here's to series

Life With Namjoon (02. Sleep)

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A/N: Here’s the second installment of this little series~ I’m glad the first part got a lot of positive responses despite it not being a smut or anything like that haha. There might be smut sprinkled here and there in this series, but for the most part my goal is to craft an ideal, cute relationship (by most people’s standards, I think), and so far I’m having fun doing just that~

Words: 2,216


02. Sleep


This happens every once and a while. When Namjoon slips into his ‘zone’. The zone where attempts to fulfill every single thought on his mind, and in the process pushes basic needs aside.

You’d witnessed him in his zone a few times before—both times occurring in the weeks prior to Bangtan wrapping up their new albums. He always strives for his lyrics to be perfect. He wants his compositions to reflect the mood of the song and the meaning behind the lyrics, and if he feels he’s lacking—even if in the smallest way—he’s going to push himself until he feels content with what he has done.

This is what you’ve learned about Kim Namjoon—mostly through his own recounts. Because not only is he your boyfriend, but he’s your best friend, and over your time together he’d let you into his buzzing brain and big heart.

And in a time like this, you have no doubt that that buzzing mind of his has descended into sleep deprived madness. With the clock striking 11PM, and Namjoon not having returned home in 2 days, your heart aches for him, and you know that you can’t sit back a second longer.

You had been trying to respect him—to have trust in him that he’d be able to know when to take a break and come home to eat and sleep—but…this is getting out of hand. You had even texted Yoongi asking if the boys had managed to drag him back to the dorm to sleep (even though Namjoon always prefers staying with you), and, of course, his response had been “no”.

Pushing off your couch, you sigh and grasp at the extra fabric of Namjoon’s oversized hoodie, his scent reaching your nose and causing you to long for him even more. His hoodie keeps you warm against the permanently cool temperature of your apartment, yet you want more—you want him—cuddled up with you and whispering silly prospects about life into your hair as his body heat presses against your back.

You miss him—and you’re worried, on top of that—so this is the final straw.

In the kitchen, you scoop up some of Namjoon’s favorite snacks and shove them a little backpack resting in your room. You then slip on your shoes, place the bag on your back, and leave your apartment after flicking off the lights and locking the door.

You’re sure if Namjoon knew you were walking the streets of Seoul at this time of night he’d have a little bit of a heart attack (because he’s a cutie that always says “when you’re alone at that time of day a drunk guy may try and steal you away from me”), but you confidently traverse the streets anyway. The new Bighit building isn’t more than a few blocks away.

Stepping up to the mainly closed building, you swipe in with your keycard (thankful that the boys had finally convinced the other staff to make one for you), and start towards Namjoon’s studio. You pass by not a single soul on the way, the halls eerily silent save an increasing loud thrum of bass as you near Namjoon’s studio.

“Joon?” you call quietly as you knock on the shut door. You wait a few seconds, brows furrowed, but the music inside doesn’t stop. Sighing, you turn the knob and slowly step inside, your eyes casting to where Namjoon is hunched over his desk. There are three empty Starbucks cups beside his keyboard, along with an energy drink, and an empty sandwich wrapper. (You internally thank the boys for looking out for their leader, even if they hadn’t been able to get him to rest).

The floor space leading up to his chair is full of ripped out notebook pages—scribbled with words and crumpled in frustration. And Namjoon himself…seems crumpled with exhaustion. Elbows propped up on his desk, his entire body is slouched, dark hair messy and unwashed. You can practically see the fog clouding his mind—like all the gears had overheated and jammed, leaving Namjoon frustratingly stalled because his body isn’t acting as he wants it too.

“Joon,” you say quietly when the partial song ends, taking a large step forward. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your hair tickling his cheek as you nuzzle your face against his neck. At first Namjoon tenses, caught off guard by the unexpected contact, but even his sleepy mind manages to rationalize that the only person who holds him like this is you—so he relaxes into your grasp with a long sigh.

