you would be 211, 000 feet in the air. You would need to descend in elevation  to reach the peak of Mount Everest, which has risen to a measly 29, 000 foots,  so to speak. If only there had been a camera on the moon to capture what it would have looked like. I'm fairly certain it would come off of the surface of our Earth, the same span of distance of the lightened portion of a waxing crescent, or a hair breadth less. On a grain of sand  in the middle of a glorious sandbox of lights and inescapable drains of indifference. I sit here on a laptop in the beginning of November. Mobile, Alabama has 66 inches of rain every year, and they have a tunnel. I know a giant of a man named Tyreese that I've met two handfuls of times. I'm in Sacramento, California and he's in Germany. He has left a country that I love and I also want to leave. A country that is littered with war in the hopes of some divine inspiration to help and save others. On a grain of sand in the middle of nowhere, we find it satisfying to distance ourselves from others because some of us can be such damn dullards. I don't have a way of pinpointing anyone out because who am I to judge? Who am I to reign judgment on others? To decide actions for their lives and their experiences on a grain of sand in the middle of nowhere? All authority to judge must be given by some higher form of power, some higher dimensional form of power. Every war since World War II is a violation of the Constitution of the United States of America. Slavery is a slap in the face of the Constitution. The majority of the Founding Fathers were white slave owners declaring that All Men are Created Equal. Do we buy into this? What sort of dreams do they have that make such a juxtaposition a paradox? I say it a good dream, in Anthropia, the World Above All. All men are created Equal. Especially the damned dullards. A drunk man driving a truck can tell you that driving under the influence is life threatening disease , no matter how hypocritical they seem to be of themselves. There is One Man that stands out, Yod. He has a spirit unlike any other. He will take you to the Burning Bush of Moses. In one moment, take your breath for what it is worth. Recognize that the worry that feels so weighty in the back of your mind right now is nothing but imaginings of the consciousness that you've let wander, like a little lost sheep. I  am here to tell you to breath and that you are not alone. You are here with me as I write these manic rantings, and that everything will be okay. You might project any emotion you want to with this, and that's fine. Run away, close this book, put your hands in your mouth, jump off a building, write a book, do whatever you can think of to rid yourself of reading any more of this. Entertain the fact that those thoughts are compellingly real. And that every sensation you experience right now is compellingly real. Those two worlds are not separate, but equal. And right now, in this moment, recognize  that our moments are being recorded by the minds we use to find ourselves in. I am writing this to you from a distance of time and space that is unimaginable to me, yet it exists as much as we do. Does this require some sort of Chalk Zone reality? Some other worldly place that the One Above All goes to? You won't really see it because it is an empty white nothing and it exists from my reflections and projections of a mind that's touched the opposite wall of  every simulation. Here it is, Yod. Wander for as long as you want, the crux of this text is laid deeper, somewhere within the folds of my mind like a winding labyrinth that sucks you into the throes of what some could easily call an addiction. Anthropia, the World Above All is recognizing that there is a Love within the place that I go while you wander. A Love so deep, I must show you. There were the ISU, the Intergalactic Space University, a wandering colony of triple helixed, extra-treed-Vestials. ExtraVestials were really just our progenitors, using advanced dimensioal studies to traverse space and time in the names of their science. They came to our rock when we were still learning to walk around. The plains of Africa used to once be a rain forest, but the continents were shifting so that this African-South American continent was coming apart. The ExtraVestials appeared on the scene as the savannahs shifted towards deserts. The development of this species was going too slowly to keep up the rate of the Encroaching Darkness, a catastrophe also that would actually annihilate the ISU in the next few hundred years. Yod walks among them, a triple helixed chimera of a creature, part primate, part ExtraVestial. It wasn't a matter of reproduction as much as it was a matter of molecular supplementation. Yod woke up every Wednesday, desperately craving the gallows of Yggdrasil. Yod's every desire was to fuel the life of  this World Tree, within it's Thirteen realms. The One Above All plucks Yod from their walking of daily life, outside of the Garden of Eden, and demands their sacrifice every time they are placed in front the their World Tree. Eventually, Yod would then be tossed into the Thirteen Layers of Hell, hoping best to rise as a tree that catches fire and burns as a signal that this World Tree is alive with Spirit. Yod never provided an answer of what the purpose of life was. The World Tree never caught fire and the One Above All comes to use their stories as paper. Chapter One: Having wandered the forests of Time, you find yourself awakening in a forest of foreign reality. The world and colors of it shine like refracting diamonds as the tree leaves shine away every color of every  tree you'd ever want to see. You have all of this collective data in your mind, and yet you run from it. You escape into the facsimiles of life, as though documentation and preservation are not the most important diligences in life. Sit down and preserve a day or two worth of your experiences with gratitude. Music pours into your ears like a waterfall of orgasmic sound waves and harmonics and reverberations. Sine waves from sounds that are just electricity coming through a speaker, like a buzzing lips through a trumpet. Hearing her voice cry to me that she wanders the night in search of a dead partner is terrifying. The One Above All  knows that she needs to be alone as much as she fears it. Far off in the distance of some world, dreary days awaits someone from an indifferent dismantling of our higher dimensional realities. Those of us with the eyes of it recognize the prophecy in the decay of our world. That all things return to the darkness as knowledge is gained. The buildings come before you, white and gleaming and shining atop the World Above All. In the Courtyard of Rubik, you notice that you are lead in by two Dark Aelves, named Naa and Aaa. However you remember their names is irrelevant, but you do take notice that you've never exhchanged greetings. Dark Aelves are fickle creatures, denizens of Marshian morass, but more loyal than any else within Anthropia. There, Naa and Aaa place you in front of Greed, a bubbling dead creature, sitting atop the Throne of Nike. Naa declares that this is absolutely loathsome to be a part of and that every vile portion about you could never come close to how heinous it would be to ever touch Greed. Aaa establishes that you are safe in this world of Anthropia because the One Above All can always rewrite your tale into newer words, as the Source demands. Naa writhes in retaliation of such a dreary existence, “Returning to his whimsical entertainment is