spiral of thoughts

Currently writing the first chapter of the spin off to “The Downward Spiral” thought I’d introduce you to the main characters

Team FADE

Felix Xiao Long:
Lion Faunus
New Vale resident (Island of Patch)
Weapons “Hack & Slash” twin chainsaw bladed swords that form heavy duty machine pistols with chainsaw bayonets.
Semblance: “Brimstone” Felix absorbs thermal energy in much the same way that Nora Valkyrie absorbs electricity giving him obscene amounts of power and near invulverability for a limited amount of time, side effects include a temporary loss of focus as he enters a berserker rage.

Arctus Slate:
Upper Atlas Resident
Bear Faunus
Weapons: “Gefroren-Erbe” a curved broadsword Arctus is capable of using one handed which also forms an antique plasma weapon, salvaged from a warship used in the great war and repurposed. Powerful yet prone to overheating
Semblance “Schnee Family Glyphs” while not as adept at the more involved uses of the Glyphs (Time dilation, summoning) the raw power Arctus can put into a shield Glyph and the effectiveness with which he integrated them into his fighting style are noteworthy.

Diamond Sustrai-Black:
Human
Mistral Resident
Weapons: “Lex Talionis” a Sniper rifle/glaive
Semblance: “Freerunner” Diamond can use the laws of physics as a rough guideline; simply put down is wherever her foot is touching, giving her the ability to walk up vertical walls or hang upside down on a ceiling for an indefinite amount of time, this gives her several vantage points unaccessible to other snipers.

Eagle Arc:
Human
New Vale Resident
Weapons: an unamed sword and “Sentinel” a shield which forms a semi self-aware drone armed with a chaingun and a lot of personality.
Semblance: Currently unknown.

“It’s February 14th, Neil!”

Nicky was exasperated. It was obvious by the way he looked out of breath even though he was just standing there being rather noisey.

Neil scrunched up his nose. As much as he loved Nicky, he wouldn’t mind hearing him less right now. 

“What’s your point, Nicky?” 

The thing with Nicky, however, was that when you requested a straight answer, you instead got a show. 

Act one of this show was apparently looking around at the rest of the foxes and proclaiming, “Can you believe this kid?!” 

Andrew was coming from his appointment with Bee so wasn’t at the locker rooms yet for practice. Neil found himself silently hoping he would get there faster to shut Nicky up.

Usually everybody would just let Nicky go on his rant, half ignoring him and half egging him on. But when Neil looked past him, he realized that all the Foxes were actually paying attention. Their eyes were focused on Neil with a combination of pity, confusion, and general annoyance. 

Nicky was making a huge fuss now, not actually getting to the point but rather going around it. “Of all the days to not know-”

But Matt cut him off. Which was odd, because Matt usually didn’t cut Nicky off. 

“Neil….do you really not know what today is?”

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infants lack something known as object permanence. what this means is that they do not have the ability to understand that something still exists when it is out of their line of vision. this is why they like peek-a-boo, because to them you really do disappear when you cover your face with your hands. now, individuals with borderline personality disorder experience emotional impermanence, which follows the same basic idea that if someone is not actively at that moment validating you and paying attention to you, then they don’t care about you. in the same way that when an infant cries when it drops its security blanket, assuming it has disappeared forever, people with bpd feel panicked when they cannot feel or have tangible proof that a person still cares. they may assume that because you aren’t paying attention to them or saying you love them in that moment, the reassuring things you’ve said and feelings you’ve displayed previously have disappeared permanently.
this stems from our fear of abandonment. every move made is analyzed, our brain constantly asking ‘is this a sign that they’re going to leave? they haven’t answered in three minutes, are they never going to answer again? is there someone better? do they hate me?’ and the progression of thoughts spirals downward rapidly. our brains are something like a paranoid sherlock holmes. everything is a clue leading to abandonment.
this makes it EXTREMELY difficult for people with bpd to maintain relationships. no matter what lengths you go to reassure us, there’s almost always a small part that the minute it’s over feels like it didn’t happen, or it wasn’t genuine. it’s not to say that your efforts aren’t appreciated!! of course they are. but it’s hard for us to cling to them as reminders after the fact.
and reassurance can be a double edged sword. there’s comfort in being reminded, but then we may also fear that we manipulated you into reassuring us, or that you didn’t mean it and only said it because you knew we wanted to hear it, or you felt you had to. emotional impermanence is a longtime struggle, and as real as it feels to us, we often do understand that our fears are irrational. our emotional impermanence and insecurity generally have an internal loci of focus. that is to say, it’s based on ourselves and our cognitions, not you or your actions. and with saying that it’s internally based, not externally, it can be difficult to understand how we can already have forgotten you love us, or already believe your feelings toward us have radically shifted in the 5 minutes since you expressed appreciation. as difficult as it may be to understand though, and as irrational as it may be, these feelings are very very real to us. work with us, listen to us, reassure us when you’re able to. for most people, emotional permanence, to at least some degree, is a given. to us, it can feel like a myth.

Crush

Summary: Everything about Bucky Barnes drives you wild…that’s basically the plot…

Warnings: smut, sexual tension

A/N: I spent today writing my own mini thesaurus, by hand, and I came up with this idea during my breaks.


“Fuck!” Your back slammed down against the thick mat, air shoot out of your lungs.

“If you’re not paying close attention to your enemies you’re going to get yourself killed. What the hell has you so distracted?” Steve stretched a hand out, helping you up.

“N-Nothing.” You huffed, avoiding eye contact with the super soldier in front of you.

That was a lie, a big fat lie. You were completely distracted by the man across the room, the one with the glistening metal arm and the chocolate brown hair. Motherfucking Bucky Barnes. 

