#compartment c

[balkanparamo]

Edward Hopper: "Compartment C, Car 193", 1938

[imkeepinit]

Compartment C Car (1938) by Edward Hopper

[scituss]

:3333333

[himblebo]

I have the power of god and autism on my side

[unseendeity]

I have a question! Where in my car do y'all think I should store my protection bag? I'm a closeted witch, so I don't think I can hang it on my rearview mirror (ik they'll ask questions & I'm shit at lying/playing it off)

[s00nyoungie]

seriously considering taking up woodworking and carpentry if i had the space

[your-royal-momoness]

@faiakishi u know ur absolutely right.

I feel like the gaang would get kicked out of IKEA

[rafey-baby]

hidden 2

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, rafe getting injured & reluctantly letting her clean him up, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight and Rafe is driving over the speed-limit— he said something about handling business and then more or less shoved her into the passenger seat of his truck before she even had the chance to open her mouth.  

The island sky is as dusky as the bottom of the ocean while he races through the soundless highway that reminds her of the yellow brick road; never-ending and with no certainty of what’s looming at the finish line. 

She’s sits silently, because even if she was curious as to where exactly they were headed to, she’s well aware that he wouldn’t tell her if she asked— which is why she merely lets her heavy lids flutter shut to the lullaby of the wind picking up outside the vehicle, so exhausted she falls asleep within minutes. Therefore, she’s not sure how much time has passed before she’s jostled awake to the sound of him turning off the engine in an empty parking lot. 

“Don’t even think about openin’ the door, alright?” a heavy warning lingers in his tone while he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabs a thick wad of cash from the glove compartment.  

She hums her acknowledgment, watching his actions with wandering eyes filled with questions. However, he merely offers her a brief glance before he’s throwing open the door and disappearing into the eerily serene night— leaving her alone in the dimly lit space with her nervous inhales the only thing keeping her company.  

The moment he’s gone, she tries to peer through the window, squinting in order to see where he’s run off to. However, the faint glow of the street lamps provides little to no help, which makes her tap her nails against the center console; impatiently waiting for him to return. Then, she attempts to press her ear to the window, but unfortunately no sounds other than the leaves in the trees surrounding the area reach her eardrums.  

She sighs. What if something happens? 

Realistically, she knows he doesn’t need her to worry about him but she can’t help it; no matter how terrible of a person he is, she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, she’s not a carefully programmed robot entirely void of human emotions, is she?

The mellow memory of him reluctantly attempting to soothe her after her outburst the other day still lingers at the forefront of her mind— turning her initial thoughts about him into something softer. After all, she was certain he was going to kill her when she threatened him with his gun. However, he seemed almost entertained by her stupid bravery, opting to mock her instead of showing a single ounce of actual fear.

And she doesn’t know why, but there’s this peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever her brain decides to mull over the moment of him wrapping his big arms around her shaky form in an almost gentle manner. She wants to forget about it, wants to push it aside and simply despise him for forcing her to help him, but she can’t— can’t help the fact that even if she’s utterly terrified of him, there’s something almost fascinating about the way he’s such a polar opposite to her.

Not only is he a Kook but he’s also violent and hostile, whereas she doesn’t even have the heart to kill a bug. His demeanor is aggressive and she thought that was all there was but then he goes on and practically hugs her when she’s a trembling mess with salty tears streaking her cheeks. And she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to think of that.  

In fact, all of it confuses her to no end— disarranging her cerebrum and making foreign emotions bubble in her chest like molten lava. Or maybe she’s just touch-deprived; starving for whatever attention Rafe is suddenly offering her so generously. 

However, she doesn’t necessarily want to think about any of it right now, opting to stare out into the gloom of the night, forcing her mind somewhere else entirely when all at once, the driver’s side door slams open and her head snaps towards it; eyes startled and heart jumping in her chest at the sudden intrusion.  

“Calm down, s’just me,” Rafe mutters, sounding out of breath, his exhales harsh and chest rising and falling like a madman while he leans against the leather seat— eyes soon flitting over her tense form.