an absolute waste of his time” as his hand attempts to  push Greed in all her girthy weight. Greed bellows a kilns worth of gas from her decomposing body and the green stench was perceivable as a slight sea green shimmer enlivened the air. You look in awe, as you've never witnessed such a titanic creature. Or throne. Or anything. Higher dimensional shapes and structures have to tether to many lower and inferior structures of even smaller worlds and realities. This disgustingly dead creature must have been the size of Antares. You remember every moment of Greed you'd ever shared. You'd seen her as a little girl, bouncing happily that so many things might one day be fully appreciated. But after many decades of never being grateful, Greed began to grow fat and lethargic on her throne. Naa and Aaa were her servants, where she ruled in the Fourth Circle of Hell, the bedrock that every World Tree grew upon. The Courtyard of Rubik was a very special place in the Holy City of Zanarkand. Zanarkand was the name of the previous city, but after the Branch Tribe revolts, Zanarkand became a refuge from the Sun-Setters hailing from Bevelle. The Holy City of Zanarkand is akin to the historic, Alexandria in the realm of Midgard. Greed was a daughter of the ISU, and Aaa and Naa are telling you that, “The One Above All is going to be furious that you let this happen.” The ISU were dwindling in number after the catastrophe of the Eve Delusion. Eve was the previous Sovereign before Greed and she  had come to believe that her heaven was elsewhere, wandering the stars in her curiosity. Eve had long been counseled by her wise husband, Adam, a man of purely objective nature, ruled by all things science. “Yod, do you realize what this is going to do for the ISU? “ You look off in complete lack of memory because the One Above All removed your memory through time. Adam had taken you into his office one night, years back, before the Delusion. He showed you that everything about you is peculiar and idiosyncratic. And to witness such any event is beautiful, if not miraculous. Where does this life come from, and why does it exist? Why is it that conversations can ever be shared in awareness? Why do we grow from dawdling girl to Titanic Greed? Why do we invest so much energy into a love for ourselves, when all the love we'll ever need is right here in Anthropia, the World Above All..? You look  back into the Aelves' eyes and say that you wish for Greed to be disposed of properly and with respect. For Greed is as much a part of you as you are a part of you. Chapter Two: The World Above All is  ordered much like Earth 616, in that it also includes Earth 616. It is our forgotten history, and those gods are within us. Midgard is where Earth 616 exists, in the natural world. But Anthropia, the World Above All, is also Midgard and every other of the 26 realms inside the Source. The Many World Trees that litter all of Anthropia are measured in altitudes of reality while growing on the surface ad subterranean surfaces of the World Above All. Each World Tree contains their own forms of Earth, like Earth 2, or Earth 2.001. Slight variants exist between the two Earths, yet rest assured that they existed just the same. Yggdrasil is the World Tree for Homo Sapiens Sapiens. Do not worry about the other World Trees, Yod. Yggdrasil is the horse we will ride for this adventure. Yyggdrasil has a long history with the ISU, spanning back hundreds of millenia before the Eve Delusion, or even the Tobi catastrophe. Most of the World Trees do, but Yggdrasil is different. Yggdrasil is the first tree to have caught fire. Odin and Moses both found Yggdrasil in their daily duties. The ISU were the Promethean race, showing us what fire and science could really be. They combined their genetic precursors into the human race and our minds have grown exponentially since then. They all but disappeared after Eve lost the Herd, which is what the ISU called the humans they were throwing at every other World Tree, as attempts to burn the World Trees for power. Eve was the Sovereign Duchess of the ISU, the Daughter of the Dean, Gene Spokane. Gene Spokane was the CEO of ISU INC INS, the leading revolutionary for galactic expansion. Whilst traipsing the Forests of Time, she became privy to the experience of love and lost herself in her motherhood. Her Husband, Adam Elyon, was the Lead Developer in World Tree research. Adam Elyon was a unique case in his own right. Adam Elyon is not a species of anything, but rather, the perfect assembly of what appears to be whatever Adam Elyon desires. Adam remains in humanoid form whenever his feet near surface of Anthropia, but Adam Elyon has existed since before Anthropia. If Anthropia had an age, it starts with Adam Elyon. The Big Bang was yet to be, to have been or to never become. Adam floated as consciousness in the Source. From the Iris of his Mind, he absorbed all of the white light of this Infinite Nothing. For eternities, Adam Elyon reached deeply into the voids of what a soul should be. Grasping in the darkness, any supernatural scratched graffiti to identify what omnipotence looks like, if anything. These voids spoke to him, carrying him forward until he realized that Yod is the Undertaker of the Herd, Adam Elyon. Those voids materialize as Aaa and Naa carry you before the One Above All. Naa hits you in the back of your head with what appears to be a staff of sorts. The blackout that ensues forces you into a dark void of character, and all things parade away while you remember how distracted you are from the things you once loved. Chapter Three: The One Above All. Chapter Four: In the year 2037 Anno Domini, Ryker Quackenbush established Star Fleet, a galactic organization that steered clear of politics and religious endorsements, unless strictly adherent to the success of the human species. In the year, 2457, Conry Budge discovered that neutrons do in fact contain transceiver elements that connect matter to space and time. She would come to be the Sovereign Dean of Education, researching and coding every iteration of the Four Fundamental Forces and how they break down into quantifiable bits of information. In the same year, at the same time, Rami Ahken broke the barrier with Intrinsic Field Subtraction. This translates to the Four Fundamental Forces being removed from a particular volume of space, which eliminated the necessity for anything Einsteinian or Aristotelian. This new development in science allowed for mass manipulation of matter, if done in small enough dosage. SDE Budge went to speak with Rami Ahken personally, however, and fell in love with him and his mind over a Midgardian period of six months. They had a boy child named Synth Kenge, a young daughter named Arka Kenge and another daughter named Siva Kenge in a period of ten 616 years. Twenty years go by. Siva Kenge began to wander outside the Gardens of Eden while trying to find new routes to run. She listened to playlists of her music while she jogged beyond the walls of the Citadel. Synth Kenge was not a pleasant individual, nor was he entirely bright. But as he malingered around the valleys of Limbo, he saw his sister running through the lower valleys of Lust. Synth Kenge minded his own business, but he met a woman named Greed Sin while in the huge valleys beneath Yggdrasil, the flagship that was to be powered by World Trees. Greed had shown Synth that he could take the entire fleet of galactic ships into space, and no one could stop him, given enough time. Greed Sin was a skilled assassin from the Martian colonies.

