chaos method

Wolf Of Antimony's Master List Links

Wolf Of Antimony’s Master list for Spells, Rituals, Methods, Techniques, Skills, Practices, and references :

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1a8nSw1D6yizKa3EaeHpUjAbDzAkd2FWTeA5V5b5y88M/edit#gid=0

Wolf Of Antimony’s Master list for sigils :

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1m9vUCQcK8uX8O8yRoSHMkM9kKydBukSTKpO1OdWwCF0/edit#gid=0

Wolf Of Antimony’s Master list for Quotes, Questions, and chats :

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1vAfT_vugkUD0Qgg1bLNiGv70UZ8NUcjln7BaRZb3FfI/edit#gid=0

2

Requested Anonymously | Sentence Prompt


“How did you get in my bed?” you asked, because it was the most reasonable question you could think of in you moment of shock.

The Doctor was on your bed. Or, more accurately, in your bed, comfortably buried in a deliberately shaped nest of pillows and blankets that were arranged in a just so way that could only be described as methodic chaos. And it was annoyingly adorable.

It might have been more reasonable to ask something like, “How did you get in my room?” or “What are you doing in here?” or even “What the frick-frack-paddy-whack-snick-snack do you think you’re doing?” But the question you should have asked, the most useful and to-the-point inquiry, would have been, “Why are you in my bed?” Because, really, that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

But there was the Doctor, curled up in a nest of blankets on your bed, and you were a little too blindsided by the sight of him to think about what the best question would be. 

“Shhh,” the Doctor hissed softly, burrowing further into his next with shuddering half-gasp-half-yawn. “M'tired.”

“You’re tired in the wrong room,” you informed him.

The Doctor huffed. “M'not. M'home.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and began to rub at the headache that you knew would form if the Doctor kept this up. You could already feel (or, you imagined that you could) the annoying little twinge of pain in your grey matter that flared whenever the Doctor was being incredibly stupid for no reason. When he had a reason, that was fine! You could work with that! If he had a reason, then you could negotiate the terms of his surrender (or yours, depending on how cranky he was, and you were good with compromises). But if he was doing this just because… there would be no living with him until the phase was over.

Although… you had to admit that this was… really kind of cute.

“You’re not a cat,” you told the Doctor, although you spoke in a softer tone generally reserved for sleepy children, “and just because the TARDIS is yours doesn’t mean everything in it is meant to be napped on.”

The Doctor opened one green eye to observe you sleepily. He immediately shut it, scrunching his whole face as he yawned again.

Home,” he said, pressing closer to you to make a point. What that point was, you weren’t sure.

You were sure that the Doctor was just confused, or that going two weeks without sleep had made him loopy. Saying ‘home’ didn’t make sense. The whole TARDIS was his home, not your bedroom or… or…

Or…

Well. The whole TARDIS was his home and that was all, because he couldn’t mean… what it seemed like he meant.. So… if he really wanted to sleep in here, then…

“Yeah, sure,” you said, giving him a share of your blanket and resting an arm over his chest. He squirmed happily. “You’re home.”

4

How to sigil:
So a few of you have asked me about my method for making sigils, so heres an overview of my most recent sigil!
Disclaimer: This is not the only way to make sigils! There are dozens of methods, this is just my personal favourite. I encourage all of you to try multiple methods and see which ones work best for you!
1) My first step is to come up with a good, clear, and strong statement of intent. “Will” is usually too nebulous and won’t happen when you want it to, and “no"s are often not the greatest, though with enough intent, the lines get a little grey for those two points. Generally, its safe to say while they’re not a good idea, they’re also not a “never ever do it” kinda thing. This is chaos magic after all, it doesn’t much care for your rules. However, word it like instructions to a mischievous child who likes to find loopholes and you’re usually set.
2) Next, I pick out a few repeated shapes. They dont have to be full letters,but for example the curve of a r or an h or an n could be one element. I’ll sketch out a couple variations of their combinations till I get one I’m happy with. This is largely intuitive, and you don’t absolutely need to include every detail you picked out. These are just a starting point, let your feel and knowledge of magic influence your design, and feel what the sigil wants to be, so you don’t have to fight it when you’re trying to make it look good. A lot of the balance of the sigil will come intuitively with some practice.
3) Once I’ve selected one design I’m going to stick with, I do a good copy in strongly weighted lines, and adjust the alignment till it feels right. Again, this is very intuitive, don’t get too stressed out it they don’t match your sketch exactly. You don’t need a perfect tracing of it. Let it flow intuitively. If your inner voice isn’t happy, keep working until it is and it feels right. The better it feels to you, the stronger your connection to it.
4) I add a pretty textured background from my file of backgrounds and if I need to, add a more solid bit of the background colour behind the text to make it more readable, or sometimes a bit of white or black to make the contrast stronger