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[20 q’s | jungkook]

♛BTS!SMUT

summary; 20 questions ends pretty well for you, you’d say. (gender neutral!)

You froze. You couldn’t fathom how one second you could be shocked and disgusted by him and the next trying to get your heart to slow down.


The epitome of a fuckboy.

You couldn’t deny the fact that you loved him- he was enticing, charming, and unnervingly sweet when he wanted to be.

When he wanted to be.

Other times, he was sickeningly frustrating- whether that was caused by how undeniably hot he was or how undeniably fucking annoying.

Jungkook [11:19]: Wanna play a game?

You sighed, swiping open your phone and praising God you didn’t have read receipts on. Although after pondering for a while, you decided that you should probably respond to the boy. It wasn’t like you were busy studying- your exam week was finished- what was the harm?

You [11:21]: What is this game exactly?

The response was quick, your phone buzzing almost immediately after you locked in.

Jungkook [11:21]: 20 questions.

Of course. The fuckboy game.

You scoffed. You had known Jungkook for upwards of three years, so why did he even want to play 20 questions?

Regardless of reasons, you were entertaining a boring night. What was the harm?

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I know I'm all to blame
  • Me: nobody likes me
  • Me: *doesn't go out*
  • Me: why should I try...
  • Me: *doesn't talk to people*
  • Me: socializing is hard
  • Me: *doesn't make an effort to stay in contact with friends*
  • Me: everything is too much of an effort
  • Me: *stops doing activities I love*
  • Me: I bet they secretly hate me I mean I hate me so why shouldn't they
  • Me: *pushes people away*
  • Me: *stays locked up in room*
  • Me: *spends free time staring into space*
  • Me: *starts self loathing*
  • Me: *realizes I'm all alone now*
  • Me: *regretting everything*
  • Me: I know I'm to blame...for lost friends wasted time....I can't get out its too far gone how do I fix myself ?
  • Me: How do I make friends ?
  • Me: Where did it all go wrong?
  • Me: *gives up*
  • Source: anx-skinnygirl-94

It’s so easy to get caught up in old habits of thought. Even when we know better, even when we understand that it’s causing us unnecessary pain, it’s hard to stay on track. Our habits of thought are well-worn paths and there’s comfort in the familiar, but they always lead us right back to the same place. 

To become someone new, to venture into terra incognita, is daunting and difficult. It takes time and concentration. But the more we practice reacting to situations in new, healthier ways, the easier it gets. The more we catch ourselves before we slip into a downward spiral of thought, the better our experience of being a person will be. 

Summary: Jughead Jones, facing the reality of having nowhere to stay anymore when the Drive-In gets shut down, finds temporary shelter at the Blue & Gold office. But what happens when an upset Betty Cooper catches him on the act?

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(Sooooo, I’m watching Riverdale and my feels about Bughead are over the moon!! And now that we learnt some bits and pieces about his life and that he doesn’t have a house anymore (my heart is broken, I just love Jughead) I had no other choice but to write this, hope you all like guys!!!)


Jughead knew the routine by now. Scrunched down and trying to make his trademark combat boots as soundless as possible, the raven haired boy cautiously popped his head from the corner he was hiding, icy blue eyes scanning the empty corridor in from of him. A quarter to nine, the great clock over the entrance of Riverdale High informed him and he slightly frowned, biting anxiously on his down lip and drumming his slender fingers on the tiled wall next to him in anticipation. Radio commercials along with the icky sound of track soles stepping on wet floor could be heard faintly inside the now lifeless school building, a tell-tale sign that his misery for the day will soon be over and Jughead could be nothing but relieved about it. He was tired and even more so mentally tired, with all the small town drama and its joke of residents as well as his spiraling thoughts about his novel and the newfound reality he had to adjust to, that being his current situation of well, yeah, being homeless, plus the here and there thoughts about a certain girl next door, a girl he knew all his life and a girl he always knew belonged to his best friend, that lately seemed to invade his mind an awful more lot. Yeah, Jughead needed a place to lie down, even if that was the dusty floor of the Blue & Gold.

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home is wherever I’m with you

[read on ao3]

She isn’t one to back down from a fight, but Emma knows the feeling of the tide turning against her well enough to recognize the choice to drown or get out of the undertow.

Facing down the Black Fairy after getting hit so hard by a giant spider that she’s still seeing double – when her only ally here is someone who tried to murder her and banished her True Love to another realm- seems like something of a poor decision. And continuing on when said ally collapses into little more than a pile of robes beside her, while the Black Fairy monologues unceasingly about her overcomplicated plan to take over Storybrooke, is something Emma Swan simply does not have time for at the moment. A strategic retreat is definitely in order.

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✧:・*i need u | three*:・✧

❀ description : taehyung catches the attention of the one curious girl. ❀

❀ pairing : taehyung x reader ❀

❀ genre : angst ❀

❀ mentions of : swearing, drinking, violence, weapons, pain, gangs ❀

❀ word count : 2444 ❀

part one - part two - part three

“Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.”

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quiet constellations 

word count: 1520
notes: futurefic, compliant to 316, dreaming in ‘if onlys’ + established
a/n: i wrote this a million years ago in an attempted fix-it collaboration with @margueriitecaine. i thought about this today, rereading it, and still loved what i wrote. so i wanted to share it.


The cabin is dark, light slipping through the crack as she opens the door. She can see Bellamy tangled in their sheets, the golden expanse of his back illuminated by the moon. Leaving it open to guide herself towards the bed, Clarke eases herself onto the edge, sitting with her back to his sleeping form, barely allowing herself to relax.

“Clarke?” Bellamy stirs behind her.

She looks at her hands.