“You seriously didn’t move?” he huffs out, brows raised. “When’d you learn to listen? Should give you a treat for bein’ such a good little puppy, huh?” he lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head while she comes to the conclusion that she’s definitely craving a very specific type of attention when her thighs involuntarily press together in response to his twisted notion of praise.   

“You— uh…you okay?” she cautiously asks; an attempt to focus on something other than the warmth scattering along the apples of her cheeks.   

“M’fine,” he mumbles before starting the engine and speeding back out onto the road still sound asleep— the pitch-black sky beginning to fade into a navy blue with the dim glimmer of the street lamps illuminating their journey.    

However, when she gets a better look at him, she notices a few cuts and bruises adorning his tired face. There’s a particularly deep scrape on his cheekbone; crimson transferring to the back of his hand when he mindlessly swipes over it. “Rafe you’re bleeding. What happened?” she exclaims, uneasiness coating her voice.

“Don’t worry, okay? Jus’ had some, uh…disagreements, you should honestly see the other guy,” a lazy smirk paints over his face when he lets out a dry chuckle.  

“Do you want me to clean them up for you? Those could get infected or something.”

“S’just a few scratches, you’re actin’ as if m’bleedin’ out,” he rolls his eyes, turning exasperated.  

“M’being serious, you can’t exactly go to the doctor if those actually end up getting infected, can you?” she argues with a pout.    

“Shit, are all pogues this fuckin’ stubborn or jus’ you? Told you, s’fine,” he snaps in disdain, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel.  

“It’s not fine, though. Can you jus’…can you just let me help? It’ll take like ten minutes and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she rakes a hand through her hair in frustration because in her opinion, Rafe is the one being stubborn right now.   

“M’not worryin’ about it!” his gravelly voice suddenly thunders from his chest, making her flinch.  

“…well— I am,” her tone is quiet now, slightly regretting bringing up the topic in the first place.    

At that, he lets out an irritated sigh before he’s abruptly pulling over to a parking lot next to some gas station.

She turns to look at him with a surprised expression.   

“Don’t have all day, get the fuckin’ first aid kit from the glove box then,” he grumbles out a harsh demand.   

“O— okay,” her face begins to light up in victory as she scurries to open the compartment in front of her, rummaging through and trying to not pay attention to the plastic baggies filled with white powder or the wads of cash her hand comes in contact with. 

At last, her tentative fingertips find the small red bag she was looking for. However, when she turns to face him again, he’s not initiating any sort of movement, simply spreading his legs out in front of him in his slouched position and staring down at her expectantly.  

She hesitates. “You’re not gonna…move?”  

“If you wanna play nurse so fuckin’ bad then you have no problem sittin’ on my lap, right? Not gonna reach all the way from there, are ya?” his voice is mocking and she can practically feel the warmth crawling up her face.  

“Oh, right. Um— yeah. I’ll just…” she blinks and then she’s clumsily climbing over the console and awkwardly lowering down to his lap while he merely looks at her with a bored expression; annoyance swimming in the lagoons of his eyes as he glares at her, clearly bothered by the fact that he has to waste his precious time on something as trivial as this.

It makes her huff before she’s timidly opening the first aid kit and trying to settle down onto his lap. However, with his long legs sprawled out in the legroom, he’s not exactly making it easy for her— being petty and difficult on purpose while she takes out a clean cotton pad and dampens it with some antiseptic spray. 

“Can you just…” she trails off before gingerly taking ahold of his jaw and tilting his face in an attempt to examine the injuries.  

And to her surprise, he lets her freely maneuver his head as she pleases and despite the sting, he doesn’t even flinch when she dabs over a smaller cut on his jaw— merely lets his gaze flicker over her features, making her grow nervous under his curious eyes while she tries to concentrate on the vermilion spots on his face and not the way he’s soundlessly observing her. Or the fact that she’s currently closer to him than she’s ever been before— can feel the even breaths from his nose tickling the skin of her lower face when she leans down for a better angle.  

“So…you’re a drug dealer?” she decides to try her luck, not being able to sweep the cocaine in the glove compartment under the rug so carelessly.   

“What did I say about questions, puppy?” he scolds her instead of answering.   

“Right— sorry,” her eyes drop. At least she tried.  