And that’s it! Happy sigiling!

Introduction to Sigil Magic I

One of the most flexible and adaptable methods of operative magic to enter into regular practice among contemporary magicians is the practice of sigil magic. At the same time, a tremendous amount of nonsense and bad advice has been offered within the general literature of sigil magic leading to over emphasis upon the idiosyncratic elements of the key figures in the approaches development and popularization. 

At its simplest level sigils magic involves the isolation of a specific, narrowly focused desire which is encoded and magically transmitted in some fashion. As such it is a perfect example of how the Semiotic Theory of Magic operates. The methods of encoding are limited purely to the imagination of the magician. In order to understand how desire is isolated, encoded, upon and transmitted we will focus for now on the most common method, the so-called “word method.”

 To begin using the word method you will need to create a Statement of Intent. This should be a short declaration of the new reality you are bringing into being by your act of magic. Your intent can be for internal conditions within your own being or external life conditions. 

For our example of this practice, I will begin with a Statement of Intent for an internal condition 

I CALL INTO BEING COMPOSURE IN ADVERSITY. 

Once the Statement of Intent is clearly written and feels authentic to you look it over to eliminate any repeated letters. In doing so with the example Statement this process yields: 

I, C, A, L, N, T, O, B, E, G, M, P, R, U, A, D, V, S, Y 

These remaining characters will become the basis for creating a personal image which encodes the desire of your Statement of Intent. This is best done through iterations, starting with images that look most like the original characters and eventually become more abstract yet still resonant with your intent.

 Once you have gone through a few iterations and are comfortable with the design feel free to add any embellishments that help make it feel right for you.

Now that your desire has been encoded in a sigil the next step is to transmit it through a significant life experience involving emotional intensity and completion. How you chose to transmit your sigil should be resonant with your intention. For desires of a sexual nature for example methods of masturbation such as that suggested in The Satanic Bible would be appropriate. For destruction workings, the placing of the sigil on a piece of ceramic which can be shattered and the pieces scattered somewhere in the enemies path. For the example sigil above created for composure, it could be baked into a small cookie that is eaten in a preplanned moment of adversity, like preparing to ride a particularly scary roller coaster. 

One of the sillier superstitions to develop around sigil magic is the idea that for sigils to work they must be completely forgotten about once charged. Selective amnesia is not, contrary to these voices, a magical virtue. Rather than attempting to forcibly forget your sigils consider cultivating an attitude which Peter J. Carroll referred to as “non-attachment/non-disinterest.” It is important to not be attached to your magical operation, or its results, if you wish to gain anything from the practice of magic. If you are clinging to your assumed outcomes you will miss the far more likely and mysterious aspect of your actual results. At the same time, you should not be disinterested in your outcomes. You need to be engaged enough with them to be able to take advantage of the new conditions that arise as a result of your magic.

What will happen if we “carry on like before”? 

