#Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights

[ozma914]

Escape Plans For Fire Prevention Week

  Pretty much everyone who reads my blog or other social media realizes by now that I’m a humorist. Some of you might even think I’m funny. I poke fun at serious things all the time, and I even write humor pieces about deadly serious stuff, such as Fire Prevention Week

But that doesn’t mean it’s not a serious subject.

This year the National Fire Protection Association picked: “Fire Won’t Wait. Plan Your Escape” as the theme for the week, which runs from October 9 to 15. In my experience, when a fire starts it doesn’t want to just be there, waiting for a food delivery or an Uber ride. It likes to spread—and it spreads fast.

Thanks to modern building materials, once a building catches fire the flames spread way more quickly than they once did, and the fires burn hotter. The third best way to combat that is to be in a building that has a fire sprinkler system, an idea that has no interest to politicians or the construction industry. The second best way is to have operating smoke and carbon monoxide detectors, along with a plan for what to do if a fire breaks out.

(The first way, of course, is to use caution and prevent a fire from breaking out in the first place.)

Feel safe in your home? 74% of all fire deaths in the United States happen in those homes. People are actually more likely to die in a home fire today than they were in 1980, the year I started in the fire service. So the message is simple: Be ready to get out. The NFPA has some tips on getting out alive:

Make sure your home escape plan meets the needs of all your family members, including those with sensory or physical disabilities.

Smoke alarms should be installed inside every sleeping room, outside each separate sleeping area, and on every level of your home. Smoke alarms should be interconnected so when one sounds, they all sound.

Know at least two ways out of every room, if possible. Make sure all doors and windows open easily.

Have an outside meeting place a safe distance from your home where everyone should meet.

Practice your home fire drill at least twice a year with everyone in the household, including guests. Practice at least once during the day and at night.

Fire Prevention Week is the longest running public health observance, marking its hundredth anniversary this year. Everybody involved wishes it wasn’t necessary.

 Find our books at:

http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

And check out the Albion Fire Department's history in Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department.

[missstolensweetheart]

Sleepless nights༄☆🍓

Drabble! fluff!

Humbug! Alex Turner x reader!

Warnings: none

Summary: you end up having a sleepless night and Alex tries to stay up with you

The dark blue almost black, blanketed over the sky with only the moon and streetlamps lighting up the small city you and Alex lived in. The stars barely visible because of light pollution but a few still shined. You stood on the balcony of the nice apartment the two of you shared, zoning out. the building was old but the inside was quite modern, you and Alex still tried to keep the old aesthetic, with tall bookshelf’s leaning against the walls and antique furniture. Even though it wasn’t the old big Victorian style houses you two dreamed of ,it was still nice and as long as you had each other it was home.

You gasped when a pair of muscular arms wrapped around your waist. Alex had a habit of doing this. He was a quiet walker and he knew you would be zoned out anyways.

“Babeh” his smoky voice rung in your ears “it’s almost 12”

“I know.” You sighed knowing he missed your warmth next to him.

“You alright, me love?” He rested his chin on your shoulder, his long grown out hair falling in different places on yours and his shoulder.

“Yes, just can’t sleep” you insisted.

“Alright.” He Said skeptical. “Would you like some tea?” he swayed his hips gently , something he did quite often.

“Sure” You turned around placing a kiss on the tip of his nose which you so dearly loved.

He scrunched his nose, making you giggle. His strong arms released from your body as he walked inside to go make the tea he previously mentioned, soon you followed walking into your home and plopping on the couch with your legs stretched out and pulling a fluffy blanket over your body as an act to stay warm. You picked up the book you were currently reading off of the coffee table opening to where you left your book mark.

You got lost in the story not noticing Alex walking over with two cups of tea,he placed them both of them on the coffee table then patted your leg as a sign to move them so he could sit on the couch, you snapped out of your book and scooted your legs back leaving room for him. He got under the big blanket you had draping over your legs.

“What’re you reading?” You looked over the top of your book

“Dead Poets Society.”

“Read it to me?” You smiled softly, you loved reading to Alex, most of the time he would put his head on your chest , wrap his arms around your waist while you played with his soft long hair.

You open your arms as a signal for him to come lay in them. he repositioned himself in order to lay down comfortably with you. You spread your legs back out leaving room for his, once the two of you were settled you began to softly read.