And she doesn’t say anything more, instead focuses all her attention on gently cleansing the scrapes while she tries to not pay any mind to the fact that as an afterthought, this position is incredibly improper, and she’s not entirely sure why she agreed to it so easily. Upon careful consideration, she thinks she’s entirely too aware of his sturdy muscles underneath her and it’s turning her respiration more and more labored by each wipe over his skin.  

“Thinkin’ about goin’ to Guadeloupe next week,” he utters out after several moments of silence.  

“You are?”   

“Mhm, m’family has a house there,” his voice is calm, almost relaxed.  

Her brows crease in a question. “But how’re you—”

“I have a private jet,” he states as if it should be obvious. He is a proud Kook, after all.

“Right, of course you do,” she shakes her head when the corners of his mouth tug up. “How long are you gonna stay there?” she then asks while lifting her hand to swipe the saturated cotton over the deeper wound on his cheekbone.   

He shrugs. “Don’t know, ’til I figure somethin’ else out.”

She hums and then shuffles around on his lap some more, trying to wriggle upwards in an attempt to not fall. However, as she’s shifting into a more comfortable position, he suddenly lets out a low grunt from the back of his throat.  

“Shit, puppy. You, uh, you really gotta move around so much?” he murmurs, promptly resting his hands on her hips, halting her movements altogether.   

“S— sorry,” her eyes round out when she realizes there’s a slight bulge in his pants. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tryna get me hard on purpose, hm?” a breathy chuckle escapes his lips, amusement glittering in blue gemstones while he inspects her flushed face with intrigue.   

“Oh, no— m’not…was jus’— trying not to fall,” her words are rushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she blinks repeatedly.  

“Just, uh…stay still, yeah? Need me to steady you?” he rasps out before strong arms are holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist.   

“Thanks,” her voice is a muted whisper while she tries not to seem so affected— getting a new cotton pad and beginning to scrub off some of the dried scarlet from under his bottom lip, not daring to shift an inch after that.

[odoraful]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

content: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader; established relationship; comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ZAYNE ⟡

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep. 

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before,” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.  

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them. 

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties,” he said, dryly. 

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.” 

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously. 

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.”

He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.”  He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep. 

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone. 

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct—your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing. 

XAVIER ⟡

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter. 

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick—an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you. 

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature. 

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened. 

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller—acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook. 

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying. 

“Are you still with me?” he asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side. 

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is”—a yawn you tried to stifle came out—“about to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’” 

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep. 

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.  

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how you snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression. 

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

RAFAYEL ⟡

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel. 

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit. 

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow. 

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness. 

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… your eyelids began to fall on their accord. 

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but”—you turned to your side to face him properly—“being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes. 

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise,” he proclaimed. 

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” you repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.” 

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you. 

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[todays-xkcd]

Speed limit c arcminutes^2 per steradian

Uncanceled Units [Explained]

Transcription

[White Hat and Cueball are standing to either side of a refrigerator. White hat is lifting on hand up to touch the side of the fridge. The fridge has two compartments, with two doors that open to the top compartment and one bottom compartment, a drawer. The top left compartment has a tall handle on its right, the top right compartment has a tall handle on its left, and the bottom compartment has a long handle on its top. The top left compartment has an oval shape on the top and a paper attached, both with unreadable text. There is also a small square note in the top right corner and an oval shape on the side of the fridge above White Hat. These also have unreadable text.] White Hat: This fridge uses only 3 kWh per day! Cueball: But will it fit in my kitchen? The ceiling there is only 50 gallons per square foot.

[Caption below the panel:] Pet peeve: Uncanceled units

[blingblong55]

Ghost would 1000000% teach his wife how to fire a gun. How to fight, give her the location of the second home he has if something bad happens, would teach her that if she happens to get kidnapped, there are three main points, A, B, and C, B is the weakest and she has better luck running away. He would also teach her how to fight anyone in any situation. He would create a word that she could use if she is in danger.

He has secret compartments around the home they live in, codes she knows about and he even built a room where she can hide in if someone breaks in.