[ilsa-makes-things]

Tutorial:  Sew Decorative Bunting from Scrap Fabric

Hey, all! Today we'll be talking about how to make bunting out of fabric scraps, and how to do it quickly and efficiently.

To decorate Drentha's large Ragnarok campsite, we need a LOT of bunting, so I wanted to make this process fast and easy. All the online tutorials I found were for cute, two-yard strands for decorating toddler birthday parties or forced you to do pointless fiddly work (why hem the flags when they, cut on the bias, won't really fray?). I also needed my bunting to be sturdy, since I would be tying it to trees and iron tent stakes and picnic tables and letting it hang in the wind and the rain for eight days.

My bunting has been to two camp-outs, and I'm really pleased with how it held up, so now I'm sharing my process. Let's go!

You'll need:

--A bunch of scrap fabric in multiple colors (any fiber content is fine!)

--Cardboard (for pattern and storing the finished bunting)

--Chalk or other fabric marking implement

--Scissors or rotary cutter and mat

--3/4” twill tape (I buy mine from Wawak.com, my favorite source for cheap thread and notions)

--A sewing machine with a zigzag stitch

Cut your fabric

Draw a triangle, 8” tall by 6” wide, on your cardboard for a pattern. Cut this out (but not with your good fabric scissors!) so you can trace it.

The trick to speedy fabric cutting is to avoid cutting your triangular flags out individually. Since we want a TON of flags, we'll sacrifice perfection for the sake of speed. If you have bigger pieces of scrap fabric to use, you can fold it up into layers that are about 8” tall by 6” wide and hack a bunch of flags at once.

Trace your cardboard pattern onto your fabric, flipping the pattern vertically so your triangles fit together tightly-- this will let you get the most flags out of your fabric. 

Cut out your flags. If you're using multiple colors, stack them up into piles of like colors as you go. 

Next, we'll open up our twill tape.

But why not bias tape?!

Yeah, I said twill tape, which, I recognize, is a notion not all of us have laying around. Why am I asking you to use something weird for a fabric that's meant to be easy and use up scraps? Well...

Bias tape is expensive. The money really adds up if you're buying it in those little 3-yard packs-- and three yards is nothing! I have something like forty yards of bunting, and it honestly doesn't look like much when it's draped around camp. And no way am I stopping every three yards to piece a new packet of bias tape in, nope.

Bias tape stretches. That's what things cut on the bias do: they stretch. This is less than ideal for something that will get tied around trees, tents, etc.

Bias tape is weak. If you inspect your bias tape closely, you'll note that it has tiny seams on some pieces. Even if you buy it in a 100 yard spool, it will actually be pieced together out of multiple lengths of fabric. If you tug on a piece with seams, the stitches can pop. Again, we're tying this stuff to trees, etc, so that's not okay.

If you absolutely must use bias tape, you'll want the single-fold stuff (which is creased down the middle, not folded in on both sides) and you'll want it to be at least 1/2” wide. But seriously, why bother when you can use...