“Walk, gentlemen. Slow down," a teacher with a Scottish brogue called out. The forty members of the junior class hurried down the dormitory-”

You stopped when you heard soft muffled snores coming from Alex. You smiled at the sight of his sleeping face.

“Baby” You whispered and gently shook his shoulder

He stirred a bit and blinked his eyes open “Sorry im up”

“Go to bed my love” you insisted knowing he was sleepy from the day

“No no, I promise I’ll stay up” he raised his head and looked up at you with his doe like eyes which you couldn’t resist

“Fine but if you fall asleep again you have to go to bed okay?” You gave him a look of concern and worry.

“I promise” he mumbled before laying his head back down on your chest. You continued reading , picking up where you left off

“the dormitory stair-case while fifteen senior boys tried to crush their way up. “Yes, sir, Mr. McAllister," one of the juniors called back. "Sorry, sir." McAllister shook his head at the boys who dashed-“

Sure enough you heard gentle snores yet again you went to wake him up but didn’t have the heart to when you saw how peaceful he looked, so instead you placed your book down and wrapped your arms around him one of your hands still tangled in his hair.

“Goodnight my love” you whispered.

[volturi-stuff]

The Dark

Demetri Volturi x reader

TW: depression? Sadness? Crying?

A/N: well… I’ve been gone for a long time but hey.. I’m trying to write again. <3 I normally don’t write stuff like this but it’s a vent one.

The light had seemed to fade, the joy in your heart had ceased to exist. You were faced with your thoughts, every single time you had believed you were moving forward, they kept coming back.

It had been days, days where you hadn’t left your room, the blinds were shut illuminating the darkness, your navy blanket was pulled up to your shoulders, as the hot tears rolled down your cheeks, onto the blue silk of your pillowcase. The only sound filling the room was the soft sound of silence followed by the sniffles of tears you tried to hide.

That’s how you spent your nights. Every night casually got worse, as the vast loneliness only seemed to grow, the ache in your heart only got stronger. The endless days of pain, that little voice in your head telling you you’ll never make it out only got louder by the second.

Little did you know, today would be different. Today was the day for change.

You woke up, in the same baggy sweatpants and a large oversized hoodie as you were too exhausted to change from yet another sleepless night. You wiped your eyes dry as you noticed the soft hues of the outside light shining through your curtain, brightening the room a bit. The dark storm clouds started moving in, making the baby blue look like smoky cigarette ash.

You ran a hand through your tangled messy morning hair, as you made your way into the kitchen. You could already start to hear the thunder off in the distance towards east. You grabbed the loaf of bread out of the cupboard and started preparing your toast. Your mom was sitting at the table with her usual morning coffee, as she flashed you a small smile. You weakly returned it as your eyes sunk back down to the bread in the toaster, waiting for it to pop back up. “I’m gonna head out… I wanna go down to the bookstore near port Angeles, if that’s okay.” You said just above a whisper in a soft mumble. Your mom eagerly nodded just wanting you to go out and get some fresh air. “That’s okay with me Dear.” She said with a faint smile. With that you put the crisp pieces of toast on a plate, carefully handing it to your mother before you headed upstairs again.

You made your way into the small shop, as the smell of honey with a hint of cinnamon hit your nose. Days like these, made you feel a little hopeful, as the rain started coming down heavily, echoing off the roof of the store. “Dreary weather out there, hm?” The old cashier, Mary asked as she gave you a kind smile, enhancing the small wrinkles under her eyes. She was always happy when you came in. You gave a soft nod as you gandered through the book selection she has for you today. “I guess so… I take a liking to it. Makes it peaceful, you know?” You replied in a soft mumble, as you put your book up onto the belt of the register. Mary sent you another half smile, as she held up the little book in her hands,”The bridge to Terabithia, again?” She asked in a soft wise tone. You gave a soft nod with a genuine smile. “It’s my favorite.” You said taking the small bag out of her frail hand, “Thank you.” You said before walking back out the glass door.

You began walking down the end of the alleyway, as a dark figure appeared out of nowhere. You couldn’t see his face through the heavy downpour and how far away he seemed to be, as you squint your eyes for a better look. The man took his hood down, as you were met with crimson eyes, paired with pale skin, with dirty blonde strands of messy hair. You should have been scared, but you weren’t. As soon as your eyes met his, you felt it. You felt the strong pull to collapse in the strangers arms, as you got a comforting feeling. That ache in your heart was long gone, as hot tears fell from your eyes, in pure relief. Your knees caved in under you, as you fell into a puddle in the downpour. Your bag rested on the sidewalk, as you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else. Everyone tells you how colorful the world is, yet you can’t see it. It all felt gray around you, until now. It all rushed back. Looking at him, you felt joy. You felt happy for the first time in years, you felt like you were home.