She feels the bed shift as he sits up.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, glancing over to her spot, now empty and cool to the touch.

Her heart hammers against her throat.

“We’ve been good for a long time now, haven’t we?”

Bellamy crawls towards her, settling right behind her back. His hands automatically circle her waist and pull her into his chest. Clarke tips her head back when his lips find the exposed skin on her shoulders.

“I just–” she starts, then stops with a frown. After a second she collects herself and says, “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

It’s not really a question for him.

“Clarke, what is this about? Of course I’m not going anywhere. We’re not running anymore. None of us are.”

Clarke turns slightly, his lips near her temple.

“Everything was so much, all the time. But I’m here, with you, and I don’t feel like I’m carrying it all on my own anymore.” She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to combat the wave of emotions coming at her. “You’re the realest thing in my life.”

Bellamy tightens his embrace. “Clarke, a lot of real shit has happened. People we’ve loved, we’ve trusted, we’ve cared for, we’ve tried to protect– those people have died, or gotten hurt, or– or left.”

They don’t mention them by name.

Clarke slowly lifts her head, she’s barely on the bed at this point, Bellamy surrounding her. Getting to her feet and turning, Bellamy’s body chases her, finding the edge of the bed. He drops his feet to the ground, and Clarke remains in the cradle of his thighs.

His hands rest on her hips, looking up at her with wondering eyes, careful eyes.

Clarke’s hands cup his face, tracing his jaw, her thumb dipping into the dimple in his chin. His whole body radiates heat, like his whole being does. Everything about Bellamy is warmth. Her eyes finally find his, and it’s overwhelming. They see into hers, exposing every part of her. Every truth. Every insecurity. Every flaw. Every beautiful, broken thing.

Her brows knit together, thinking too hard.

“Stop thinking so lou–”

“I love you.”

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rosefyrefyre  asked:

Tony has to stay awake for a very long time for some reason, and when he finally is allowed to rest, he physically can't, so the rest of the Avengers (but especially Steve) take care of him until he can.

With two hours to deadline, Tony finally managed to unsnag the last line of code and send it through. A new smart AI bot, one designed for searching and detonating IEDs so soldiers wouldn’t have to, whirred to life and aimed its tiny periscope cam at him inquisitively, awaiting input. The right mix of AI–not so sophisticated that army programmers could turn it into an offensive weapon, but not so improbably slow that it failed to do its job. Three iterations ago it’d tried to bring the dummy bomb to Tony, and that was clearly a no go, so he’d started the code from the bottom up and programmed until the edges of his vision went blurry. It needed testing. Testing.

“Find,” Tony grunted and the bot happily rolled off to the mock test range. “Not perfect,” Tony murmured, slumping down against the table to watch. “Just functional. Just need you to do your job. Can tweak later.” It’s little treads bumbled across sand and rocks, grinding a little in a way that, just for a moment, sent Tony back five years in time. His fingers clenched compulsively at the table before he forced himself to let go.

In the sandbox, the little bot scanned back and forth with infrared and ground-penetrating sonar and blessedly, beautifully, it located the payload. The shovel arm activated and started digging. Tony nearly wept.

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Chamber of Secrets - Part 21

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Summary: After the Avenger’s falling out, you were put in charge of putting Bucky together. Under King T’Challa’s orders, you were given a month’s time to create a new arm while simultaneously figure out how to get the triggering memories of his past out of his mind. As the time goes by, you found yourself confiding in him, despite his frozen state.

A/N: So I reread this series last night and holy shit this has got to be the slowest slow burns ever. I’m so sorry lmao. Also, I know I haven’t been linking the previous part and next part in each chapter because takes so much time so I’m just going to put the series masterlist on each chapter from now on. 

Series Masterlist

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//so I was thinking this morning (always a dangerous sign) that I’ve talked a bit recently about how the Tumblr RP community isn’t always very good at encouraging people to find ways to manage or get to their drafts, and is instead more likely to coddle peoples’ anxieties without actually helping them at all. 

So this is a post of a few tips and tricks that might help RPers manage some of the more common anxieties I see crop up in our circle. Now, I’m not a full psychologist and nor am I licensed counselor. But I do have my master’s degree in clinical psychology with the intention to go on for the PhD (or get licensed to practice if I don’t get into a program) so I do kinda know what I’m talking about. Hopefully some of this advice is a little helpful:

1. “My drafts just stress me out.” This is a pretty common complaint, but I think in most circumstances it’s caused by stress going on outside of the RP world. Take a step back and breathe. Handle whatever is going on in your real life. That always comes first. If you come back and your drafts are still causing you to feel panicky, the next step is to find out the more specific reasons why. That’s going to help you best address the anxiety. Read on for some common reasons.

2. “I’ve gotten so behind, there’s so many and I’m overwhelmed.” This happens all the time! You take a hiatus for a week or two, or life just got really busy for a while, or just lost muse and now it’s back. But in the meantime, your drafts have piled up- suddenly you’re looking at 20, 50, 100- how do you even start? 

The best way I’ve found to handle this is to break them up into smaller chunks. It might be helpful to copy and paste your partners’ replies over into one or more word documents. You can then further organize those word documents even more. One for short replies, one for long, one for medium length. Or you can organize by muses, by how long the draft has been in your folder- whichever way you want to handle this. If you want to put one reply per document, you can organize them into folders instead. How you do this is entirely up to you.

Set a small goal for yourself- even one draft a day is better than no drafts at all. But by breaking the work up into chunks, you’ve taken a lot of the pressure off yourself. A goal of 1-5 drafts a day is a lot better than looking at all 50. 