“Babe…,” he says, hand reaching up to grip your arm. Your presence is comforting to him, yet he realizes that you being here likely means that you’re going to try and make him stop—and he’s not ready to throw in the white flag yet…there’s just….something is missing from the melody and he’s been debating adding more synth to the first verse—

“You need to rest, Joonie,” you tell him quietly, knowing that he won’t agree with that. He’s stubborn in his own right. “It’s not good to drive yourself into the ground like this,” you continue, holding him tighter when you feel him weakly attempt to shrug you off.

“I’m not, I just…I need to finish up the lyrics and fix this one cord…,” he mumbles, scooting forward and attempting to reach for his keyboard. However, you don’t let him get there. With your arms still wrapped around him, you tug his chair away from his desk and then spin it around, causing Namjoon to face you.

“Y/N–,” he begins, his brows furrowing unhappily. You see the dark bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin, and your heart aches.

“I know, I know,” you say, hand reaching out to cup his cheek. You rub your thumb along the stubbly skin, leaning down to kiss his slightly chapped lips. You kiss him gently yet the emotion behind the gesture is firm, and Namjoon sighs as soon as you pull back, his hand moving to run through his messy hair.

“I know you’re determined to keep working. I know you want to get it done, but…let me be the rational side of your brain that you’ve gone deaf to,” you plead, hands smoothing down his shoulders. “If you get rest it will likely help your creativity to come back. You’ll feel better, you’ll be more alert of the tune you’re crafting and the flow of the lyrics you want to write. You’re going to get this done, Kim Namjoon, but you’ve been here nearly 3 days now—and that’s not healthy. I don’t like seeing you like this, the boys don’t like seeing you like this, and I’m sure ARMY wouldn’t be happy knowing their favorite leader is beating himself up trying to get a track done. The album will be ready when it’s ready, you have all of the boys sitting around willing to help you. Please, baby,” you whisper, kissing him softly. “Take a break.”

This time, Namjoon tiredly kisses you back, giving in, and you feel a sense of relief. It seems he’s come around a little.

“I know…,” he echoes, his arms reaching out to encircle you. He pulls you sideways onto his lap, his forehead slumping against your shoulder. The contact has you smiling, and you begin petting your hand through his hair, nails gently scraping against his scalp. Namjoon nearly purrs at the feeling, his body turning into jello at the sensation.

“Hey babe…I brought your favorite snacks,” you tell him after a minute, his eyes closed. Namjoon quietly groans in acknowledgement, his face lightly rubbing against your shoulder in order to wake himself up.

“I’m hungry,” he grumbles, and you giggle, glad to see that Namjoon is back to being a tired cutie instead of a stubborn, exhausted man.

“They’re in my bag,” you say, and wiggle in his hold, pulling your backpack off and setting it on your lap. Once the zipper on the main pouch is open, Namjoon digs around inside, tearing open packages and shoving the snacks in his mouth, mumbling about water when he eats them too fast.

Rolling your eyes, you scoot off his lap and fetch one of his empty starbucks cups from his desk.

“I’ll get you some water,” you say, starting towards the door, but Namjoon stops you. Grabbing your wrist, he pulls you back towards him and snuggles his head against your tummy.

“Don’t go,” he says, and you bend down, kissing the crown of his head.

“You really do turn into a baby when you’re exhausted. I’ll be right back, Joon. I promise.”

Nodding against the hoodie you’re wearing, Namjoon releases you, and, true to your word, as soon as you’ve filled the cup with water at the nearest drinking fountain, you return to Namjoon’s studio. However, Namjoon is no longer in his chair. Instead he’d somehow moved to the floor, and is now using one of his studio plushies as a pillow, your snacks spread on the carpet around him.

“Are you trying to perform a séance with my snacks, or what?” you laugh incredulously, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind you. Namjoon grunts, making grabby hands up at you, and you roll your eyes but soon join him on the floor.