Twill tape (aka cotton tape, herringbone tape) is the bee's absolute KNEES, guys. It's woven to width, so its edges don't fray. It's used for shoelaces and drawstrings and tent ties, so it's incredibly strong. And it comes in vast spools (The only reason I don't own a 50 or 100 yard spool is because I live in a small apartment with little room for supply-stashes. :( ) A 36-yard spool will set you back $7 in basic colors, and it will be about the size of a hockey puck. Even I can store that.

For this project, you'll want 3/4” to 1” wide twill tape. Since we'll fold this in half, the final tape will be about 3/8″-1/2” wide.

Mise en place

Set out your cut fabric flags by your machine, with the stacks of each color arranged in the order you'll use them.

Pull off a good two feet of your twill tape and put it to the back of your machine. This tape without flags sewn to it will make it easier for you to tie the end of the strand around trees, etc.

Set your machine to a long and wide zigzag stitch. On my machine, this is a 3.0 length and a 5.0 width. You want your zigzag to be about half the width of your tape. We're using a zigzag because it will let us be sloppier in sewing than the straight stitch-- if we veer a little, it will still catch the flags.

Set in the flags

Did you notice that the supply list didn't include pins or rulers? That's because we're not going to pin our flags into place or precisely measure where they'll be placed on the tape, because pinning and measuring is slow. I promise you that, with some practice, you can easily sew a 6” length without pins-- and since we're making a lot of bunting, you'll get that practice very fast!

Put your twill tape on the machine, but don't lower the needle into it yet. Lay the top of your triangle (the side with the 6” base) on top of the tape. You don't want all of your tape to be covered by the base of the flag-- a bit more than half of the tape's width showing is plenty. Less, and your flag might not get caught in the fold; more, and the raw edge will get folded over, too, and poke back out to fray.

We're going to fold the tape in half over the base of the triangle, so when we run our zigzag stitch over it all, the flag will get firmly stitched into the folded tape.

Lower your needle into the folded tape and stitch over the flag. You'll fold the tape in half as you go-- again, no pins! It seriously doesn’t matter if your tape isn’t perfectly folded, as long as the flag is trapped in the stitching. 

Now that you’ve sewn your first flag, don't cut your thread or pull anything off the machine. We're going to stitch as many flags as possible on one pass, so it's time to move on!

Place the next flag

We'll want an empty gap between our flags, because the flags hang wrong if you jam them too close together. A 3-5” gap is good, but believe me, you will have so much bunting that no one will notice if this gap is off by a few inches. So, after you fold the tape over your first flag and stitch it down, keep folding the tape in half and stitch it down for 3-5” before placing your next flag and stitching as before.

Wind your finished bunting

Your yards of bunting will pile up behind your machine really quickly. I highly recommend that, every few yards, you wind your finished strand onto a piece of cardboard to store it. Your bunting will live on this card. When you're putting your bunting up at camp, wind it off this to keep it tidy. When you're breaking down camp, wind your bunting back onto this card so it doesn't turn into a hopeless, tangled mess!

Leave a flag-less tail at the end

When you've run out of flags, finish your bunting by leaving another two feet-ish of “blank” tape at the end of the strand, just like you did at the beginning. Again, this is to facilitate your tying the end to whatever you need.

Go make eeeeeeverything into bunting!

Wasn't that easy? You should totally go make more in different fabrics and color combinations! I want to see Ragnarok absolutely covered with this stuff. Use it to flag your tent ropes so they don't catch drunks! Decorate your camp borders! Use it to tie up troublesome goblins! There are a million ways to use this stuff, which is good-- it's so quick and easy to make that you'll be looking for ways to deploy it.

Remember t’s perfectly fine to make short lengths of bunting. You might have areas in camp that only need short pieces, and you can always tie short lengths together. I make as much bunting as I have the attention span for, then cut it off, wind it up and make more another day. There is no wrong answer, as long as you’re using up scraps and having fun. :)

Thanks for reading. Now, go forth and bunt!

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (26)

Shoutout to you, @edward-kenways .This chapter is brought to you by the vocab word of the day, libido. 

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There’s a chill within the air of the city that hadn’t been there when Eliza had been walking home from work. Crowds of people pass them on either side, wrapped in their own worlds. Life continues around her, but Eliza is not able to comprehend it. Rather, it feels unfair. The air is stale. The city is bleak. She walks at Alexander’s side with her head hung low and the beginnings of conversation fresh on her lips. However, when she parts them there is silence. She cannot express the sudden exhaustion that consumes her.

               Alexander looks between her and the path in front of him, at first with a sure smile etched on his visage. But as Eliza struggles for words, refusing to look at him, his lips fall back into a bleak line. Where he walks with pride and assurance, she seems to drag behind him. For blocks he keeps his eyes on her; shadowed demeanor, muted voice. He knows her head must be swimming-his is, too.

               He realizes then the implications of his actions. Eliza hadn’t said anything to him yet, but in his impulse he had made a rash decision, one that affected them both deeply, her more than himself. Essentially, he supposes, he’s made the decision that they’re moving in together. Temporarily, yes, but without discussion. And in that recognition he can practically feel his mother smacking his arm, scolding him. In this moment, she’d surely be chewing him out. She had never been a fan of his impulsive nature, especially when he’d dug himself into holes with consequences as large as this.