Another tip- use the queue! Or simply keep completed drafts saved in the drafts folder until you’ve caught up enough to start posting. The queue will stagger your posts so replies aren’t coming out all at once, and your partners aren’t able to immediately reply back. And obviously keeping them in drafts even after they’re done lets you have more time to catch up. These are just a couple of tips, however, and there are probably other good ways to manage drafts. Find what works best for you!

And don’t be afraid to drop a couple if you have no muse for those threads anymore. Just let your partner know, they’ll understand. And if they don’t, they’re just an asshole and who needs that, right? It is better to communicate that you’re dropping them, however, so you’re partner isn’t left hanging.

3. “I haven’t replied in weeks, I’m worried my partner hates me.” I guarantee this is not true. Most people in the rp community are very understanding of slow response time. Your partners want to rp with you- they’ll be thrilled to see a response, even if it’s been several weeks. Responding, even slowly, shows a lot more dedication and excitement over your threads. 

So if it’s been several weeks, and you finally have muse for that thread and want to reply to it, but feel guilty or anxious because it’s been so long- reply anyway. Your partner will be so happy to see your response. 

Another way to alleviate this anxiety is to simply talk to your partner. And I know, this can be scary- but sometimes you have to bite the bullet and do the thing that makes you anxious. Take it slow if you need to, but communication is the best way to feel better about it. And I guarantee, you are going to feel so much more proud of yourself if you did the thing that made you anxious than if you didn’t.

That goes for replying as well. 

4. “I feel so inadequate compared to others. I should just stop.” This is an example of what mental health professionals call a “negative automatic thought”, or “NAT”. And like real gnats, these little thoughts get all up in your ears and start buzzing around. They can spiral out of control very quickly, until you feel absolutely terrible about yourself. These thoughts are very common in people with both anxiety and depression. 

But the thing is, they can be changed. You can actually re-wire your brain with a little work so that it won’t think these thoughts quite as often. One of the most effective ways is to simply replace the negative thought with a positive one- even if you don’t believe it. So if your negative thought is “I’m horrible compared to other people,” a replacement thought could be “No, I’m just as good as anyone else,” or “my writing is unique to me and it has value.”

You will not believe yourself at first, and it will seem a little bit weird when you start. It’s also a little challenging- your negative thoughts are automatic, you’re so used to thinking them that you aren’t even fully aware of it it half the time. But when you do catch yourself spiraling off into those negative thoughts- try to stop them. This is something we teach in therapy and over time, it does help. And it does get easier.

5. “It has to be PERFECT.” Perfectionism is at the root of a lot of peoples’ anxieties. But I challenge you with this- why? Why does it have to be perfect? What will happen if it’s not perfect? 

The answer to that, usually, is “my partners will hate me/lose interest/think I’m stupid or a bad writer.” Perfectionism is usually a fear of judgment, and it’s usually fueled by feelings of inadequacy or fears of failure. So to that, I refer you back to the previous advice about negative automatic thoughts. 

Challenge your thinking about your perfectionism. A good replacement thought for this one is “even if it’s not perfect, my partner will still be happy that I responded. My writing is still valuable to them.” Another good one- “imperfection means there’s room to grow. Mistakes don’t mean I’m a failure or no good.” 

In general, don’t let anxiety say “I can’t do this.” You can do it. Anxiety is not a permanent state. The body cannot sustain it very long- the elevated heart rate, heavy breathing, heightened arousal- it’s physically impossible for it to last. Eventually, your body will start to calm itself and even back out. This is something that is very hard to sit with, because your natural instinct is to run away from the thing that’s making you anxious. Your instinct is to close the drafts folder, to close the messenger, to log out of tumblr and ignore it all completely. But the truth is, that only makes your anxiety worse in the long run. 

Now, if these tips don’t help, or you’re finding your anxiety is so bad that it’s affecting your daily life in almost everything- I encourage people to please see a psychologist, psychiatrist, or some other mental health professional. Anxiety that’s chronically preventing you from doing the things you enjoy is anxiety that probably needs treatment. Having the extra support of a therapist or medication often makes it possible to implement some of these strategies, or find better ones that work for you. Especially if you’re having a hard time managing things on your own. 

Anybody that wants to add to this with other ideas that have been helpful to you, please feel free to do so. 

Waiting as Obedience

Text: Ruth 3:14-18,
Proverbs 31:10-11,
Matthew 22:23-33

Have there been times in your life when you’ve felt a strong call by the Lord to pursue something? I have. I often start strong, feeling bold and excited, my heart ready and willing to obey. I can’t help but think, This is it! This is the moment life changes because I said yes!

Then, inevitably, a bend or a bump in the smooth, straight road I envisioned leaves me doubting. But wait. I said yes. I was obedient. So why is this still so hard?

Ruth has said all the right yeses in her story. She has been faithful to her mother-in-law Naomi in many ways, but especially so where Boaz is concerned. Ruth has truly put herself out there in trust, and it seems everything has been leading up to this moment.

What a surprise it must have been to be told simply to wait—and not for a certain amount of time, but indefinitely. (Indefinite waiting is the worst kind of waiting, if you ask me.) Ruth was instructed to wait until Boaz found the nearer kin, or redeemer, and ask if that man would marry Ruth, per the custom of their culture (Ruth 3:12-13). And who knew how long that would take or what would happen?

We aren’t told if this frustrated Ruth, but it frustrates me for her. This is the point where I’d likely throw in the towel, caught up in a thought spiral that goes something like this: Well, it’s all over now. I’ll be married to some man I’ve never met, these past few months will have been a total waste, and all I’ll have to show for it is a sore back and some barley. Perfect.

But Naomi—the same woman who once named herself “Bitter”—offered enough faith for the both of them. She encouraged Ruth, saying, “Wait, my daughter, until you learn how the matter turns out” (Ruth 3:18).