The man had noticed this, one minute he was across the road, and the next he was by your side holding your bag in his gloved hand, “Darling, are you okay?” He asked, in a soft accent that made your heart flutter. It was like heaven, hearing him speak. You gave a small nod, “Y-Yeah I-I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence as your voice cracked. “I’m Demetri, come here you must be freezing.” He said in a soft tone, placing his black trench coat over your shoulders, his gloved hands grabbed onto your warm ones, helping you to your feet. You looked up at the tall stranger, as his red eyes sparkled already locked onto you. You felt the insane pull to him, as a small sigh escaped your lips. You didn’t understand this feeling, the feeling of needing to be in his arms, to have his protection, someone who would protect you for once. The cold rain hits your skin, sending small shivers down your spine. “Want me to walk you home?” Demetri said with a small smile. You gave a soft nod, as another shiver ran through your body. “Yeah, you can. I’m y/n.” You said as you felt hope for the first time in a long time.

[bee-the-loser]

₊ ⊹☼ Prologue - #808080 Grey ☼⊹ ₊ ──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────────────────── ₊ ₊ ⊹☼ Pairing: Heeseung x reader ₊ ⊹☼ Synopsis: An introduction to reader's life growing up in grey-scale and how they found their love for art ₊ ⊹☼ Genre: College au, soulmate au, artist reader, colourblind reader ₊ ⊹☼ Word count: 506 ₊ ⊹☼ Warnings: Mentions of death, connotations to self-harm and slight bullying. (Take care to put yourself first) ₊ ⊹☼ A/N: I'll probably post a little explanation of how the soulmate system works in this au, but it does take a backseat for a while to focus on other aspects. ₊ ⊹☼ Masterlist ☼⊹ ₊ ₊ ⊹☼ Next ☼⊹ ₊ ──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────────────────

A greyscale world was all you had ever known, there was no vivid pops of colour, just the dulcet hues of light and dark. A sort of smoky look that made the whole world blend into one another and seem to go on for miles and miles. It wasn’t something you minded at first, not knowing any better as a young child, it was like living in an old-fashioned movie and you loved to take pleasure in the soft hues of some of the classics. It was comforting to know everyone could see them the same as you. The pictures moving across the screen and painting stories of romance and life. The slow dance of the decade done in the late foggy night.

However, things change and as you grew up the simple greys changed from clouds to storms and the fog that once encompassed your very being started to suffocate you. Breath didn’t come easily during those years. Things were different and you were different.

It became obvious in the ways whispers followed you around the corridors of school, with fingers pointing at your back and commenting on how unlucky you must be. How maybe you’ll even be so unlucky that you wouldn’t even be able to spot your soulmate link due to your condition.

Because that’s what it was to them, a condition. Achromatopsia. The diagnosis didn’t come as a shock to you but the aftermath scared you more than some word. It was something that left you isolated and alone as others finally had a reason for their hatred. They were so afraid that your unluckiness might somehow rub off on them too.

The greys no longer were slow dancing and fog, but instead were the storm clouds that accompanied your evening walks. The times where the blood dripping down your arms mixed with the pouring rain, leaving in your wake puddles of dismay. The grey of the silver blades that were your closest friend, accompanying your journey and the smoke that left you with one less parent, and sleepless nights.

The smoke that slipped through your fingertips and left behind ashes.

The months afterwards left you confused and more alone than ever, feeling for once like your vision almost reflected how you felt. Numb. You hadn’t been living freely for a while, but those days surviving felt almost impossible.

Solace ended up being found in a place you weren’t expecting at first. An empty sketchbook given by your therapist, where you inked out your monotone dreams and nightmares. It contained it all: the films, the slow dances, the whispers, the stares, the nights, the smoke, the fear, the smoke, the rage, the smoke…

But art allowed you to let go of it all, you could almost pick out these scenes in your brain and place them down to forget about for a while. You weren’t forgetting it all, you never would, but instead letting go became an easier process than before. The once ash covered fingertips made way for charcoal dusted hands.