“Here’s your water,” you say, and, barely managing to sit up, Namjoon thanks you and takes a long sip. You move the cup away when he sets it down, and then go back to petting his hair.

“Should we go home? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“It’s too late I’m already dead,” he grunts, his eyes refusing to open, and you smile.

“Are we sleeping here tonight?”

“There’s a blanket in Yoongi hyung’s office.”

Huffing, you get back up and jog next door to Suga’s studio. He’s got a little couch in his room—because he tends to pull all-nighters more than Namjoon—so you somewhat apologetically scoop up the two blanks and pillow he has spread on the couch.

In the minute it takes you to get back to Namjoon’s studio, the man-child has fallen asleep, light snores filling the room. You roll your eyes, but don’t even think about leaving him. He’s too precious to leave, and you’ll last one night on the floor. So, that being said, you crawl onto the thankfully soft carpet beside him, tossing the blankets over both your bodies. You place the pillow on the ground beside Namjoon’s plushie, and then nuzzle into his chest, sighing contently.

Despite the fact that your bed is much more comfortable, you’re simply glad that you were able to get Namjoon to rest, and with the time ticking past midnight, you’re fairly tired too.

However, just as you’re beginning to doze off, Namjoon’s deep breathing lulling you to sleep, said male groans slightly and lifts one of his arms, wrapping it around you.

“I love you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. His warm breaths fan against your hair, the male seeming content with staying there, and you smile tiredly.

“I love you too.”


The next morning, the other 6 members of Bangtan flooding out of their car, Taehyung races into the building with his face set in a determined frown. Jin yells after him, tone warning, but Taehyung brushes him off. He’s worried for Namjoon—their leader needs a break—and he plans to drag Namjoon away from his computer even if it’s the last thing he does.

Stomping to Namjoon’s studio, Taehyung grips the handle of the shut door and steps inside, his mouth open and ready to scold Namjoon and drag him away. However, he immediately freezes when he spots you and Namjoon cuddled on the ground in each other’s embrace. His previously steeling heart melts, and he pouts at the cuteness, quickly backing out of the room when Jimin yells up the hall for him.

“Shhh!!” Taehyung scolds, shutting the door as quietly as possible. Jimin blinks in question, a few others mimicking his face as they round the corner.

“Mom and dad are sleeping!”

“Mom and dad?” Yoongi echoes, eyebrows furrowing. “You mean….Y/N and Namjoon are sleeping in there?”

“Do they have clothes on?” Jin asks nonchalantly, and Yoongi nudges him.

“It seems that Y/N got Namjoon hyung to finally rest,” Taehyung says, and the others are glad to hear it. Splitting off—Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung going to work on choreo, Jin leaving to record lines, and Yoongi retiring to his studio to finish up a track—the team breaks apart and gets to work.

Walking into his studio, Yoongi sighs and shrugs off his jackets, tossing it onto the couch. Unfortunately, he misses his aim and is forced to turn and pick it up. It’s at that exact moment that he realizes his couch has been rid of its usual inhabitants—mainly his pillow and blankets.

“Those two,” he grumbles, shaking his head. Yet, as he sits in his chair and spins it to face his desk, he finds himself smiling. Yoongi is glad someone like you is around to support Namjoon in the ways they can’t.

10

Rituals and Potions is an Atlantic series of personal essays that deal with beauty routines, and when they fail. Conceived by health and science writers, Julie Beck and Olga Khazan, this collection of stories peels back the cosmetic layer of vanity products to reveal deeper truths about insecurity, impossible beauty standards, and biology. Read the entire series here.

(credit: Katie Martin / Emily Jan / The Atlantic)

Valkyrie Part 18: Alone

A/N: You can find all the other parts to this series here. If you have any suggestions for the story or want to read a specific scene etc, please let me know. :)

Plot Summary: Y/N wakes up only to realize that she is caught in a hopeless situation. Hearing about the siren’s plans only strengthens that impression. In the meantime Stiles freaks out because of her absence and Lydia makes a grave revelation. 