Wait, and then wait again. Isn’t this the way of life? Nowhere are we promised an easy time just because we obey or come to what we believe is a capital-A Answer. But our Father waits too—both with us and for us. His Word says that He longs to be gracious toward us and show us compassion and mercy (Isaiah 30:18). “His steadfast love endures forever,” through all things, all the time, just like the psalm says (Psalm 118).

This doesn’t mean that things will turn out exactly the way we think they should. But it does mean that God’s hand is always at work in our story, even when we can’t see it. Even when we’re waiting. God’s plan would have still gone ahead of Ruth, even if Boaz came back to say he couldn’t marry her. She would still have been God’s daughter, and His covenant promise to her would still have been true.

In your waiting place, cling to the hope that God will not leave our stories unfinished or unredeemed. They may not look how we expected but, as with Ruth and Naomi, our story is His story. We can wait with hope, and we can trust and obey with confidence. Thanks be to God.

- she reads truth

soft andreil because it’s v day & these boys own my heart, i’m sorry in advance?? now excuse me while i go put my andreil playlist on repeat 

  • So there are nights when Neil just watches Andrew sleep because he can’t fall asleep for whatever reason, and of course, there are always a thousand reasons. The stress of getting back into something as trivial as schoolwork after everything that’s happened, dealing with the new additions to the foxes who Neil sometimes feels were placed there just to torment him further, the PTSD and the bad dreams, that drumming fear in his chest & that odd twitch in his feet that still function on an old familiar instinct to run and just get the hell out.
  • On those nights looking at Andrew, asleep and undettered by his side is therapeutic, it reminds him that this, this, this is what he’s fought for all these years without even realizing it. This sense of stability, home, hearth.
  • Sometimes it collides with a warring sense of utter disbelief. There are times Neil still wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat afraid out of his mind that he’ll be alone in some strange city somewhere, or trapped in Edgar Allan with nothing but Riko’s abuse for company or watching his mother’s corpse go up in flames at a beach. There are times Neil has to sit down and relearn breathing, times he has to remind himself that this isn’t some cruel dream. That he gets to keep this. No hallucinations. No sick games. Just this. The two of them. Together. 
  • Watching Andrew sleep always sends the haunting thoughts spiraling away, because all he can focus on is the loose set of Andrew’s jaw, the dim fluttering of his pale lashes that catch the moonlight like powdered sugar and the way his breaths come and go. 
  • How lucky he is, he thinks, to be the one to get to have Andrew like this, in the way nobody else gets to. He would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes, he feels almost smug about it.
  • But mostly, he feels grateful. Grateful for the kisses and the keys and the company, for the trust. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for Andrew to let himself fall asleep next to someone else, to not yank out the knife everytime he feels Neil twist in his sleep or hears Neil’s breathing at his ear, to restrain his movements so that he doesn’t wake in a violent spasm and break one of Neil’s ribs in the process.  
  • Andrew’s an extremely light sleeper, so sometimes he thinks he knows Neil’s watching him, can probably trace his gaze blind, but he never says anything about it, never reprimands him over it. Neil’s just glad he doesn’t have to hear Andrew go “stop looking at me like that” with his eyes closed and feigning sleep. 
  • Neil can’t help but think how young and unimpeachable Andrew looks in his sleep. The way the light spills into his hair, how it frames him like a portrait that deserves to hang in an art museum somewhere. Sometimes, Neil thinks, Andrew tries so hard to appear baleful, that the people around him forget that he’s just a damaged kid, coping against all odds, in the only way he knows how. 
  • He really will be pummeling someone six ways to Sunday if they ever try to convince him Andrew’s a sociopath ever again.
  • Some nights, when neither of them can sleep, Andrew just silently gets up and grabs the keys for the Maserati before heading out the door, knowing Neil will follow. 
  • And they drive and they drive with no particular destination in mind. Sometimes they’ll talk. Most times they don’t. They just soak in the reassurance of the other’s presence like they might run out if they don’t keep acknowledging it. Usually, they don’t bother to turn on the radio. They both appreciate the silence. Sometimes Andrew will allow Neil to crack a window. They’ll enjoy the night breeze, the sound of the tires squelching smoothly against the asphalt, a weirdly calming percussion. 
  • Tonight, Neil’s feeling experimental. He flips on the radio and Andrew says nothing about it. Not an approval, but not a negative either. 
  • There is something torrentially exhilarating about driving as far away from Palmetto State University as possible then turning right back instead of skittering off into the unknown. He’s mapped these roads into the back of his hand, he knows them like he knows his own name. He knows he’ll always find his way back from here. Back home. 
  • The song on the radio intones what he’s feeling, the artist says we’re running on fumes but we’ll make it through the night.
  • Sometimes they’ll park the car on the edge of the highway and kiss each other until they can’t feel their mouths. Neil thinks Andrew is the only thing that keeps him grounded sometimes, that keeps him from having a virtual panic attack every ten minutes.
  • “You’re real,” Neil says, between kisses, it was meant to be a statement but it comes out as a question. “As real as you.” Andrew’ll reply. He knows how much Neil needs to hear that, even if it gets repetitive and annoying, he knows he needs to keep being reminded that he’s home now, and that he’s fractured & reeling & disturbed but that he’s okay
  • When they do eventually go back to sleep, Neil will wake up before Andrew just to run a finger through his hair or over the ridges of his cheeks as he sleeps so that he can memorize this touch, the feeling of this touch, burn it into his brain for when it gets bad again.
Sugar Pt. 3 (Luke)

PART 1| PART 2 

MASTERLIST 

“I wrote the lyrics in Chicago. I was with my dad, and we were listening to the old music where they’d always say ‘sugar’ and ‘honey’ - stuff like that. I was like, ‘Why doesn’t anyone do that anymore?’ - Pete Wentz

__

“Smells delightful, sugar.”