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 Rhythm like that puts me in a trance 🎶

Often fortified with a healthy amount of champagne, Zelda began performing at the club. Night after night, Zelda was amazed by the energy there. The second that anyone walked through the doors, it was as though the conventions of the outside world ceased to exist, and they threw themselves around with an abandon that Zelda had never seen.

She could scarcely believe that they laughed and danced to the sound of her voice. Usually, Antoine played the piano while she sang but often she would hit a note and he would back off of the keys, letting her shine on her own for a moment. It was like the world went still, and there wasn’t a crowd full of dancing bodies in front of her. Then suddenly, she would realize how far her voice was carrying and back off. Immediately sensing her nerves, Antoine would begin playing again, so she would look over at him with a small, knowing smile of gratitude.

After the last patrons had cleared out and the sun was nearly rising, Jo, Antoine, and Zelda would sit around the club. Sometimes they prepared for the next day’s show, but often they just sat smoking and talking in the quiet bar as it reverberated with energy from the night.

They could stay that way for hours, Jo and Antoine speaking so quickly that Zelda often lost track of the words. Neither of them required her to talk, and they seemed perfectly comfortable having her there no matter how quiet she was. So she found herself listening to them as their accents grew thicker and their speech became more peppered with their native French.

But as the light began to peak through the shutters, Antoine would inevitably retire to bed. He lived just above the club so he would rise to his feet as Josephine crushed out her cigarette, swinging her coat over her shoulder as Antoine waved goodbye with a wink.

Like a ritual, Jo would throw open the heavy doors to the club, letting the fresh early morning air into the smoky club. Then she would saunter off into the street, the beads of her dress sparkling in the lamplight as she danced on the empty sidewalks.

Zelda followed her laughing, relishing in her energy and how their heels reverberated off of the bricks into the quiet of the abandoned streets. No matter how early it was, Zelda was never tired. Sleepless nights had always been her life, only now, she had someone to share them with.

So she grabbed Jo’s hand as they walked back to their small apartment, the sun rising behind them and the birds just beginning to sing. Only once morning had truly broken did they find themselves back home, where they would sleep the day away until they woke up that afternoon to do it all over again.

[cyrus-ffxiv]

Rehashed Memories

A crash from the other room jolted the young boy awake. His bruised, swollen fingers awkwardly shoved strands of dark hair from the crust of his eyelashes. He rubbed his sleepless, puffy eyes from the strain of last night’s prior altercation, and it seemed to have bled into the next day as the paper-thin walls did little to protect him from the violent voices in the next room. A woman’s scream was filled with vitriol as a familiar man snapped back with strained yet equal venom. The boy couldn’t understand the biting language used, but he realized the intent - the woman urged violence while the man demanded quiet.

The boy only focused on the second voice and a bloom of poisoned hope sprung in his chest. Was this a good or a bad day? A good day meant a swim in the lake; a hike in the woods with a view of the mountains; a calm without the constant traffic of strange men in and out of the house; a campfire with a silly ghost story that let him find safety in a set of arms; a lesson in the art of fingerpicking six strings and singsong poetry by a smoky voice. 

He placed his little feet on the floorboards; they were cold and sticky, unnaturally so, and as he stood to put his weight on it, it was as if a thousand shapeless, blackened critters skittered from him at once, then swarmed in again to chew at his heels. With each step toward the door–toward the screaming–the threshold grew in height and distance until it stood over him like a looming monster, light from the broken glass casting teeth with eyes watching hungrily. He knew this already, he’d been here before.

With tears already salting his eyes, the boy used the blurry vision as a boon of false bravery to pull open the barrier and the voices ceased instantly. Two faceless shadow figures stood far too close for comfort, something cold and sharp and glinting between them. Something wasn’t right. The doom was palpable and yet all too familiar.

“Papa, is this the bad day?” the little boy choked out.

“My boy, please don’t look.” The shadow’s familiar smoky voice said as it turned to face him, giving its back to the woman.

And so the creature sprung, giving way to the rapid, sickening squelch and thump as that sharp, evil thing drove into flesh. The boy suddenly begged for the screaming instead. But those things nipping at his heels finally found purchase and dragged him back into the inky tar floor. The doorway seized shut and that glint of broken glass frowned down as he sunk down--falling, falling, falling.