In the upcoming 30 years, Europeans will no longer be the majority in Europe. Muslims will be. This is a mathematical fact you can learn from official demographic statistics showing birth rates. Now, what does this mean? 
With the time muslims will also form own political parties and they will win (because they are the majority). They will make up the majority of officials and ministers as well as policemen and soldiers. Most muslims don’t support terror, allthough it is clear that most of them (I am not talking about those you visit university with) don’t care or even celebrate it, because western civilisation is their enemy. They are not even to blame for it and it is mostly our own fault, because we support liberal capitalist governments who - under the cloak of so called “humanity” - bomb and destabilise foreign countries and leave them in ruins*. Now those governments are the same who lecture you about “political correctness”, “equality”, “multicultural diversity” and so on. In other words: they make you weak, which is something muslims know and they hate us for it, because it is natural to do so. If your homeland is bombed by a “culture” consisting of fat ugly people spending their time with TV, cinema, concerts, parties, Mc Donald’s, just all in connection with decadent, disgusting hedonism - what would you think?
The next reason why western civilisation is the enemy of muslims is - surprise - Islam. This is another fact and you can scream and cry as much as you want. Islam is, just like abrahamic religions in general, a universalist religion, which means its main goal is to conquer the world. The god is considered the only one and every human has to acknowledge it and subjugate to his (man-made) laws. You can get rid of your peace-and-love-concept here, because that’s not what it is about. Also it is not the best strategy to just believe what muslim politicians tell you on TV. You would be surprised how many of them have connections to the Muslim Brotherhood and they are not stupid. They know what to say in front of the typical liberal, they know about the weakness.

So, what will happen?
Muslims don’t even need war to conquer Europe, they can do it by migration and it doesn’t even matter if the migrants intend to do so, if they come here for economic reasons, they still take part in the demographic replacement. 
But still there are of course also thousands of Jihadists already in Europe and more will come, because we just let them in. Terror will increase. The next step will be militiant groups who start a real “civil” war (not really civil war, because they are no Europeans and civil war means a war within a homogeneous state) against Europeans. They will then receive support by official (now muslim) governments in Europe, like they do now in Syria, Iraq, etc., where they receive support from Saudia Arabia and Turkey. 
At the same time, there will be more and more laws according to Islam, making it the official religion of the European nations. Schools will teach it, European children will have to take part in it. One day everyone in Europe will be a muslim. All you know and love will be gone. 

You think this is hate speech or a conspiracy theory?
Well, pagans never thought their children would be christians one day. If you read about the the Christian mission in Europe you will realise what I am telling you. Today it is even easier, because of the technological possibilities. 

What do I want from you? 
Realise that Europe is your mother and home you have to love, realise that the present course will destroy it and realise that a few decades of liberal ideology didn’t find the absolute truth about “humanity” and didn’t lead to world peace, but to total chaos. They are trying to control that chaos by methods that will remind you of Orwells “1984″. Realise also that these politicians are traitors who want to build a liberal one-world oder and for that purpose they oppress their own people. They are not interested in culture, meaning they are not interested in the only thing that gives real value to human beings. Modern individualism is a lie. It is creating empty consumption drones with no identity. This is the definition of the worthless individual. Don’t you already see it when walking trough the streets?


Also see my other posts and questions I answered regarding politics and culture.


*here of course it is required to say that it is not western countries alone, but muslim nations destroy each other, like the Saudis do, e.g. in Syria. You still believe Assad is an evil dictator? Then you have a problem with indoctrination by media, because it’s a lie. 

Reader/Gadreel for @icecream-and-gadreel.

Apparently, some anonymous individuals have been sending unwarranted hate and negativity to this otherwise amazing human being [excpet when she crushes our souls with her fanfiction].

So @icecream-and-gadreel, this is to remind you of all the people who do love and care for you on this platform; and to all the anons sending the hate - may Gabriel have mercy on your damaged souls.

I have never written Gadreel before so hopefully, I didn’t botch his character too much and make this unreadable. May this bring you some comfort and maybe even a smile.


Christ on a cracker, humans could be so cruel. Vampires, ghosts and zombies you understood; they had predictable motives – feed, spawn, kill, repeat. Humans, however, they could rip your heart out and drain your soul without touching you – without even ever laying sight of you.

You didn’t want to stare at the screen anymore – the hollow pit in your stomach expanded each time a new comment appeared; though at the same time, there was a sick curiosity of what would be said next – how would they top the last degrading insult?

A ping signalled a new message; the high-pitched noise whispering a sense of dread and helplessness in your darkened room. As it had repeatedly, the twisted part of your thoughts had you moving the cursor before the rational thoughts of your dimming self-worth could protest the damage these typed words were doing to you.