Yes he trusts her but he doesn’t trust the world and to him, it’s just them both against whatever fucker decides to mess with her or him. Yes he does trust his teammates, but he has her safety at best interest. He doesn’t carry any sign of him having a romantic partner, not even a ring or a tattoo that symbolises her being apart of his life. He knows if he ever gets caught, someone will look into reading his tattoos.

Now, he makes her carry a knife, something he advises to carry everyday. He ordered her a knife that she customised the design to, he didn’t understand why but anything she wants he gets. He’s that kind of husband.

He also reminds her of the safe house he has in case shit hits the fan and if it does, there are people that owe him favours so him and her will be safe.

[imkeepinit]

Compartment C, Car 193 (1938) by Edward Hopper

[stars-eclipsing]

#- Who let the dog out?

Features: The dawg, Mohawk mark.

Merchant's tip: "Wonderland can be very scary, but if you show it you're scared, it’ll try and take advantage of you…

Oh, and try and remember something... your actions have consequences...good luck"

Tags: Kinda creepy, lots of mentions of death but no one dies, also its just suggestive at the end I guess? Kinda dubious consent tho errrr

wc: 2.2k

You hit someone.

You think you did. You're not sure.

Your hands are locked on the steering wheel. Your knuckles have gone white. You can hear your heart in your ears, high and shrill and unnatural.

You open the door. Not because you're ready, but because you need to.

Your legs shake. You're trying to walk normally, as though someone didn't just crash into your windshield. Your body won't cooperate.

Still, you force yourself forward. One step. Then another.

The man’s lying there, sprawled like a rag doll in the middle of the road.

You crouch in front of him, breath catching. Blood pools beneath him—too much blood, and from where, you can’t even tell. The sight makes your eyes blur, your stomach flip.

Your mouth works before your brain does. “Hello…?”

The man almost immediately groans, shifting slightly, though you suspect it's more of a spasm. 

With the sign of sentience, panic builds into your body, and you clutch his shoulders, “Hello?! Hello, are you okay?” 

You let go of him and fumble with the phone in the back of your pocket. You get the password wrong a few times in your state of alarm, and it just makes you panic even more. 

You want to say something to relieve him of the agony he must feel. But all you can come up with is, “I'm going to c-call an ambulance…” You slur your words as you fumble with the buttons.

“Wait,” He says, perfectly clear. Though his voice is a little raspy. 

You immediately obey, looking up from your phone to the man, “W-What is it?” 

“Don't call an ambulance.” 

Your heart is beating loudly, pumping so much oxygen in your blood you're somehow growing woozy, “Okay…”

He sits up with a grunt, clutching his side. Your eyes stare lifelessly at his face, purposefully avoiding the wound.

“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?” You speak slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You're not sure you're pronouncing words properly.

He shakes his head, and you notice a shaky grin on his face. You suppose because he is scared that he is going to die, “No. No hospital.” He says quietly.

You speak before you think, “Please, I’ll cover the expenses–” 

He lets out another loud groan, and the shrill sound in your ears grows louder.  Till all you can hear is ringing.

“No…” His face is beading with sweat and he’s breathing shallowly, “Can you… can you stitch me up?” 

No. You’re not a doctor. You don't even know what that would mean. “I have a first aid kit in my car.”

He speaks to you calmly, “Alright." He breathes, labored and short, "Then go get it.”

At his sudden sharp tone, you snapped out of your brain fog and got up, bambi-scrambling to your car. You find that familiar white box you've never used in the passenger seat compartment. With shaky hands, you set it down on the asphalt, and click open the latches. 

You spot bandages, gauze, tape, and pain relievers. Disposable gloves, scissors, and tweezers take up a corner. A helpful red and white pamphlet is taped to its lid.

You stare at it all for a long time, then shakily start to rifle for something useful in this situation.

“Can you go a bit faster, sweetheart?” You hear him tell you, almost like a taunt, “You don't want a criminal record this young, do you…?” 

You can't grace him with a response; your mind is not on Earth. You take some antiseptic, and look towards him. He's already presenting his wound to you. 

Fuck.