The soulful scent of fresh herbs wafts through your kitchen, slices of potatoes marinating in a sizzling pan. Warm pieces of bread are sandwiched in their slots on the counter, the slow timer ticking its soft metronome. The early morning  earthly smell of coffee follow its course through a dilapidated kitchen window , its weary hinges rusty with age. You smile when you realise its none of these scents he’s referring to, his nose buried deep in the skin of your exposed neck.

“Luke…” You warn, feeling his mouth leave wet kisses in a string to your collarbone, the soft press of his hands lifting up his knee-length shirt you’d grown so accustomed to wearing in bed.

Luke merely hums in response, licking his way back up to your waiting mouth, your head tilted at an odd angle to meet his eager lips.

“Luke…” You warn again as his tongue pushes past and bumps sloppily with your own, his sporadic moans as sweet and filling as spoonfuls of honey. His hands inch higher this time, nimble fingers prancing excitedly along the lace of your underwear, your thighs pricked with bumps from the cold feel of his palms. “Isabelle is bound to walk in.”

“Nonsense.” He purrs, slipping a finger inside and running it teasingly over the length of your folds. His voice is nothing but rushes of air, silent whispers of lust against your skin. “No offence sweetheart, but based from what I’m feeling, I don’t think you seem to care.”

Keep reading

Bad Ideas (M)

Rowoon decides to finally confess to you after you’ve been away for a while, but things take a turn…

Protagonists: Rowoon & you

Word Count: 3,3k

Genre: Smut

A/N: Don’t hate me, I wanted to write my first fluffy fic, but it gave me bad ideas… The original title was “Confession”. I know he just debuted, but he’s a 96′ liner and we’re all going to Kpop hell anyway. I’m not even sorry for this one. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


It’s only now that he is in front of your building that doubts start creeping in his head. What if she didn’t miss me? What if she gets angry for dropping by unannounced? He tries to shake off this spiral of negative thoughts by stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. Rowoon looks up at the series of windows where he guesses your apartment is, wondering if you had time to unpack your suitcases.

A group of high school girls pass him on the street and he promptly looks down at his feet, hiding his eyes behind his cap. Why does she have to live so close to a school? He sighs and the black mask he is wearing sticks on his face and mouth. He might as well make a move or go back to the dorm already.

An elderly man carrying bags walks by in direction of the apartment complex and he offers to assist, seizing the opportunity to enter the building. The singer holds the front door and helps the elder get on the elevator with his bags. After a low bow and a short thankful exchange, the doors close and Rowoon is left alone in the hall. 

Should I call her? He has a strange feeling about this. He is usually confident, but the closer he gets to confess, the further away you seem.


It was a year ago, he was with Inseong on break between practices when they decided to stop by a coffee shop. They entered and he immediately noticed you, sitting with your long legs crossed at a high table near the counter. The spring sun was illuminating the whole place and time seemed to stay still for a few seconds. You ran your fingers through your hair before bringing them back on your coffee mug, your nails carelessly hitting the ceramic in rhythm.

You were smiling brightly at the guy in front of you and the whole time Rowoon and Inseong waited at the counter, he couldn’t stop himself from throwing glances your way. When he looked at you for the seventh time, your eyes locked and the air stopped in his chest. Inseong saw his face and followed his gaze with a cheeky smile.

“Minwoo-hyung!” He half-yelled in the empty coffee shop. Rowoon reluctantly turned his head and noticed for the first time that the guy sitting with you was working in marketing for their company. His name was Minwoo and he was an American-Korean who was only 3 years older than Inseong. Everyone at the company knew how much of a player he was, basically dating a new hopeless girl every month. A fire began to burn in Rowoon’s chest, spreading to his ears, making them turn bright red.

“Hi guys, I guess you’re on break? You should sit with us while you wait.” Minwoo smiled back at Inseong and gestured the high table next to them. Rowoon sat in dead silence, wondering why their hyung would want them to crash his date. This time he avoided to look at the foreigner girl, staring at the wood design of the table instead. Inseong happily introduced himself in English and you were instantly wowed by his ability.

“I’m y/n, nice to meet you!” He immediately proceeded to ask where you were from and your age, but you just blushed and giggled the questions away.

“You’re Rowoon right?” He lifted his head amazed at the way his name fell out of your lips and sounded so marvelously smooth. When your eyes locked again, he mumbled his greetings in English with a small voice. You stared in curiosity, making it hard for him to form coherent thoughts. “I already know about SF9, I’m sorry if that’s weird”. A nervous giggle climbed your throat and the young man continued to look at you until the barista interrupted with two coffees.

“Do you guys need to go or do you want to stay with us a little longer? Y/n still has time left, right?” Minwoo kindly switched back the conversation to Korean.

“I don’t have to get back to work right away Oppa, it’s alright.” You answered in Korean with a heavy accent.

“Oh, then we also still have time. How do you speak Korean so well?” Rowoon asked politely. He was instantly more comfortable and bold in his own language. Inseong raised an eyebrow, knowing that the younger singer was the one who wanted to go back sooner to the dance studio.

“I’ve been working here for a year, Minwoo-oppa is one of my housemates.” The girl warmly grinned at him, making his heart skipped a beat. I guess they are not on a date then. He smiled back.


I need to tell her. I need to tell her how much I missed her when she was away. Rowoon presses the button to call the elevator down again. He let his feelings build up for a year before being ready to confess, if he waits any longer you might start to seriously see someone. He doesn’t want to end up being just a friend forever.