Just as you clicked the message icon, the screen went black – no forced shut down, no flickering, no blue screen of death; just lit one moment, black the next. What the hell…

Enough. The mental caress was firm but undemanding – and unexpected.

Gadreel? I though you promised to stay out of mine and the Winchesters’ heads.

Apologies [your name], you, however, were projecting; and I refuse to let you procced in emotionally torturing yourself. The physical echoing of physical warmth skimmed the skin of your arms – producing pleasant goosebumps. I believe this is one of those moments you referred to as save me from myself.

A content sigh parted your lips. You’re right. You could feel his barely contained smugness tickling at your surface thoughts. I miss you, wish you were here.

The echoed sensations running up and down your arms ran down to your wrists one last time before brushing over the exposed skin of your neck and stomach. I grow restless without your company also. Sam informs me that the last of the vampires of the nest will be dealt with in the morning. I believe he and Dean are growing aware of not just mine but Castiel’s desperation to return to the bunker – my brother appears distraught without the presence of Giblet.

The only happy breeze to lift the corners of your lips that evening occurred as you though of the stoic, blue-eyed angel and his unwavering devotion to the pet gerbil he had rescued from a witch’s sacrificial spell during a case.

Your joy is beautiful. You felt his subsequent joy caress the inner walls of your mind. I sense, however, a lingering pain. Perhaps after the conclusion of this case, I will procure the dairymen human females enjoy during times of emotional turmoil?

You mean Ben and Jerry ice-cream? Gad, that’s for when you are dumped or heartbroken over a crush.

Humans, so many abstract rules and concepts: don’t wear white after the first Monday of the month of September, breaking reflective glass results in misfortune for approximately seven earth years, beware of computer goblins…”

Your chuckle reverberated throughout your body. It’s internet trolls – and I am pretty sure Lucifer invented trolling.

While my brother has contributed to many cruel partitions – the creation of an anonymous method of chaos is more indicative of Gabriel.

In that moment, the weight of the spiteful words from an electronic screen became a little less meaningful as you realised that you didn’t need two dairy carton guys – all you needed was this angel; the only person’s opinion that truly mattered.

youtube

Also nobody tell Eiffel about Csikós Post because it’s basically a catchy anthem of chaos and unconventional methods.

So basically the theme of Wolf 359. 

anonymous asked:

A witch recommended spending at least 1-2 years practising meditation, and reading about black magic, in general, before delving into necromancy. What's your take on this suggestion? I've come to understand that meditation is a key part to this practise. But isn't 1-2 years a bit excessive? I'm curious, is learning about shamanism, chaos magic, other divination methods (not only necromancy), satanic magic, etc, something that you would recommend as well?

1-2 years is excessive. Truly if one is motivated, the basics can be learned in the timeframe of 1-4 months. While meditation is a key part of any magic+ necromancy for the most part does not make use of it. For basic evocation and most spells, a solid focus is all one needs, because necromancy focuses less on the mind and more on tangible changes and results. That is to say, you don’t need to clear your mind to hear the dead when they have been properly summoned and bound, it simply helps improve the strength of the conjuration and binding.

As for other forms of magic you should look into:
Enchanting (imbuing, blessing, charging, whatever you wish to call it).
At least studying “angelic/demonic” evocation from books like the lemegeton, red dragon and arguably the most important Munich manual of Necromantic magics.
Hoodoo (not voodoo).
Hexing & Healing magics.
Vampirism .
Thoughtform/Servitors.
As for divination, learn Skrying, Pendulums, Augury (especially helpful for locating carrion), Haruspicy and “Bone rolling”.

Best of luck
-S.

“It is so quiet out here, it is the quietest place in the world.”
- Stalker, 1979

1.) Old Silver Key - What Once Was and Will Never Happen Again  ||  2.) Hammock - Tornado Warning  ||  3.) Antropophobia - Beauty of Chaos  ||  4.) Aural Method - Inside Its Cloak the Ocean Tide Held Songs of Restless Beasts  ||  5.) Deafheaven - Windows  ||  6.) myuu - Disintegrating  ||  7.) Falloch - Solace  ||  8.) Fen - Reflections  ||  9.) Vitaliy Sytnikтиша долонь  ||  10.) Shadows of the Fallen - Desert of Dead Souls  ||  11.) Sylvan Circle - The Pale Blue Dot  ||  12.) Self-Inflected Violence - Realisation

Genres    post-rock, post-black metal, black metal, shoegaze, ambient

Listen to it h e r e

So I’m thinking of designing a sigil to hex Trump and his fascist supporters and I’m looking for some input. 