               “Eliza,” He waits until she turns to him, expectant, before continuing. His eyes are wide and searching. “I’m sorry”

               “For what?” She stops in front of her building, turning to face him for the first time. Her eyes are warm, still laced with the remnants of tears from earlier. Eliza holds them in, however, shaking her head. “For letting your friends make their own decision? For standing up for me? You didn’t have to do that”

“I did.”

“You could lose Lafayette as a friend”

“I don’t care.”

“Alexander,”

“Eliza,” Her name hangs in the air between them. Alexander’s hands find their way to her shoulders, thumbs tracing soft lines on them. Her eyes meet his with an apprehension, a loss. Their usual vibrancy is hidden behind a veil of guilt. Between her shaking breath, hands fiddling with the straps of one of his bags, he realizes that she thinks she’s done something wrong.

His heart shatters for her. This is not his Eliza; the trepidation, the redundant apologies. But then, there is no line between his Eliza and the person she had been before him. She is a package, an entire human being made up of flaws and faults, and of the horrors of her past. And those things, the dark and horrifying, are not only a part of her but are what make her who she is. Who she will be. Her quirks and her faults are fibers that weave in and out of each other to create her-her kindness, her heart. And in that web, there she is; the humbled and gentle culmination of memories and the present tense that is Elizabeth Schuyler.

And she stands before him, guilt-ridden and apologetic, as a proof to this theory. And to Alexander, she is a proof that there is still good in the world. Even when faced with darkness she had stood in front of Lafayette, who’d denied her help, and accepted his refusal as an honest and rightful truth. There had been no tears, no fighting. Only forgiveness.

She is so good.

“I love you.” The words spill from his lips before he can think about them-a true testament to his own fervent and unfiltered nature. He is even taken back by them, a physical change in his posture as his shoulders raise, just slightly, before his hand finds the back of his neck.

There’s a piece of Alexander, however small, that wants to take the words back. Not for their dishonesty-no, he’s known for a long time just how deeply he feels for her. From the beginning, even-from the moment her hand touched his that first meeting-he had felt an incredible pull toward her. But there is a sudden stiffness within him, a hot rolling of blood within his veins. His hand presses harder on his neck to disguise their shaking. His is a fear of rejection.

You’re not good enough for her-she’s trying to let you down gently. You’re too obsessive, too much for her. You’re,

The weight of her body in his arms interrupts the barrage of thoughts in his mind, replaces each corner of his anxiety and doubt with traces of her. Her hands on his face, her lips on his-it’s eager, and full. She pulls away abruptly, then, his face still cradled in her hands. There’s life-shining eyes and warmth that pools from within her, reaching and enveloping him in its light, lifting him up.

“You’re perfect,” Her lips find his again. “And I love you too.”

A bombardment of emotions flies in the air around them, between them; ardent. Rapid.  They’re hard to identify as individual feelings, to pin them to one of the pair, due to the way they connect so seamlessly into one cohesive being. She can’t get to her apartment key fast enough, pausing from him only to turn the lock and shut the door behind them. Alexander watches as she kicks off her heels, one fluid motion of raised legs and two identical thunks against the wall.

She pulls him to the couch, then, tripping backwards over its leg and letting his weight topple over her. The laughter that emits from her is soft, sweet. It draws his lips to hers and his body closer, hovering over her with a hand on either side of her face. Even through his gentle nature it is not enough for Eliza-her hands find the back of his neck, pulling him closer until she can feel his weight on top of her. Then they reach for his hair-his ponytail. In a single, light-handed movement she’s taken it from his hair, letting the mass of feathered brown locks spill over his shoulders as her hands find their way through it.

A feather-light touch and dainty, fiddling fingers are suddenly all Alexander can feel as Eliza tugs at the hem of his shirt. He freezes, dream-clouded head suddenly clearing as he pulls away from her. His body still hovers over hers but there is a considerable amount of distance now; he’s propped on one elbow, a hand in her hair, caressing the side of her face.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“Yes.” She tugs a bit harder, lifting up the fabric with calculated movements. His arms are still in the way, purposeful, and she has to pause in her task again to look up at him. Alexander sits up then, only to remove the soft cotton from his skin with the skill of one hand, tossing it over his shoulder. When he lowers himself to meet Eliza again her eyes are rapid, scanning his bare features in an attempt to take it all in at one time. Her hands work as a second sense of its own, making an effort to memorize him in this single moment.

It’s still not enough for Alexander-through words mumbled breathily between kisses pressed along her neck and his fingers sliding down to the scalloped edge of indulgent blue fabric he asks her permission for its removal. She immediately complies, helping him slide the dress from the figure he’d been admiring through its mask.

His hands find their way to her bare skin, connecting to its milky smoothness with a hunger to match her eagerness. And for a moment he lingers, letting his hands and his lips roam freely across their surface. And then, there is nothing.

To Eliza, there is nothing but the sensation-a simple pressure just below her breast that sends a blistering heat throughout her entire body, running through her veins and bubbling over bare skin until it’s consumed her. Her body freezes. Her mind stops.