His fingers are nervously drumming the side of his thighs as the elevators doors open and he gets in. The singer pulls the mask down on his chin and press 12, the strange feeling in his guts intensifies as the lift starts to move. When he gets out on the twelfth floor, he mechanically walks to your place even if only has been there once since you moved. Rowoon barely gets to knock 2 times before you swing open the door and he bounces back in surprise.

Holy shit. She wouldn’t have answered the door half-naked, right? He gulps. His eyes wander on your legs before he looks up, avoiding eye-contact.


Your mouth forms a silent “O” when you register who’s standing at your front door. You just thought the pre-paid delivery was there and opened it without thinking. Rowoon’s gaze caresses your legs disappearing under the oversize t-shirt you threw on. The way he looks at your body longer than necessary makes you blush and you clear your throat before trying to speak.

“I thought you were the chicken!” You laugh to hide your discomfort and stare at him behind the chaos of your wet locks of hair.

“Hu-uum, well I-” Rowoon starts. Oh god, I look like a total mess. Remembering your current state, you panic and interrupt him.

“Did you miss me that much? Is that why you’re already visiting me?” You playfully hit his shoulder, trying to sound has normal as you could, but blabbering nonsense. “I just got back and took a much-deserved very hot bath.” 

WHY? Jeez, you hate yourself. The words escaped your mouth before you realized. This isn’t the kind of things you should be saying to your younger male friend. No big deal where you’re from, but Koreans are a bit more cautious with their choice of words.

“Yeah, I know that you just got back. That’s why I’m here.” He frowns. “I mean, the bath is not why I’m here. I didn’t know about the bath. It’s not something I would have known about, right? What I mean is… I’m here to see you…not see you in the bath… But it’s also logical that you would want to wash after the fligh-“ His ears are bright red and he clearly needs help to finish that speech.

“Ok, you’re being weird.” You cut him off, ending both of your sufferings “I’m sorry, I’m not on my more reserved side right now. You want to come in? I’ll behave.” Raising an eyebrow, you open the door wider. You must admit, you’re really flattered to be able to make him flustered like that.

“Wait?! Shouldn’t you put something else on?” Pure panic is perceivable in his voice and he’s staring at his feet seemingly terrified to look up. Why is he that nervous? He has seen you in your pajama before.

The only time you saw him like that was when you covered HyunA at a karaoke and tried to get him to dance with you. You were so drunk that you kept telling him repeatedly how hot he was. The next day, Rowoon was so uncomfortable he couldn’t meet your eyes, so you lied and said you didn’t remember anything. When you asked to know what you did to embarrass him, he lied too and you both never talked about it again. Great memory there, Soju-champion. A faint blush creeps on your cheeks and when you look down at yourself, you finally get his agitation.

“Rowoon… I am wearing shorts.” You make that statement in the dullest tone and move to the side to let him in. He passes you like a ghost, more dead than alive. A million thoughts run through your head. “Why would you think I’m answering the door wearing only a t-shirt anyway?” You ask trying to ease the tension of the weird atmosphere.

“I-I thought you just threw something on when you got out of the bath, sorry.” His expression is still dark, probably because of the embarrassment.

A quick knock on the door you closed seconds ago stops you from reassuring him and you accept the chicken delivery without further ceremony. When you turn around to move to the kitchen you are surprise to see the singer is still standing in the small corridor.

“I should go now and let you eat.” He asserts hastily trying to get around you and leave. You firmly grab his arms and turn him around. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your face and goosebumps spread on your arms. Rowoon towers over you, his dark eyes looking straight into yours for the first time since you opened the door.

“Then why are you here?” Your voice falls flat in the tiny space. It sounds more like an accusation than the invitation to stay longer you intended.

“I missed you.” Even if he casually said those words to you before, you feel his whisper this time is slightly different, needy. He’s still inspecting your eyes, begging you to answer a question you’re not sure he asked. Rowoon slowly licks his lips, something you know him to do when he’s edgy. Suddenly, it proves to be too much and you pull on his arm to bring him closer. Your lips brush gently against his and you immediately back off keeping your eyes shut.

“I missed you too” …But not in a friend kind of way. There goes a year of self-control, congrats y/n.

Before you find the courage to open your eyes and face him, you are being pushed to the wall. Rowoon’s lips crash on yours again, this time, fiercely. You gasp in his mouth, surprised, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. He presses his body to feel you closer and you kiss him back slightly parting your lips. His right hand is on the wall next to your head while his left hand is getting lost in the wet mess of your hair.

You drop the bag of chicken on the ground to get a hold of his shoulders and keep him close. All thoughts about preserving your friendship vanished and you abandon yourself in his embrace. Rowoon’s tongue begins exploring your mouth, so soft and warm that you let out a needy moan. The young singer pulls back astonished and you seize the opportunity to take his black mask and slide his jacket off. Once they’re next to the chicken on the floor, you grab his neck, closing the gap between your lips again. It’s not too long before you’re both panting, your bodies craving each other. Rowoon drops his head, sucking gently where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Let’s move to my room.” When you lightly push him away, he pouts before obediently following you to your room.  He sits on your bed and looks up in awe as you take your shorts off. You’re staring at him, only in your panties and oversize t-shirt, waiting for him to remove his pants.

As soon as they are free, his hands are on your thighs, caressing them up and down. “I love your legs.” He deeply groans while his fingers trail up, exploring your bare skin. “Oh, I know.” You grin and climb on his lap, thinking of all those times you caught him peeking at your thighs. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, urging him to take it off too.