With my sigils I usually use the Austin Osman Spare/Chaos magick method of deleting repeating letters and vowels to come up with a string of consonants to sigilize the desire. What I’m looking for is input on is unique phrases to sigilize. I would not mind creating multiple sigils for this project.

What a lot of other chaotes recommend, and what I’ve found works best in my craft, is to not include any negatives in my statement of intent. So for instance, a sigil is of “Trump will not win the election” has the potential to backfire and manifest the desire or “Trump will win the election”. Not all sigil makers agree on this but I have found personally that my desires are more likely to manifest in a sigil with a positive action statement of intent so I try to avoid words such as “no”, “not”, and “never” in my sigils.

So far what I’ve come up with is:

“Donald Trump will feel the wrath of his own barbarity”

“Donald Trump will lose everything”

“The workers of the world will crush Donald Trump and his supporters”

All of the sigils I design for the this project will be available for other magick practitioners to cast and experiment with in their own craft. We’ve got to do everything we can to stop this fucker from winning. He’s only gotten this far by directly tapping into the ignorance and fear of white america. The mass psychology of fascism is alive and well in this election and as antifascists occultists we must do everything in our power to curse this bourgeois demon back to hell where he belongs.

anonymous asked:

I'm a little confused as to how Damian came back?

Well let me see if I can help you out, anon!

Damian died in Batman Inc #8, and was buried (along with Talia) an issue later– but that didn’t last long. Shortly after that, Bruce discovered that both of their graves have been disturbed, and their bodies were missing. He wasn’t real happy about it. The obvious candidate for that bit of grave robbery was Ra’s, seeing as the bodies in question were his daughter and grandson, and– depending on your version– the al Ghuls already had a history of tampering with the Wayne graves. Here’s the thing though:

Ra’s kind of has an obsession with rebirth. I guess that happens when you’ve been Lazarus juicing for a couple of centuries. He doesn’t really see death as something that applies to him or his family, so he was pretty set on resurrecting the pair of them. Also erasing most of their personalities and bending them to his will but you know… it’s casual. Anyway. 

Ra’s wanted to bring them both back. He had a site that he was pretty sure was a Lazarus Pit, and he was road tripping the fam over that ‘a way for a rebirthing party. If that had happened a couple of issues before, Bruce might have been okay with it– Batman & Robin #19-23 is about his own quest for resurrection options and closure– but by that point, he’d made his peace with Damian’s death. He wasn’t a fan of the League of Assassins Resurrection Plot™, so he ran off to stop it. He and Ra’s fought about it for a bit, but then things got kind of weird.

These dudes from Apokolips (Darkseid’s planet) showed up. I don’t know how much you know about Apokolips, anon, but I’ll just say that it’s kind of a hell pit. A hell pit with giant inhabitants and alternative technology that seems to be based pretty heavily on the manipulation of energy. That’ll be important later.

So these guys showed up and started asking for a fragment of the chaos shard, which rightfully belonged to their planet and needed to be returned. Bruce was kind of ?? about it, but Ra’s knew where the shard was hidden– inside Damian’s sarcophagus. I’m not totally sure why he had it. A chaos shard is a method for amplifying energy, so maybe he was planning some experiments later. You tell me, I guess.

They all fought for a bit, and the Apokoliptic faction ended up on top– they took Damian’s sarcophagus back to Apokolips with them. And then Bruce went a lil crazy.

Apokolips is a very scary and dangerous place– the JLA actually spend a fair amount of their time trying to avoid it– so when Bruce showed up at the Watchtower asking for a boom tube over there, the League wasn’t okay with it. They basically told him that he wasn’t allowed to go, and they tried to block him from the technology he would need to make the trip. Obviously, Bruce wasn’t going to let that stop him– he just asked the Gotham clan to cause a distraction while he jacked the tube.