Her eyes have glossed over, clouded and fixated on the intricate patterns of the ceiling. There are so many, always a new one to discover. At first there was only counting-each bump or ridge along its craftsmanship was assigned a number until she could no longer count-until it was over. Then, as she became more skilled at the technique she had begun to draw shapes in its spaces with her mind; brilliant animals, vibrant scenery of people and foreign places she longed to see. In these moments, with James’s hands holding her to his own ownership, she had become particularly good at this emptiness.

Eliza can her only the pulsing of her blood to her brain-everything else has gone silent, cold. But the drop of temperature soon makes sense to her as the weight removes itself from atop her. As Alexander lays beside her, both hands on her cheeks as his wide eyes grow dark and static with panic-realization.

“Eliza, are you-what’s wrong? We don’t have to do that. I never meant,” He’s interrupted by her eyes, clouds parting and coming back into reality. They’re glassy when she looks at him, blinking back tears that won’t stop coming. And once she’s heard her name, once he’s held her head in his hands with the precaution and safekeeping that has branded him in her mind, the tears won’t stop coming. She sits up, hugging her knees to her bare chest and  hiding her face.

He can still see her shaking-the way her sudden alteration of mood had taken its toll on her.

She feels miserable.

His hand finds its way tentatively to her back. It burns-she jumps. He apologizes. Alexander’s words dust the otherwise silent air between them with a delicate, trying tone. It’s a timbre that fills the room with security, warmth. It dances across her skin with meaning and softness that urges her from her hiding. Her dark hair covers her face when she lifts it, plastered to it by the tear tracks along her cheeks. Alexander reaches forward with a tentative hand-Eliza nods and he brushes the mussed strands from her face before cradling it in his hands once more.

“I’m so sorry.”

She laughs then, soft and sarcastic, with a lighthearted roll of the eyes.

“Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?”

“No.” His gaze hardens and he holds her stare, airy quality within his voice replaced with a baritone warmth; stern, yet tender. “Now it’s my turn to tell you to stop apologizing for yourself.”

She lets herself fall back down onto the bed then, clear exhaustion lining her once eager, blissful frame. He rises from the bed, deliberate and hasty, before he sinks beside her. Soft fabric meets her hand-his shirt. There’s a relief that washes over them, Eliza wrapped in his scent and his arms. It changes the room, the silence; what had once been filled with wonder and anxiety is now creeping its way back to peace. Her eyes are half-closed as her head rests on his chest.

As they lay in the serenity her fingers graze his skin with delicate, dancing movements that dust goosebumps in their path. They stop on his chest, on the space just below his collarbone. There’s delicate writing there, a slanted sort of cursive permanently penned on his skin.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Two,” The delicate and deliberate movement of Eliza’s fingers has made Alexander drowsy, and he answers from within a yawn. “The other one is on my back. This one was my first, the most important.”

“The word?”

“My mother used to call me mijo, I know it’s kind of a typical nickname, not from my name or a word she’d made up, but it always felt like mine. She used to write me letters, just because. She never gave them to me-I never even knew they existed until after she died. It took a long time to get through the letters, pages and pages of my past, of everything she thought about me throughout my entire childhood. I got to see things through her eyes.”

“Is this her handwriting?”

“From her last letter. I wanted it to be something significant. Something real. Having it, it just feels like I have a part of her.”

Eliza traces the letters there with slow, easy movements as she admires the way it looks against his skin. A piece of him, a fixture, its subtle text stands out even more as she listens to the way he tells his story. Her body fits itself closer to his, a tired hand lain across his chest.

“Can you tell me something about her? What was she like?” Alexander’s eyes transfer themselves to another place, another time. As Eliza tips her head to watch him he comes away from that place only to press soft lips on her forehead-her hair. She is consumed with the warmth radiating from the heat of his body-from this new expression she hasn’t seen on him before. She doesn’t take her eyes from him until they’re closed, content, as she drifts to sleep with the echo of his voice in his chest pressed up against her ear.

[roxy-davenport]

Pet

Word Count: 1, 341 (with lyrics)

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

A/N: This was written for @mysteriouslyme81′s Supernatural Music 2016/17 Challenge with the prompt, “Pet” by A Perfect Circle. This isn’t my usual fluffy Crowley fic. This one has a dark edge to it, a darker more psychotic love. Hope you guys like it. :) This is written from Crowley’s POV. I left the ending kind of up in the air on purpose. It’s a bridge between fluff and angst.

Also on AO3

Red plump perfect lips; gorgeous smooth, soft skin and the cutest round face surrounded by a hairstyle that enhances Y/N beauty tenfold. She has fantastic fashion sense and everything she owns makes her body look amazing. In fact, I never and will never have eyes for any other woman. No matter how attractive or useful they are for business, I will always remain faithful to Y/N. I have even stopped kissing for deals. All deals without exception are managed by crossroads demons. I just oversee them if need be. She has my heart and everything good in me. Whenever she enters a room, my heart beats so fast I think it’ll jump out of my chest. One lustful gaze from her and I’m ready to go just like that.  Her lingering touches leave me desperate for more. I hang on every word, listen to every thought in her adorable head. I’m not naïve or foolishly hopeful. I know that she will never be mine really and truly but I can’t live without her. And I’m too selfish to let her go. I would rather see the world burn than lose her.