When his abs are exposed you bite your lower lip and an impressed hiss escapes your mouth. “God you’re hot.” He smirks and pulls you into a kiss. “Hotter than what I told you that day at the karaoke.” He pecks your lips again but ends up chuckling against your cheeks. “I thought it was the soju…” You grab his chin and look in his dark brown irides.

“I have eyes. Did you forget I knew you as an Idol before? I already had a crush and bad ideas about you.” You begin to grind your hips against his in rhythm, making him moan as he firmly holds your ass. Between pants, Rowoon nibbles your neck and his hands explore your body. He reaches underneath your t-shirt to cup your breasts and tease your nipples.

Bad ideas, hum?” Your wetness soaks your panties with each grind of his clothed bulge against you. “Ro-Rowoon…” After a moment, you start to believe you’ll both come undone like this, but he uses his weight to flip you on the bed. Rowoon blinks, searching for his breath as you remove your t-shirt and stare innocently at him.

“y/n…” His murmur sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, he starts to kiss his way down on your body and his fingers gently touch the wetness through your lace panties. He leaves a last kiss on your right hip before giving you a lustful gaze and tossing them aside.  His thumb slides up and down your opening, spreading your wetness. You fist the sheets of your bed, trying to hold onto reality. He inserts a finger inside you, moving it carefully and gauging your reaction. “Aa-ah, please… Rowoon…” You whine and he adds a finger, feeling a bit more confident. He moves them back and forth, curling them occasionally to look at you curve your back, fascinated. He’s panting laboriously, letting out groans and scattering kisses on your soft skin. The sight of you getting off on his fingers is making him crazy. “Noona… Hum- Is this for real?”

You can’t help but wonder too, the situation seems surreal; the man of your dream is gently sucking the soft skin of your inner thigh while letting out little moans. His chest is rising and falling in rhythm, his black hair is a mess and his lips are swollen and red. Rowoon is kneeling next to your bed, in-between your legs. “Come here.” Your voice is hoarse and you sensually gesture him with your finger. He climbs up the bed to meet your needy lips. “This is real…” The weight of his body is pinning you to the mattress. It only makes you want him more and you grind your hips against his. Rowoon grunts in the kiss and drops his head in frustration. “I don’t have protection; I really didn’t think that we’d-”

“It’s okay.” You interrupt and can’t help but giggle when he thanks God and Buddha as you reach in your bedside table. In no time, Rowoon is fully naked in front of you, rolling down a condom on his length. Leaning on your elbows, you bite your lower lip, appreciating the sight. The corner of his mouth curl up in a shy smile and you notice how red his ears still are. “I can’t believe you’re still blushing.” His black gaze meets yours.

“What can I say; you have no idea the effect you have on me.” His cheesiness makes you laugh and he tries to stop it with his lips while he’s positioning himself on top of you. He begins to suck on the tip of your tongue, prolonging the embrace until you’re both searching for air. The tip of his cock brushes against your folds and you gasp in anticipation but he stops his movements. “Are you sure?” His voice is almost inaudible and if you were a meter away you wouldn’t have heard it. You nod and his eyes scan yours for confirmation. What he finds seems to reassure him because he slowly sinks himself in you, still maintaining eye contact.

After few seconds of immobility, Rowoon starts to move again at a maddeningly gentle pace. “Faa-faster” You beg. He obliges and brings his palm behind your right knee to spread your legs and allow himself deeper. You both cry out when he begins to move faster and harder. The sounds of moans and skin against skin rapidly fill the room and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by your senses. Rowoon plants sloppy kisses on your neckline. You grip his hair and shoulder, his breath and saliva trailing patterns on your chest.

He lets go of your leg to drop his body closer to yours and brings his thumb to your sensitive bud. When it starts to rub little circles, you become even more of a mess, trembling and clenching your thighs against his legs. His name falls of your lips like a mantra and he returns it to you with low animal grunts. He speeds up his pace again, his hips hitting you firmly with each thrust. The mixture of pain and pleasure begins to make you lose all awareness and your orgasm builds up in your stomach. You completely reach your high right when Rowoon cries your name while coming undone. The peak of sensations sends you over the edge. Spasms take control of your body and you abandon yourself to the waves of pleasure. Rowoon collapses next to you, breathing loudly while you both try to regain composure.

After a moment, he looks at you and caresses your cheek with his index. “Are you okay?” You turn your head his way, a bit startled. “Why? Aren’t you?!” He just laughs in response and brings your body closer to his. For a few minutes, you just lay on his chest, feeling the drowsiness settle upon you both, until your stomach protests his starvation. The memories of the rest of the night hit you and you start to worry about what tonight means for your relation. You may have dream of this ever since you met him at the café, but you were kind of hoping for more than a hook up.

“Hum, so you didn’t really tell me why you came here tonight…” You look up to him, but his eyes are closed.

“Oh…” He pauses and then smiles. “To confess.”

“Oh… And how did it go?” Relieved, you chuckle excitedly.

“Hum… I think it went pretty amazing, to be honest!” You both giggle and he lovingly gazes at you through his eyelashes. Was this always this easy? We should have done that ages ago. Before any of you can add anything, your stomach makes a new protest noise and you stand up embarrassed.

“Well I guess the chicken is cold now and I have to wash up again. Care to join me in the shower?” You turn around, ready to sexily wave your hips and make him follow you to the bathroom, but he grabs your hand.

“Wait. We should warm the chicken and eat first.” Rowoon hesitates and bites his lower lip a bit embarrassed. “We could get dirty again afterwards, I mean…”  He playfully winks at you. “Why wash up? I want to know all about those bad ideas you said you had…”


- Lyly. (I live on a twelfth floor and this could be my studio #oops) ;) 

M A S T E R L I S T