So Jason, Tim, and Barbara lured the JLA out of the tower. The were supposed to just wait for Bruce to get back after that, but they chose to find their own way to Apokolips as well– then all four of them fought their way through the planet to get Damian’s body back. Titus was there too. It was pretty cool.

Anyway, they managed to pull it off, but– important bit– during Bruce’s confrontation with Darkseid, the chaos shard in Damian’s sarcophagus got hit with some omega energy. Remember that the shard amplifies energy sources, and Apokoliptic technology isn’t normal– it’s super shady and magical and basically not science. So Bruce took the shard, which was basically overflowing with energy, and literally stabbed Damian’s corpse with it.

And bingo! Small, superpowered, but very alive child. It should be noted that Bruce knew that would happen. It wasn’t an impulse thing. That would be weird.

Invoking Desire

“Iridescent Ovum of the World Nexus, Angel of Power, Radiant Orchid of Flames, Illuminate this Temple of the Altar of Beauty, Love and Ecstasy! Builder of the Universal Simulacrum, Imbue with Nascent Energy My Sacred Song!”


Before using a mantra spell (I usually combine these with a sigil as well), I like to preface the act with a verbal encryption of my statement of intent in a prosaic fashion.


I will take each letter of each word in the statement (the same from which I have numerophonetically extracted the mantra using the Key of Naming) and write a sort of acrostic invocation to my desire (that most insistent and powerful of all human deities).


I have capitalized the letters of the intent and written them as nouns, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs. I do not include pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions, or interjections but do use them to bridge the incantation together into something sensible.


I find the result sets a mood and helps prepare the mind for the work at hand and can be sung or chanted as a mantric sigil on its own. Can you discern my desire here?

Copyright Jason Tiffany

5sos Preference - The Little Things

“And now you’ve got the best of me…So let me give you what you need.” -Green Light

Calum: The back of his arm resting loosely behind your headrest, Calum twisted his torso, head angled in order to back out the drive way. “You excited for our little road trip?” He asked, smiling at you. Embracing your childish mood, you stole Calum’s ray bans and traded them for your aviators before giggling in response, “Heck yeah! Six hours of nothing but my man, junk food, and the open road.” The contagious aura of excitement filled the air, the pair of you passing the time by making random faces at nearby cars at red lights, snacking on bags upon bags of chips, and indulging in brief kisses between stop signs. After driving for quite a while, the radio’s reception began to falter, indicating that the two of you were far from home. Fiddling with the dial, you pouted “I can’t find a good radio station. God forbid I have to actually hear you sing with no music to drown you out.” Playfully reprimanding you by tapping his index finger against the tip of your nose, he clutched the steering wheel with one hand and used the hand nearest to you to gesture in the general area of the dashboard. “I’m pretty sure my iPod is in there somewhere. You can hook it up.”, because Calum was the pretentious sort, his need to organize music was so great that his poor phone wouldn’t be able to handle the plethora of songs jammed in his music library and so therefore had to resort to archaic methods, hence his beloved iPod. Rummaging past disorganized chaos (“Seriously Calum, what happens if we get pulled over? How would you find your registration papers amidst all this chaos?” “There’s a method to my madness” “You heard Michael saying that didn’t you? Is that where you got that phrase?” “You don’t know anything about me or my life.” “I’ll take that as a yes”) Withdrawing your hand from the messy inside of the dashboard with most of your limb intact, you cradled the iPod in your palm, your fingers scrolling through hairline fractures on the screen searching for a song to play, while absentmindedly stroking Calum’s intertwined hand with your thumb. “What playlist is this? It doesn’t have a title, just a heart?” you inquired, your finger poised over the screen. Sparing you a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road, he answered “Oh that. Forgot about that. It’s a playlist I made for you. Has all your favorite songs in it, even that one Justin Bieber one that I can’t stand. Feel free to play that playlist thou – What? Why are you looking at me like that?” “This may be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever done for me. You made a playlist of all my favorite songs, ones that include songs that you don’t like, for me?” His cheeks flaring with a reddish hue, he mumbled “S’not a big deal. Just something for me to listen that reminds me of you when I’m missing you. Like a little piece of you for me to have when I’m on tour y’know?” Your eyes clouded with adoration and endearment and your heart emitted an intangible burst of warmth that radiated through your chest at the love and sweetness behind his words and actions. Reaching up to entangle your hands, grabbing his and resting it upon the gear shift, you professed, “You’re like the sweetest thing ever. Big softie behind that punk rock exterior”