The Highlander snapped awake with a gash, flailing to find solid ground beneath him. What he found were silken sheets and so many pillows, so far different than the cold corners and cots he had grown used to. That lingering stickiness was the soft comforter clinging to cold sweat. He froze as a figure appeared in the distant doorway and languidly floated toward him with a gentle jingle of jewelry. He couldn’t move save for an involuntary clutch of a fist out of sight.

A familiar woman’s sweet yawn broke the silence, her tattooed hands appearing in dim firelight while adjusting the mess of platinum blonde over her shoulder just before sinking back into bed. He shut his eyes as her gentle weight and warmth draped over him.

“Cy, are you awake?” he heard her whisper into his chest.

He didn’t answer, breathing deep to catch his breath and fake sleep. When silence deafened once more and her breath grew long and heavy, Cyrus opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling where he’d remain unmoving, daring not to disturb her.

[yllowpages]

CHARACTER ASSOCIATION : BUCKY BARNES.

ANIMAL: dog. wolf. just generally a canine. compelled to both being in a group and traveling alone. unending loyalty to those he deems worthy of it. the thick pelt to shield from wind and rain. fighting tooth and nail to live. COLOR(S):  a navy blue, an icy blue, cool silver, a rich and deep red, warm and earthy brown, and a smoky black. MONTH: september. maybe august. when the winds start to change and the seasons are shifting. the heat of the summer is cooling down for the chilled breeze to come in, and you're living in the middle of it all — limbo. SONGS: the handler by muse and we’ll meet again by vera lynn. DAY OR NIGHT: evening or sunrise — the space between. PLANT: ivy. the thing that grows when the structure is left to the devices of time, slowly enveloping in hiding the evidence of what once was. SMELL: simple soap. fresh and clean to wash away the dirt and blood and the chilling thoughts. GEMSTONE: aquamarine for the youth and the good memories it left. bloodstone for the nightmares, specked with flashes of red. (they are also the birthstones of march) SEASON: summer for the good days, the old days, sleeping with the windows open, the feeling of being alive with the sun on his skin. but winter for the long nights, sleepless, shivering and never feeling content, forcing him to wake in a cold sweat. FOOD: a hearty soup of vegetables, meat, and salty stock to warm the body. fresh fruit for the simple pleasures of life — sweet and ripe. ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: pisces. ELEMENT: water for healing and rebirth. DRINK: a glass of whiskey for the moments when he doesn't feel quite human anymore, but then it burns on the way down and tastes just as bitter as it always does ... but it never clouds his mind. a chocolate soda bought with pocket change in his childhood and full of blissful ignorance, the life he was forced to leave behind.

tagged by : @batagonist tagging : anyone who wants to do it !

[textbooklibra]

what if i told you she’s a mastermind

There are few things that could warrant the resurrection of this tumblr account. For nearly six years it’s waited, defunct, a ghost town, an empty landscape that became nothing more than a memory of my bygone adolescence. 

Enter Taylor Swift. I mean come on, isn’t that always how it goes? When she announced her tenth studio album, Midnights, at the very same hour on August 29th my tumblr-girl persona was resurrected from the dead. The flickering flame and heavily glittered eyelids gracing the album cover made me nostalgic for the days when Lorde’s Pure Heroine, Lana’s Born to Die, and Taylor’s 1989 ruled the lives of sixteen-year-old girls everywhere. The marketing campaign that followed the initial announcement showed us darkened visuals of a retro 1970’s inspired home with sad girl Taylor mulling about in the middle of the night. The casual clothes contrast with smoky, glittery makeup - hinting that this album would consist of songs written after arriving home from different glamorous events, when the branded personality of Superstar “Taylor Swift” was alone, stripped down, left with nothing but her own thoughts and wonderings. When she had to face who she was apart from the career that defines her every time she crosses the threshold of her front door. Who is Taylor Swift? When the night ends and she goes home, with no one to call, she is left to reckon with her identity apart from the red carpets, the award shows, and the sold-out stadium tours.

Eight weeks of sleepless nights later, Midnights entered the world and exceeded my wildest expectations. Taylor, along with her main collaborator and friend, Jack Antonoff, brought about a concept album that perfectly encapsulated the feeling of sitting alone in the middle of the night battling with your own thoughts. The tracks bounce back and forth between the five main themes, (listed by Taylor herself on Spotify during the lead-up to release) Self-loathing, Fantasizing About Revenge, Wondering What Might Have Been, Falling in Love, and Falling Apart. And in true Taylor fashion, hints to the meanings of each song are hidden throughout the album. Although the infamous liner notes are no longer included in the CD lyric booklets, Taylor and Jack sampled past work and weaved old songs into the current tracks. 