Y/N has a calm energy, perfect for me. So sweet and innocent and pure. I have no idea what she sees in me but something in me draws her to me. Her whole essence keeps me coming back for more. I don’t deserve her and I know I could lose her at any moment. No matter how many times I claim her, how many times I make love to her, she’ll always be someone else’s.

Dean has his sights set on her. Then again, he has his sights set on any pretty woman, no surprise he wants Y/N. I am very careful to monitor their interactions and make sure he doesn’t talk to her for too long. Everything he says, though, has a flirty edge to it. I can’t imagine how he thinks he has a chance. Don’t I make it bloody blatantly obvious that I’m with Y/N? Really? We were besties! Good god, Dean’s a daft wanker. (out of his cotton-picking mind. OR confound him.) Why is he trying to take her away from me? Doesn’t he see how much I love her? How much I need her in my life? I would fight to the ends of the earth to keep her by my side.

Pay no mind what other voices say

They don’t care about you

Like I do

Like I do

Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils

See they don’t give a fuck about you

Like I do

Y/N is quiet the curious girl and eventually will put two and two together as she’s done several times before. Somehow she always figures out who I really am and every time she can’t accept me. Imagine how it feels to love someone with all your being and know they will never love you back. The sheer horror and terror on her face last time was enough to kill me. Y/N actually ran from me. She thought me a monster. And without her I really am. I am capable of such darkness and suffering and only she tempers my hand. She is my hope for the future, my white picket fence. My chance to have love and be loved in return.

Don’t fret precious I’m here

Step away from the window

Go back to sleep

 Lay your head down child

I won’t let the boogeyman come

Counting bodies like sheep

To the rhythm of the war drums

Pay no mind to the rabble

Pay no mind to the rabble

Head down, go to sleep

To the rhythm of the war drums

Am I wrong keeping her from Dean? From someone she might be truly happy with? He doesn’t need her like I do though. And even if I were able to let her go, which I’m not, how do I know she’ll be happy with him? How do I know Dean won’t just move on to someone else? He’s not one for putting down roots like I am.

I actually kidnaped an angel and locked it in my one of my cells. I gave clear orders to my demons to let him be and surprisingly they listened. Whenever the poor dove remembers or figures out who I really am, I have birdbrain down there erase her memory. I’m told I can’t keep doing this. Her mind won’t take too many more “treatments” as I call it. Eventually I will have to come to terms with the fact that we are not meant to be. But I will never be able to accept that. I love with such abandon with ever fiber of my being that if we ever came to the end of the line, god help everyone. I would be a mess. I would never be able to love anything else again. It would break my heart. I pray that I don’t make her a demon or destroy the world or something else heinous. I pray that in that moment her goodness, her purity, rubs off on me and I just let her go even if it kills me. She is the reason for everything – my entire life.

I know that I love too fiercely. I love with a love that will damn us both. I’m ruined. Dean will wage war on hell to get to her and fighting him will likely splitter my kingdom. The King fighting a human for a human. I can see it now.

Just stay with me

Safe and ignorant

Go back to sleep

Go back to sleep

 Lay your head down child

I won’t let the boogeyman come

Count the bodies like sheep

To the rhythm of the war drums

Pay no mind to the rabble

Pay no mind to the rabble

Head down, go to sleep

To the rhythm of the war drums

In the beginning she always loves me, always. But the man I am with her isn’t exactly who I am. My demons never come around. They are only allowed to call or text when I’m at home with her. Somehow she always figures out who I am. This time I have sigils everywhere; Juliet remains invisible watching over my Queen. My men are nowhere in sight. I even took the week off just to spend more time with her.

I’ll be the one to protect you from

Your enemies and all your demons

I’ll be the one to protect you from

A will to survive and a voice of reason

I’ll be the one to protect you from

Your enemies and your choices son

One and the same I must isolate you

Isolate and save you from yourself

 Swaying to the rhythm of the new world order and

Count the bodies like sheep

To the rhythm of the war drum

The boogeymen are coming

The boogeymen are coming

Keep your head down go to sleep

To the rhythm of the war drums

I find her by the window just staring out at the snow, such a peaceful gaze upon that gorgeous face. She hears my footsteps and slowly turns around beaming at me. I could live in that smile. I return a smile and hug her tightly, feeling loved in this moment. I place a kiss on her forehead and usher her to bed. I can see a curious gaze on her face and I worry about the future. I need her safe in this bed, snuggling with me. No need to make any choices or think about anything. No outside forces pulling us apart. It’s just her and me against the world. I close my eyes and relish this feeling, hoping that somehow it will be different this time and when she finds out, she’ll choose to love me back.