You resist a gag because you know you’ll end up immediately throwing up. You want to pass out and never wake up after this. It's so bad. It looks really really bad and it's pulsing. Oh my god it's pulsing and it's bleeding so much. Oh God… 

You don't understand… You think as your brain thuds against your skull, Why hasn't someone driven by? Did the neighbors not hear the crash of a body colliding with your windshield? Making a huge crack onto it? Did they not hear your car skidding to a halt? Or the way your heart beat so much it was about to jump out of your chest?

You don't understand. 

You feel a hand coming on your shoulder, snapping you out of your panicked fit, “Easy there, sweetheart,” He tells you, boredom seeping into his tone, “Calm down. It's fine.” 

You don't know when you started sobbing, “It's not fine. You’re going to die.” 

He snorts, “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ die.” 

You can't help yourself when he gathers you in his arms, shushing you. You feel the warm wetness of his blood against your side, but you don't care. You cry into the crook of his neck. Confused. Confused on why this is happening to you and why nobody is coming to help. Why…

“Are you sure?” You ask, shakily. 

“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” He tips your chin to look up at him. His pupils are blown wide, but other than that, he looks fine… His skin color is a normal shade, too. In fact, it even seems to be a bit ruddy… 

He moves a few stray hairs out of your face, “Would you feel better if you stitched me up at your house?” 

You nod gratefully, sniveling and heaving, but grateful for the opportunity. Grateful that he isn't mad at you. Or sad that he is going to die on the road. Because you’re the one already sad that he is going to die on the road. 

You stand up first, and extend your hand to help him get up. He leans his weight mostly on you, and he groans with each step you take. But you make it to the car. 

You help him to the passenger seat —trying your best to not look at his chest rapidly moving up and down— and click the seatbelt in place for him. 

“Safety first, right?” He mocks with an upturn of his lips.

Your stomach churns. 

The ride back to your house is quiet. At first, he runs his eyes along the interior of your car, curious. After a while, he just lays there, eyes closed, but breathing. You have never been so grateful that someone was breathing. 

You slow and put the car in park in your driveway. He still hasn't opened his eyes yet. 

Driving sobered you up a bit from your panic, and you’re feeling steady on your feet when you circle around and open the car door. You haven't even realized how much the car had smelled coppery from the stench of blood till you're exposed to the fresh air.

You lean across his form to unbuckle the seatbelt when he stirs, like he woke up from a cat nap. You pause. 

“You’re a little touchy-feely, aren't you?” 

It's strange how there isn't even a tremor to his voice. It's all so strange, really. When will someone realize something is wrong and come help you…?

“Sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. But you still act as his crutch as you reach your doorstep. He leans most, if not all his weight on you. He must be in a world of pain, poor thing... And he still had the decency to help you calm down. You need to get your mind straight and help him. 

Like he did in the car, the second he arrives in your home, his eyes rake over every every corner and crevice. 

He whistles, “You live here? Fucking cherry, babe.” 

Your home is nice. Not because you got a job and worked hard for it, but because it was inherited from your grandmother who signed the deed over to you after she was admitted to a care home. 

It's a two story open floor plan. The furniture is old. But it has its charm. 

The french windows were always open, letting in the fresh air. Tonight, the first thing you do when you get home is shut them. 

You don't know why you don't want anyone to know there is a bleeding man in your home, but suddenly the noble part of you that was willing to accompany him to the hospital and face charges for your crimes was gone. He did not want to go to the hospital, and you did not want to go to jail. Maybe you could work something out… 

For now, you grab the bigger first aid kit at the top of your kitchen cabinet. This one had much more equipment than the one in your car. 

When you pass by the closed window, the darkness makes a sort of mirror. When you see your face in the reflection, you blink. Your face is bleak and sunken. Your eyes have puffy bags under them and your hair is a mess. 

You rinse your face before going to see him again. You feel infinitely better afterwards. Not good, because you're still scared and you're feeling lost. But better. 

You spend a good part of the night learning how to stitch a wound. 

While you're watching the tutorial, he lays lazily on the couch next to you. Watching, but not with much attention. 

When you calmed down and told him you didn't know how to close a wound, but you’d be happy to hold his skin together while he stitched, he laughed in your face. 

“Well, you better fucking learn then, huh?” He had told you. 