The album opener ‘Lavender Haze’ samples ‘I Think He Knows’ off Lover (2019). The songs seem to serve as sister tracks, narratives of the same story, perhaps different times of the same day. ‘I Think He Knows’ elicits visuals of a sunny day “He’s got my heartbeat skipping down 16th avenue” telling the audience that the narrator has been consumed of thoughts of her new love while moving throughout her day, that the thought of him has been fueling her forward with every skipping step. In contrast, “Lavender Haze” opens with a call to “Meet me at midnight.” The day has come to a close and now she gets to meet up with her partner with the rest of the world blocked out, the nighttime creating a safety bubble around the fragile state of a new love. 

Track 7 “Question…?” begins with an interpolation of “Out of the Woods” off 1989 (2014) “I remember…” Both songs are full of questions, and convey the story of an anxious relationship that hasn’t yet found sure footing. The chorus of “Out of the Woods” repeats the same question over and over again “Are we out the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out the woods?” A narrator searching for assurance from a partner that the relationship is solidified. The pre-chorus of “Question” finds the narrator requesting “Can I ask you a question…?” and then following up with a litany of multiple queries: “Have you ever had someone kiss you in a crowded room?..Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?...Did you wish you put up more of a fight?..Do you wish you could still touch her?”  Whatever the context, the questions convey equally as much anxiety as the chorus of its sister track on 1989. The interpolation tying the two together tells the audience both songs are about a time of severe anxiety and possibly the inability to fully trust someone. Other songs with sonic references to past albums include track two “Maroon” and reputation’s “King of my Heart,” track eight “Vigilante Shit” and reputation’s “I Did Something Bad,” and track ten “Labyrinth” sounding awfully reminiscent to Lover’s “The Archer.” The dreamy pop-synth production makes it nearly impossible to keep yourself from bopping along to each song, and I can already feel the power that will come from seas of fans screaming these lyrics on the inevitable upcoming tour. 

Here’s where I’ll start to get personal. Overall, the album brings me back to times gone by where I was up in the middle of the night- out with friends, crying over a broken relationship, too anxious to sleep or anticipating the future, creating scenarios in my head of the person I wanted to be. Over the last few years I’ve learned about something called “second puberty,” a phenomenon that happens after you’ve left your adolescence behind but a new era full of changes to your mind, body, environment and relationships creates growing pains similar to those experienced on the front half of your teens. If it’s true that you get two comings-of-age, I can feel this album quickly become the soundtrack to my second.

[ozma914]

Fish and Tenderloin and Firefighters

If it seems like I'm just copying and pasting last year's blog about the AFD fish fry, it's because a book deadline has me in its clutches, and I am. The info is updated, though.

If you should be near Albion during the Chain O’ Lakes Festival, don’t forget to drop in on the fish and tenderloin fry at the fire station Wednesday, June 5th. This has been an annual tradition for many decades, with proceeds going to equipment and training for the Albion Fire Department. (Indiana, for those of you near other Albions.)

It’s from 4:30-7:00 p.m., with a price of $14 for adults and $10 for children 8 and under, and it’s darned good food for a good cause. I should know, having eaten it almost every year for ... a long time. The AFD is at 210 Fire Station Drive, on the east end of town.  (It's traditional, when a town has a Fire Station Drive, to build the fire station there.)

Donations to the department get us all sorts of stuff, much of which helps keep us alive.

Meanwhile, don't forget to pick up a copy of Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights, the Albion Fire Department's history book, which goes for just $9.95. Come on, you know you want to donate that extra nickle. It took me 25 years to write!

Okay, so I wasn't writing the entire 25 years.

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

Substack:  https://substack.com/@markrhunter

Tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember: Every time you buy a history book, a dusty old professor gets his wings.

[kosmosguk]

Fôret de Cauchemars (M)

Pairing: sleep psychiatrist kim namjoon x reader

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Plagued by nightmares of your boyfriend’s death, you turn to sleep psychiatrist Kim Namjoon for help. What you find in him is condolence in your isolated world, a ray of sunlight breaking through gaps of rotting leaves. What you find in him is a dream, a beautiful dream, until that dream shatters to reveal the true nightmare underneath. Sometimes, nightmares seamlessly blend into reality, and, unfortunately, waking up simply won’t make them go away anymore.  