 Stay with me

Safe and ignorant

Just stay with me

Hold you and protect you from the other ones

The evil ones

Don’t love you son

Go back to sleep

Tagging

Forevers: @killerofthesouth, @charliebradbury1104, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @chelsea072498, @everyday-supernatural-af, @kalliravenne, @loveitsallineed, @toogardenenthusiast, @winchesterprincessbride @one-shots-supernatural, @take-me-tonirvana, @hellsmother, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @faegal04, @deals-with-demons

Crowley Folks: @wayward-mirage, @singingflames, @vintagevalentinexx, @thinkwritexpress, @mysupernaturalfics, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan, @growleytria, @samtomydeanwinchester, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @kayteonline, @faith-in-dean, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @feelmyroarrrr, @itsemmyb, @samtomydeanwinchester, @crzcorgi, @for-the-love-of-dean, @salvachester. @deerlululucy, @beachy2014, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @sunriserose1023, @sis-tafics, @thegleegeneration, @impossible-box, @katnharper, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @babypieandwhiskey, @wayward-mirage, @ferferelli, @katnharper, @crzcorgi, @deerlululucy, @manawhaat, @iridianuniverse, @chrisatplay, @jotink78, @notnaturalanahi, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @helvonasche, @impala-dreamer, @frenchybell, @cici0507, @captain-princess-rose  @memariana91, @chrisatplay, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @blushingsamgirl, @bkwrm523, @for-the-love-of-dean, @deansleather, @supernatural-jackles, @ilovedean-spn2, @jpadjackles, @wi-deangirl77, @fandommaniacx, @writingbeautifulmen, @mysaintsasinner, @winchester-writes, @bkwrm523, @whispersandwhiskerburn, @ferferelli, @lilyoflothlorien, @supermoonpanda, @deathtonormalcy56, @not-so-natural-spn, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @jpadjackles, @wi-deangirl77, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @memariana91, @ilovedean-spn2, @mysaintsasinner, @maraisabellegrey, @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell

[kyqyo4-blog]

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Crisper when compared with the typical off-the-shelf punta you’ll find at the retail store, a duty bordo offers many associated with the same functions involving a uniform shirt yet in a relaxed however professional fit that allows you move in addition to continues you cooler through all those hot weather activities. What exactly should you look for when choosing a bordo that works best to get you? Propper's I. C. E. Functionality Polo is available for men and even women police officers in short and extended fleshlight sleeves as well as AMERICAN NATIONAL STANDARDS INSTITUTE III reflective. Propper's I actually. C. E. Overall performance Punta is obtainable for men together with women regulation enforcement officials in short and very long covers as well like ANSI III reflective. Propper International Features Off-the-shelf polos are certainly not created for the particular exclusive needs associated with legislation observance. They may end up being just the thing for golf outings or perhaps laid-back day at this office, but if you’re like most officers, a large portion of your day is used aside from the station and not over a golf training course. You need a good punta that fits the troubles within your daily routine. Very good duty polos have some of the same efficient characteristics as your button-down patrol tshirt, such like pen channels around the adjustable rate mortgage, reinforced microphone video poker machines in the shoulders, and some sort of sunglass/bodycam loop on the front. Product Polo climate is summer and you’ll be excessive sweating – a good lot. So , the punta should be humidity wicking to keep you interesting and dry. Moisture-wicking fabrics pull sweat away coming from skin and enable that in order to evaporate, leaving you cooler including your shirt free of cost of unsightly perspire signifies. While cotton might seem chillier because it tends to be able to be light-weight, synthetic components such as cotton together with poly/cotton blends are much much better than natural fibers only at wicking moisture considering that the synthetic fiber spreads often the moisture across a broader area, exposing it for you to more sunlight and consequently far better evaporation. Synthetic components also tend to maintain their appearance longer more than continuous put on and washings, keeping clothing looking a great deal more professional as they’re worn out over time. Longer lasting equals less spending on fresh shirts. To reduce the fact that dreaded on-duty stink, search for tops with antimicrobial fiber or treatment. Sweating doesn’t stink on their own, although when the idea combines with bacteria and even other components outside the body, that’s when you start in order to smell not so fantastic. Collar The first thing people sees on your current polo will be the collar since it’s appropriate beneath your own face. The idea must seem good. A good patrol polo collar should rest without problems with no upturned corners plus accommodate a good badge owner chain underneath. Ordinarily, the particular collar tab stay put through either stiff stays made in to the collar or some sort of individually distinct button underneath every single hook to prevent blowing in the wind flow. Longevity From patrol activities in order to special assignments, duty polos are often worn inside severe environments. They include to experience various situations, which include put on under as well as over body battle suits. Typically the materials needs to endure against all these problems. Look at how well often the material resists snags. To get instance, what happens in case you accidentally rub the catch side of the catch and loop seal associated with your armor against the particular human body or sleeve involving the fundamento? Does it snag or take? Just what if you bump way up against a brick wall membrane youre using for deal with? How about laundering? Does the particular material supplement up immediately after repeated flushes? Length Just simply like your more basic patrol uniform jacket, your polo needs to stay tucked for two causes: it appears to be more professional and you are going to likely wear a obligation belt with it. Dedicated patrol polos usually are generally more, so they will stay tucked more readily, preventing the awkward together with most likely hazardous need to re-tuck your shirt just for the reason that you stood or sitting low. Whatever duty project a person work, make guaranteed the polo anyone have on is the polo you may need.