You're not that weird. You first helped him with the bleeding and the wound’s much cleaner now. There's a warm dish towel pressed to it to stop any more bleeding. However, it's been a few minutes and the cloth is still completely white. 

He sits there. Shirtless and a little sweaty next to you. You’re not sure when he put his cheek on your shoulder. But he does. A heat blooms on the apples of your cheeks. 

“This is soo boring,” He laments. 

“I am trying to save your life…” You mutter. Not really convinced in yourself either. 

You put your phone down, confident in the technique, and take a deep breath. You spend a few moments threading the thin string to the eye of the needle, and his yawning exaggeratedly did not make your hand any less shaky.

The wounds shallower than you remember when you were scared in the dark and alone. But the pink flesh still pulses, thrumming. 

He holds the edges of his skin together like he’s half assing a task at his corporate job. You don't deter, remaining focused as the needle pierces his skin.

And so, you begin to stitch. 

There's hardly even a grunt of pain on his end. You suppose he’s tired of that. Still, the way the thin needle pierces the flesh makes your heart beat faster with fear and your hands start to get sweaty. 

You’re at it for a few torturous minutes. Finally, there's the satisfying snip of sharp scissors cutting the thread. 

You did it. You really did it. It doesn't look very pretty, but you could care less, really. He is not going to die. And you played hero. God… 

You allow your shoulders to sag and to exhale deeply. Almost immediately after, fatigue hits your body faster than you hit the… All the adrenaline keeping your form steady seeps out of your system as you begin to calm. 

You throw the dishcloth into the laundry basket and put everything back in place. You wash your hands that are already clean (hardly any blood on him by the time you started), but just in case. 

You’re beginning to feel dizzy. The events of tonight are finally starting to catch up to you. All you want to do is fall asleep on your warm bed and forget this all happened. 

From behind you, two hands creep across your waist, wrapping around it. He leans his chin on your shoulder. 

You stop. And your heart is back to beating like a hummingbird. You swallow before you speak, “...Yes?”

He hums, muttering against your skin, “Thank you. For taking care of me.” His words are breathy and have a lilt of something… devilish in them, “That was so…” He smirks, though you can’t see, “Brave.” 

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you answer, “You're welcome. And…” You swallow, genuinely guilty, “I'm sorry for what I did to you.” You can't say out loud what exactly. Not yet.

He almost says for what? Then catches himself, clearing his throat, “It's not that big of a deal, honest…” He grins, “I'm a very forgiving person, you know?” 

His hands begin to entertain themselves by moving under your shirt, feeling at the soft flesh there. You remain deathly still. 

“Listen, doll,” He starts, “You know I hate to bother a pretty little thing like you, but you wouldn't mind if I crashed here a couple days, would you?” He starts to play with the waistband of your pants, and a heat starts to pool in your stomach, “Just until I recover. Then I’ll be out of your hair. Promise…” The low timbre of his voice was starting to do things to your head. 

You don't know when you started to lean into his touch, just that you started to nod, “Yea, okay. Obviously… stay–” You choke on your words as his other hand inches towards your breasts, “Stay as long as you need.” 

He chuckles darkly, “You’re such a doll…”

[blakeswritingimagines]

Kink List With Luke Hughes

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Luke doesn’t like to sleep after the fun is over, so he’ll usually spend the aftercare session getting you something to drink or a towel to clean up with. Then he’ll usually start to talk about trivial subjects until the next round.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of himself would have to be his torso, being in really good shape and toned. His favorite part of your body is the neck and collarbone area, for no real reason other than he finds it really hot.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He usually prefers to cum on your stomach, back, or face (if you let him). He has a moderate amount, but it’s still a little more than average.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He occasionally steals a pair of your panties when you’re not looking to keep for later use and has a whole collection that he hides in a secret compartment underneath his bed.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s been with a few partners before but wouldn’t consider himself an expert. He’s not sure how good he is at it, and secretly has an insecurity about his capabilities at times. He mainly focuses on what you like and what you’re into, and bases his actions off of that. He learns quickly.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves any position where he can see your face, but he also loves to be on top and pin your knees or thighs down next to your chest. His top three positions would be missionary, cowgirl, and doggy.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