Pairing: Reader x Stiles

Warnings: Kidnapping

Persons involved: Reader, Stiles, Scott, Lydia, the siren

When you wake up, it’s cold. You inhale the icy air, regretting it immediately because even the effort to breathe makes your head ache. Your fingers brush over hard underground while you slowly come back to your senses. Something happened. Something pretty horrible. You start to remember. You were on your way to Stiles but you never reached him.

You open your eyes as your heart cramps up at the thought and stare at a dusty, grey, cracking ceiling. You feel pain in your whole body but your head is worst. Scared of what you’ll find, you raise your fingers and touch your forehead. Something sticky meets your fingertips and as you look at them, you discover exactly what you expected: blood. Fresh blood, which pretty much is proof that you’re still bleeding.

A wave of panic washes over you. For a while you’re simply lying there, trying to calm your breathing. It doesn’t work at all, so you just give up and get on your knees, groaning from the pain, before you slowly stand up. You are sure that any quick movements would make your head all dizzy. You push out the air and have a look around that is not very helpful. The room you’re in is pretty big but empty, dark, cold and damp. There is only one small window high above you and impossible to reach and an iron door in front of you that looks quite thick.

At the sight of the door you lose all your calm and run at it, push yourself against it but of course it’s locked and doesn’t move an inch. She kidnapped you, threw you into this hole without water, food or medicine and you can only imagine what she is planning to do with you. The pictures you come up with are not pretty. You thought you were relatively safe after you finally captured Theo. Now you realize what a big mistake that was.

Anger cooks up inside of you, replacing the panic for now. That siren makes you sick. You clench your fists and hammer against the door, over and over again, screaming for her and telling her to show the hell up. “Or do you want to hide until I’m dead, just like the coward you are? Just like the coward who knocks out someone from behind? Just like the coward who sends Theo to do the dirty work? God you are so pathetic!”

You are panting, taking a step back, trying to get a clear head while your blood is still boiling. You sink onto the ground and hide your face in your hands, taking deep breaths and fighting hard against your tears. You have never been so desperate in your whole life. Especially because you are incredibly scared that you’ll never see Stiles’ face again. You can’t believe how quickly your joy changed to utter despair.

You don’t know how much time passes that you are simply sitting there, listening to your own breathing. At some point you suddenly hear a scraping noise and shoot up, staring at the door in front of you. A little square of metal is pushed aside, revealing a barred window to the world outside of this room. Your heart beats a little faster until crystal blue eyes appear in that space. You can’t see the rest of her face but even this limited view suffices to notice her arrogant and patronising expression.

“Are you done?”, she asks, her voice cold and filled with contempt. Right now she doesn’t sound soft or seducing at all, but like the ice queen she really is. “Fits of rage always bore me.”

You are quite willing to perform another one but you don’t have the strength anymore. All you master to do is stand up, walk towards the door and glare at her.

“Why did you take me?”, you ask bluntly. It’s the only question that really matters because the answer dictates what will happen to you.

Her eyes flash, revealing that she must be smiling to herself. You hadn’t believed it possible but your hatred towards her even grows.

“My dear Y/N, did you really believe that your presence in Beacon Hills is a coincidence? That it is not connected to all of this? A little bit naive, don’t you think? You are the key to my success. I thought Theo would help me get you but I guess sometimes you have to get your own hands a little dirty”, she says, as if you are having an everyday conversation. Simple smalltalk, no more no less.

“Oh don’t be so modest. Your hands are far more than a little dirty!”, you spit.

“People like you would probably think so. People who are not willing to fight for what they really want.”

“People usually don’t want other people dead! If you think that I will help you, you are very wrong! Over my dead body!”

She pushes out a humourless laugh that makes you shiver, although you try to hide it.