Warnings: Yandere themes, death, murder, mature themes (bondage, cunnilingus, unprotected sex), smut, violence, kidnapping, self-loathing, psychological disorders, manipulation,  mentions of suicide, gore 

A/N: Finally back with a fic in a...month? Sorry for the delay; the work load of classes this year has been a real bonk to the vibes, but hopefully testing out a oneshot fic will get me back in the writing energy. Happy fall, and maybe (just maybe) we’ll vibe it up with a new spooky series featuring our beloved yandere bangtan boys! Dedicated to Namjoon’s birthday (although it’s been weeks), and hopefully Jungkook’s birthday fic will be up next. Unfortunately, this means next release of Lineage might not be until October/early November, but I hope you guys stick around!

You didn’t quite know when the nightmares began.

They were unconscious little pricks of fear, the kind that crawled under your skin into your skull and left you with a cold sweat and rapid heartbeat. You always forgot them when you woke up, but their influence was engraved into your bones and etched in every sleep-deprived jolt of paranoia and every accusatory glance you threw to your empty surroundings. You felt eyes on you, even though the remnants of your fading rationality knew that there was nothing there.

Each night filled with the conflict of battling off your body’s desire to sleep left you even more exhausted and even more terrified of some nameless entity that your sleepless mind had conjured up.

The nightmares did not stop. They refused to stop; you knew you needed to solve it somehow. That brought you to the moment of now, in the present, across from a sleep psychiatrist in an office with an air condition system that blew cold gusts of air against the back of your neck and left bumps of goosebumps rising up on your skin.

You curled in on yourself, picking at the ends of your sleeves until the threads became loose, as the sound of rustling paper flipping between your sleep psychiatrist’s fingers filled up the gaps of your sleep-deprived mind. You tentatively threw a glance at the man across from you.

If you weren’t nearly irrational from the lack of sleep, you would’ve been able to truly appreciate how handsome the man was. He was the kind of handsome that artists drew portraits and sculpted of and poets waxed long pages of sonnets about. With smoky gray hair slicked back, eyes curved elegantly behind silver-rimmed glasses, and a sharp mouth set back in a firm expression, Dr. Kim was the type of beautiful that you found in every sharp edge of an icicle.

However, it was unnerving how familiar you felt with his beauty.

“(Y/n) (L/n), correct?’’

His voice, a baritone that encased the chilly office air, drew you back into your blurry reality. You heard a soft click as he turned on his stopwatch. The soft ticking noise reverberated in the still room, just a tinge louder than the blast of the air conditioning. You nodded your head mutely before reaching up to rub at your sore, burning eyes.

“Yes…,” you fought back a yawn, and your words slurred a bit as tears prickled your eyes,” Sorry…’m jus’ tired.”

His gaze, previously neutral, softened a bit more at your pitiful state.

“Though it is currently difficult right now, we’ll work through any psychological stressors that may be causing your nightmares. When did the nightmares begin?’’

You blinked owlishly at him—well, you were more like a raccoon than an owl with how severe your dark circles were, though that was a jab of humor your dwindling mind allowed you on only rare occasions—as you tried to register his words.

“Hmm,’’ you rolled your shoulders back, and a dull ache throbbed through your body as you stretched it,” I don’t…really remember. I don’t remember a lot of things now. Can’t even remember what I did yesterday… Maybe…a couple months ago? They weren’t…weren’t as bad as they are now, so I didn’t really pay attention to them.”

“Have you tried any over the counter sleep medications?’’

You scratched your neck.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Tried a few, but the nightmares didn’t seem to go away. Woke up…,” you shook yourself as if to demonstrate,” cold sweat and everything after a bit. Nightmares came right away, which is weird cause I don’t think I’m even asleep long enough to enter REM.”

“We’ll try a stronger prescription to see if it’ll help you sleep better. Has there been any troubling situations lately? Some time before the nightmares started, right when they started, or even ongoing ones?’’

You blinked again, your eyelids scraping against your dry eyes.

“Hmm…Someone, uh, passed away… My boyfriend? Maybe these nightmares are about losing him, but I dunno…can’t remember them.”

“Would you like to talk more about this?’’ Though his tone was more gentle, Dr. Kim had a look in his eyes that seemed even more chilling than the artificially generated wind against your skin.