This one’s kind of a mixture. He likes to keep things lighthearted and doesn’t really take things too seriously, but he’s not a complete goofball. He’ll definitely crack a few stupid jokes and give you a stupid cocky grin.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s clean shaven down there, and has pretty short blond hair. He’s not that naturally hairy, and if his hair would grow out it would be dirty blond and somewhat wavy.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s not really that romantic of a guy, but he does enjoy the moments of passion and intimacy he has with you. It’s one of the only times his demeanor is somewhat softer, and he’ll usually be kissing or cuddling you between rounds.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He does it in the shower, mainly as a way to pass the time sometimes. He doesn’t do it that often, but when he starts it’s usually for a while. Occasionally, he’ll look at your pictures on his phone while he does it.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He doesn’t have any very specific or unusual kinks, but he does enjoy having a more dominant role in the bedroom, pinning your wrists down, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling that kind of stuff.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He likes to do it on his bed, but he’s not opposed to doing it in other places. Any place out of the public eye that’s away from prying eyes. The thought of doing it at his locker room at the arena has popped into his head at times, but he’s not sure if he’d ever be willing to try it.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you in one of his baggy hockey hoodies is a huge turn on for him. If you wear short shorts under it, it drives him crazy. Otherwise, it would be dirty talk.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s not at all into anything too extreme, like choking, impact play, gags etc. He’s not into the whole pain stuff. A big turn-off is doing anything too public, he’s way too scared of being seen.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He’ll pretty much always prefer to be on the receiving end. He does occasionally like to give, mainly because he knows he’s good at it and it’s a fun way to tease you. He’s not so skilled at it, but he’s definitely pretty decent at it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be slow and sensual, but doesn’t usually let that last long because he gets impatient. His usual pace is fast and not exactly rough, but it definitely isn’t gentle either.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s not very patient, so he’s fond of the concept of quickies most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he’ll always rush. He’ll sometimes drag things out and tease you if you’re in a situation where you have the time.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s not against trying new things and experimenting, as long as it’s not weird or extreme to him, but his main concern is where to do it. He hates the idea of taking any major risks, as he’s incredibly afraid of the negative consequences and the embarrassment it could bring if someone was to catch him with you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina isn’t crazy high, but it’s not low. His average during the first round is about 10 minutes. He usually wants at least two rounds, and only very rarely does he want a third.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns one toy, but doesn’t use it often. He prefers to use it on you, only when he feels like teasing you and dragging things out. This isn’t a common occurrence, though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He finds it incredibly satisfying to tease you. In the bedroom, he’s a bit of a bratty sadist. He’ll love to make you squirm and beg for him, all the while he’s watching you with a cocky smirk on his face.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not very loud, and doesn’t make a lot of noise. He’s more of a grunter. He will, however, be incredibly dirty when he does speak. He’ll dirty talk or say some very obscene things, he’s not exactly shy about things like that.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Despite his cocky and arrogant persona, he secretly craves affection and attention. This is why he teases you so much, it’s the easiest way to get what he wants. A simple please is usually enough to do it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s average and pretty normal down there. He doesn’t like to use the term 'big,' since he doesn’t think there’s anything special about it. But it’s a very normal and very average size, and is uncut.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is a little higher than average. He usually wants to do it once every two or three days, if possible. He’ll probably tease and flirt with you most of the time, to see if you’ll do something to get him into the mood.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s usually pretty good about staying awake afterwards. If anything he’ll just lie next to you and watch you sleep, but he’ll fall asleep soon afterwards. When/if he does get sleepy, he’ll try his hardest to stay awake.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Dauer 962 Le Mans Prototype, 1993, by Dauer Racing. A road-going version of the Porsche 962 Group C race car. Jochen Dauer's racing version went on to win the 1994 24 Hours of Le Mans. The road car had a second seat and leather upholstery with slightly revised carbon fibre and kevlar bodywork. There was also hydraulic suspension to meet ride-height regulations and a small luggage compartment. Only 13 cars when production ceased in 1997

[thealchemistbae]

Composite Asteroid House (4950) | The "HOME" Your Relationship Builds - Signs Edition 🏘️

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

Asteroid House in a composite chart tells a story of the emotional architecture you and your person are building. It's how your connection feels behind closed doors, what "home" you create together, and what emotional legacy you two are forming. It's not just where you live ... it's the energy that lives with you.