“Is that so? What if I’ll kill your little lover boy if you don’t help me? Or this beta that you want to protect so desperately? I am still a little pissed that I didn’t get him, but it doesn’t really matter. I made it work with weaker victims”. She dwells on it for a moment, probably knowing very well how mentioning Stiles and Liam gives you a sting. “It’s not important anyway. I don’t need your help. I just need your body and that wonderful connection you have to the world of the dead.”

You swallow hard. That can’t mean anything good. The longer this conversation lasts, the clearer it becomes that your situation is hopeless.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”, you ask.

That’s when her face changes for the first time. Even the little part that you can see suddenly resembles an angry mask, deforming her attractive features and showing her true lunacy.

“Why? Because I am fed up!”, she growls, punching against the metal of the door and startling you. “Once the supernaturals have been feared. We have been the superior race and every human dreaded us! We have been the most important parts in the most important stories, the creatures the boldest heroes of ancient Greek fought against! We ruled this world and they hid before us. And now look what has become of us! We have been reduced to myths and been forgotten. Nobody believes we are real anymore! We have to hide like outcasts although we are the strong race, the deadly race! I won’t take that any longer. I will show them how weak and insignificant they really are!”

“Fighting for your race by killing a lot of them seems a weird way to do it”, you retort gravely.

“Only the feeble ones. They have no place in my new world anyway. You should accept it, little Valkyrie. It’s over, there is nothing you can do about it.”

With that she closes the window and leaves you alone with your increasing misery.

Time passes but you can’t really measure it. You sit in the corner of the room, unable to do anything else. At some point an uneasy sleep with weird dreams overcomes you. You can’t remember what they were about but they leave you with bigger hopelessness than you felt before you fell asleep. As you open your eyes, you discover a bowl of soup and a bottle of water right next to the door. She must’ve placed it there as soon as you were unconscious.

You wish to be strong enough to resist and not even look at it. But you are feeling weak and dizzy and you are incredibly hungry and thirsty. Therefore you crawl towards the bowl and empty it in huge sips, not even minding that it’s already cold. Afterwards you lean against the wall and stare at the ceiling. Waiting. Dreading. Wanting nothing more than having Stiles at your side and to assure him that you are okay.


“Have you found something? Anything?”, Stiles inquires desperately, sprinting through the kitchen towards his best friend as Scott enters. The sorry look on his face is answer enough and Stiles heart becomes even heavier while a new pang of fear makes his whole body shudder. He stumbles backwards and grabs the counter to hold himself steady while his whole world seems to spin.

“We couldn’t find her scent”, Scott explains, more to Lydia because he knows that Stiles doesn’t really care. The only thing that matters to him is finding her or not. “And the warehouse is empty.”

“Then we have to go out there again! We have to keep searching!”, Stiles exclaims, desperately running his fingers through his hair. Lydia and Scott throw him worried looks. He looks like death. He hasn’t slept a second since the siren took Y/N, therefore he has dark circles under his eyes and his face is unnaturally pale. Also he is constantly accusing himself of what happened although the whole pack agrees that that is total nonsense.

“Stiles, we have no idea where to look anymore”, Scott answers unwillingly but calm. “We need to reconsider this whole thing, formulate a plan that will actually help her instead of running around aimlessly.”

“A plan?”, Stiles retorts incredulously. “We don’t have a plan! We have no idea what is supposed to happen tomorrow. We don’t even know if she…if she’s still alive and…”

His voice breaks right there and he sinks down onto a chair, all the tension leaving his body at the thought of that. Lydia is at his side in no time, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hand in hers. She looks at him intensely and serious.

“Stiles, I would’ve felt it! She is alive, I am sure of it”, she states, her decisive tone not allowing any doubts. “She must be part of the plan. It all makes sense, that’s why she needed Theo, although that didn’t really work out, did it? She won’t hurt her till the very end and we’ll be there to stop her. Tomorrow. At the nemeton.”