Ashton: Attending the same uni as your boyfriend was great, but the fact that your boyfriend was two years older than you meant that the two of you didn’t have any classes together, which obviously was not so great. Given the fact it was currently the week of midterms, you two had even less time to spend with one another (you were often found scrambling through the campus, running past coffee induced zombies posing as college students as you tried to make your way from class to class, your arms usually pressing homework, essays, assignments and the sorts against your chest as the safety of your academic work was more important that your physical being. And Ashton would often spend nights grading papers, as per the quota of his obligation as a Teaching Assistant, staying up during the nights, burning oil –except not really, because it was the 21st century and electricity was a common invention, kudos to Edison – and he often would greet the mornings with bleary eyes and soft groans, before rolling around and falling right back to sleep). One particular night, you bitterly wrapped your scarf around your neck even tighter as you left the building, wading your way through fellow students, biting your lips to shield them from chapping against the harsh winds. You had just finished one of your night classes, and you were internally groaning at the thought of all the homework and studying you had yet to do, all the obligations that were awaiting you for when you returned to your dorm. Mentally planning to forgo dinner, grab your necessary textbooks and to make a quick getaway to the library to get some work done (because as much as you loved your roommate, her snoring left little to no room for concentration), you turned the corner to your street and bumped into a pair of broad shoulders. Stepping back in a slight daze from the impact, you looked up to be greeted by the sight of familiar dimples. “Ashton! What’re you doing here?” Grinning at you with a smile so bright that it made up for the lack of illumination from the sub-par flickering streetlamp, he handed you a thermos, and looped his arms with yours and began leading you down the street – the opposite way from your dorm. Bending down to officially greet you with a peck on the lips, he answered, “C’mon, off to the library we go. I’ve made you some hot cocoa, with six marshmallows just the way you like it, and I’ve got all your books and such in my backpack – your roommate let me in.” Opening your mouth to protest, he interrupted with an abrupt, “oh yeah! Got you some dinner too, it’s just my left overs but I figured you didn’t eat, again.” Eyeing the container of food he handed you, you stated suspiciously, “Funny. If it’s your leftovers, how come the bowls full? And if the food was originally meant for you, why’s there shrimp in here? Odd isn’t it? Given the fact that you hate seafood and all and that I happen to love it.” Raising his hands up in mock surrender, he laughed “Okay, okay. You caught me. I got the food specifically for you. I know that you’ve been skipping meals to study and my baby needs to eat!” Smiling at your loving boyfriend, you questioned, “but aren’t you tired?” knowing that Ashton usually got about three hours of sleep, and that was on days where he had light coursework. Wrapping his arms around you to shield you from the biting cold air, he responded, “the day that I’m too tired to walk my girl, to keep her safe at night, is the day that my name will no longer be Ashton Fletcher Irwin,”  placing his hand against his chest, fingers splaying over his ribcage for dramatic emphasis. Giggling at the antics of the silly boy beside you, you grabbed his scarf to pull his face lower to level with yours before thanking him with a kiss, your lips over his, before whispering, “You’re too good to me.”