This isn't just "how the house looks," this is the energetic flavor of the emotional home you two build together. Whether it's a fairy cottage, a sexy lair, or a quiet sanctuary. The sign of Asteroid House tells us the vibe of your relationship's safe space.

🥀 Aries -> You two build a bold, passionate, high energy home. It's giving "ride or die, but we argue loudly first." This relationship thrives on motion, spontaneity, and fiery emotional expression. Your home is filled with excitement, drive, and possibly gym equipment or gaming setups. Independent, hot, protective love.

🥀 Taurus -> Welcome to your soft life space. This love builds a cozy, grounded home; candles lit, fridge stocked, bed soft AF. You're the couple that slow cooks dinner, takes bubble baths, and invests in a good couch. This is emotionally luxurious energy. Financial security + physical affection = everything. Your love says "stay a while."

🥀 Gemini -> Your emotional home is mental stimulation and laughter. Talkative, curious, and always evolving. The two of you probably talk in bed until 2AM. You bond through conversation, ideas, and shared memes. Your place might look like a creative studio meets a podcast corner. Emotionally, this love feels light, witty, and bestie coded.

🥀 Cancer -> This is the ultimate emotional nesting placement. You feel deeply "at home" with each other; soft blankets, deep talks, cooking for each other, and crying on the kitchen floor if needed. This love is protective, nurturing, and can bring out parental instincts. You probably both call each other "babe" and mean it from the soul.

🥀 Leo -> Your home is your kingdom. Together, you build a bold, beautiful, show stopping energy that feels like main character romance. Think velvet pillows, luxury touches, dramatic declarations of love. You host well. You pose together. You shine together. Emotionally, this is a love that wants to be seen and celebrated.

🥀 Virgo -> You two create an emotionally healing space. Together, you're organized, intentional, and possibly obsessed with routines, wellness, or spirituality. You probably deep clean when you fight and meal prep to show love. Emotionally, this love is humble, helpful, and built on mutual acts of service. It's the cozy routine couple.

🥀 Libra -> This is a romantic, aesthetic, harmonious home. You probably decorate together, flirt in the kitchen, and hold hands while doing chores. Conflict is lowkey avoided, but love is curated like art. Emotionally, you two reflect each other; balancing yin and yang. It's peaceful, pretty, and maybe even a little codependent (in a cute way).

🥀 Scorpio -> Intense. Deep. Sexy. Private. Together you build a love lair, not a house. Your connection feels like a secret pact, with emotional undercurrents of obsession, loyalty, and transformation. Your home might be dimly lit, witchy, or full of hidden compartments. Emotionally, this is powerful AF. You both either heal each other or consume each other.

🥀 Sagittarius -> Your home is the world. You're not here to settle; you're here to explore, grow, and laugh. You might be digital nomads, or your house has art, maps, and books everywhere. Emotionally, this love feels like freedom and expansion. You might live together but always be planning the next escape. Fun, fire, and endless philosophy.

🥀 Capricorn -> This is power couple palace. Together you're structured, reliable, and legacy minded. Your home is impressive and secure; maybe even part of your business or brand. You show love through stability, effort, and building. Emotionally, this love says "I've got you ..long term." Mature, goal oriented, and a little bossy.

🥀 Aquarius -> Your home is unconventional, techy, and futuristic. Maybe you live together but have separate rooms. Maybe your love is long distance or super open minded. Emotionally, this is a friendship first connection. You support each other's freedom and individuality, but still create a weird little sanctuary full of LED lights, random art, and shared ideas.

🥀 Pisces -> Your emotional home is a dream world. Together you escape into your own bubble; soft music, shared fantasies, spiritual bonding. You might decorate with altars, incense, and ethereal energy. Emotionally, this love is psychic, deep, and unspoken at times. It can be healing or delusional if not grounded but always poetic.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

Asteroid House in the Houses & Degrees will be posted on my Patreon 🥀