“But…we don’t know what will await us there…”, he mumbles, blinking at her, not daring to hope.

Lydia presses her lips together. “Screw that. We couldn’t find out until now and we probably won’t until tomorrow. But she is alone and we have a whole pack and still one night left. We will gear up and prepare ourselves as good as we can. And then we’ll deal with her tomorrow.”

Stiles keeps silent for a moment, desperately frowning and thinking about Lydia’s words. “That means that Y/N has to endure another night.”

“You know her. She’s strong. She can do it.”

In the end he gives her a weak nod. “Alright. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Good, then let’s start with our preparations. Can you get the others?”

Stiles nods again and heaves himself out of the chair like it’s the hardest thing to do. Without the usual spring in his steps he walks out of the room. Only after he disappeared, Lydia gets up with a deep sigh.

“That was good”, Scott praises her, walking over and putting a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“Yeah…only that it was lie”, she says.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I got this today. Deaton emailed it to me”, she explains, fetching a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to Scott with an expression that doesn’t promise anything good. “He found it in Greek. The ritual that’s explained there must be ancient but it perfectly fits this situation. It even explains why she needs Y/N.”

“And why’s that? Come on, Lydia, I can’t read ancient Greek!”, Scott retorts impatiently.

“Well, first of all it says that hell can only be raised at places of direct connection to the underworld. That would be the nemeton. It also has to be at summer solstice but we already know that. What’s new is that the weaker supernaturals that are locked in there can be raised solely by the powers the siren has fetched. She only has to touch the sacred ground and they will follow her call. If she then wants to break the seal and release the most ancient and dangerous ones, the blood of the creature bound to hell and heaven alike has to soil the earth. A Valkyrie.”

Scott swallows hard, looking at her with widened eyes. “Y/N. So she really plans to kill her.”

“I think so, yes. And she won’t be alone. It will be the pack against a whole army of zombie supernaturals.”


FICTION REC

I think everyone here would appreciate Steerswoman, a series by Rosemary Kirstein about a society of heroic librarian academic women who are struggling against a ruling class of techno-wizards, wizards who they despise purely because of their refusal to share information.  The series focuses on one of these traveling academics and her barbarian companion, a tiny powerhouse of a woman with a great singing voice, and features an awful lot of swordplay, anthropology, orbital mechanics, fictional ecosystems, deduction from first principles, cartography, bloodshed, and artfully rendered suffering, plus third person subjective narration from the perspective of a person who can get so lost in thought that she essentially dissociates.

I THINK YOU WILL LIKE THESE BOOKS.

6

A Dance for Señor Sabotender

When I was looking for the Chocobo PSA edit I came across a few other older images that I think are unique enough to warrant re-uploading here. This is a silly series of pics from when I was diehard into the Gold Saucer for a bit. I still need to finish Chocobo Racing/Breeding, but that’s been put on the back burner behind birb farming.

anonymous asked:

Yo I read that your favourite sport is ballet and I just wanted to say how that is so awesome! It isn't often that people take dance, especially ballet, seriously as an "actual" sport. Really hits right at home to see stuff like that :)

YEAH I’M LIKE A HUGE FREAKING DANCE NERD LIKE I’VE BEEN SUBSCRIBING TO TWO SEPARATE DANCE SERIES HERE IN PHILLY FOR YEARS (one ballet and one modern dance like i shouldve said modern too oops) AND I’M THINKING ABOUT ADDING A THIRD SERIES TO MY ROSTER DANCE IS SO FUCKING HARDCORE I LOVE IT

my brother and i have come up with a new brawl for overwatch, its called “get out of our house” and its in hanamura. you cannot pick either of the shimada brothers.

they will, however, come and attack both teams at random times. there is no way to tell when they will attack or from where.

they fight with the strength and abilities shown in the dragons short and it is entirely possible for both teams to lose and the brothers win, however, they cannot be awarded potg and this upsets them, fueling their desire to fight.