Michael: Giggling from the excitement of the nights, still high off the thrill of the post-concert haze, you sloppily leaned your frame against Michael’s body, effectively using his lanky figure for support and warmth. “You had a good time then, yeah?” he inquired with a bemused expression, his lips tilting in a slight smirk as he threw an arm around you. “The best time,” you responded, throwing your hands up in giddiness and flailing them about in an attempt to do jazz hands (and almost accidentally poking one of Michael’s eye out).  “If I hadn’t been with you all night, I would think that you were drunk, babe,” he stated, laughter bursting from the seams of his closed lips. You smiled brightly up at him, your lips stretched out to the extent of your face. You knew that you were acting tipsy, but it was only because you were still being blown away by the excitement of the night. “It’s only cause you’re so intoxicating babe,” you cheekily flirted with your boyfriend, forcing his hand upwards so that you could do a ballerina twirl around him. The light of the streetlamp casted a shadow on his face, as he responded “I’m glad you had fun then. S’all that matter.” “Are you kidding me? Of course I had fun! Thanks for doing this for me.” Affectionately nuzzling his face into your neck while still walking, causing the two of you to happily stumble over each other’s feet, he murmured against your skin, “Would do anything for you. You know that. Although, my punk rock reputation may have been a bit ruined tonight considered I just spent a night singing along at a Demi Lovato concert.” Burrowing your small frame into the chest, the two of you walked along the sidewalk, engulfed by the darkness of the night and the overwhelming beating of each other’ heart. When you finally reached the apartment that the two of you shared, you elicited a small whimper causing Michael to look down at you from under his arm with a questioning gaze. “My feet hurt from jumping up and down all night. I should’ve worn more comfortable shoes,” you admitted while mournfully assessing the three flights of stairs that awaited you, the only things stopping you from reaching your soft, warm bed. Crouching down slightly in front of you, he patted his own back. “Hop on then.” Letting out a small shriek of delight, you clambered on Michael’s back, resting your arms around his neck, your face against his back, and your legs wrapped around his torso as his own arms were wrapped around his own back to support your weight. Giving you a piggy back ride up the stairs, you interjected after he had taken a few steps, “Don’t drop me, okay?” “Have I ever dropped you? Have some faith please.” Craning your head forward, you placed a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for saving me from suffering from aching feet. What did I ever do to deserve a boyfriend like you?” Smiling softly to himself, he continued his quest up the stairs before responding sweetly, his voice ringing with honesty, “You’re crazy if you think that you’re the lucky one in this relationship.”

Luke: All but throwing the door open, you walked into the apartment with weary eyes and aching bones, the epitome of exhaustion as you walked towards the couch as you weren’t sure if you’re worn out body could make it to the bed. Collapsing into the cushions, you let out a deep breath attempting to release all the stress from your body as you burrowed yourself into the fabric of the furniture, wishing you could melt into the leather. Luke walked in from the other room moments later, stumbling upon the sight of you attempting to cocoon yourself into the couch. “Babe! Didn’t know you were home.” Physically exerting yourself to lift your head in greeting, you offered him a weak smile before smashing your face into a throw pillow from enervation. “Busy day at work?” he inquired in a sympathetic tone, sitting down on the small space you allotted him on the couch. Your breath muffled by the pillow, you answered weakly, “You don’t even know the half of it.” You were slowly drifting into a state of fitful and uncomfortable sleep, but it was sleep all the same so you welcomed it, when you felt Luke’s warms hands on your back. “What’re you doing?” you inquired through a sleepy haze. “Hush babe,” he responded, while positioning his hands against your muscles, his fingers kneading against your skin and soothing the knots that adorned your body, “just giving you a massage. It’ll make you feel better.” He worked his way through the tension in your neck and shoulders, leaving you in a state of euphoria. “You’re literally the best,” you informed him, your body relaxing under his touch. Chuckling, he responded, “And after this massage, I’ll run a bath. That’ll make you feel better. And while you’re in there, I’ll order some takeout. We can order some Chinese.” Twisting around so that you could see his face, you pulled him towards you so that the two of you were now lying on the couch, his feet dangling at the end due to his tall figure, and your small frame was engulfed by his. He absentmindedly played with your hair when you spoke up, “Wait. You don’t even like Chinese food.” Smoothing your hair down in a comforting manner, he kissed the top of your forehead before getting up (and immediately your body felt cold with the loss of his tangible presence), “Yeah, but you love it.” You nose crinkled in delight and embarrassment at his words as he continued, “I’m just gonna get the water running for your bath, okay?” Smiling at the back figure of your retreating boyfriend, you reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him, pulling him back towards you. Pressing your lips against his, conveying love and gratitude, you only pulled away slightly, you lips brushing against his to mutter, “I’m only getting in the bath if you’re get in with me.”