You didn’t pay attention. It took you a lot more effort to pay attention to things nowadays and noticing tiny almost unnoticeable things was even more difficult.

“Yeah…It was tough that time. He disappeared, and they found his body. Said he killed himself, but, uh,’’ you tugged even harder on the loose threads, your eyes glued to them,’’ I didn’t even notice the signs…”

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?’’

You blinked once and then twice and then thrice. You could not look at Dr. Kim, but there was a strange shift in the air. Maybe it was a delusional mix of emotions and sleep deprivation. Maybe it was something more. You settled on the former.

The next words came out a bit more choked than you wanted them to. You thought you might’ve cried if you weren’t already so mentally and physically exhausted.

“Yeah…I was his girlfriend. Shoulda seen the signs, but I was busy, and we were drifting apart…,” you bitterly mumbled,” No excuse, though. I have no excuses…”

A silence settled between the two of you. You felt like you had just bored some piece that you had crammed in your soul so tight that it drifted into your thoughts like a second poison. You were so tired; you wanted to tuck yourself into the leather chair and fall asleep to avoid how vulnerable you felt. You noticed him level his steady gaze on you.

“No one can see the signs. People are good at hiding the worst things affecting them, even from those they care for deeply and who care for them deeply. You can’t continue to blame yourself for events in the past that cannot be changed and let that blame affect the you of the present and the future. (Y/n), the first way to conquer your nightmares is to forgive yourself.”

For the first time in the meeting, you raised your gaze to meet Dr. Kim’s gaze straight on. Your eyes, vulnerable and holding onto a devastatingly deep sorrow, were surprised to see that the look in Dr. Kim’s eyes was not as pulled together as his words were. But maybe, as you unconsciously tugged on another thread so hard that it yanked out of your sweater sleeve and drifted to your lap, that was just another one of your delusions.

Dr. Kim’s words resonated throughout your mind on your commute home. They bore a weight on your mind as you slowly shuffled throughout the rest of your day, and they rang even stronger as you laid in bed.

When you closed your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off into the land of unconsciousness. You were running in a forest, clumps of dead grass, rotting leaves, and mud staining the soles of your feet, and your breath gusted out in sharp white puffs of air. The dew of the forest left a sheen on your skin as the wind brushing against your body chilled you to the bone. Underneath the whistle of the wind, you could hear the sound of something ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Something grabbed your ankle, sending you sprawling to the forest floor, and you threw a frantic glance at what had yanked you down. Tears built in your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You were trying to push yourself off the floor to keep running, but the branches and roots of the trees of the forest broke out from the floor and wrapped tight around your trembling form, pinning your quaking body to the muddy ground.

You saw a glimpse of a hand and part of an arm extending itself from the forest floor, dirt crusted under the fingernails and staining the crevices of the palm. The forest floor opened up, dirt jaggedly fragmenting and cracking open, as the body behind the hand emerged. You watched, petrified from your spot to the floor. The head pushed out from the forest floor first, and your eyes made contact with the sunken eyes of your dead boyfriend. You were screaming now, your voice hoarse, but no sound coming out. The ticking sound grew louder and louder, and you were crying even harder.

He was so pale that the moonlight trickled through his almost translucent skin, a corpse that dragged itself to the land of the living, and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. There was a sticky glint to the side of his head where his hair looked more clumped. You forced yourself to tear your gaze away from it.

“Why…Why did you leave me behind?’’ his voice was like a haunting croak. You could speak now, and your voice pitched into a petrified scream.

“I didn’t mean to…! I didn’t mean to! You told me to run! You told me to run!’’ your voice broke out of your throat, and it grew and grew in an unruly crescendo. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve never left you behi-“

You drew in a sharp inhale that suffocated you, leaving the last words still on your lips as you woke up in your bed. The chill of the forest left you; you were in your bed again, the sheets and blanket messily wrapped around your body. You had been thrashing in your sleep, sending pillows down onto the floor. The room was still dark, just a few moments before dawn. You got up, the cold sweat on your body leaving you breathless, and you blindly reached down to grab your pillows and throw them back onto your bed. Instead of touching the slippery silk covers of your pillows, your fingers met something soft and cuddly.

Your fingers wrapped around a tiny, stuffed arm, and you pulled up what the item was.

A scream tore out of your lips as you threw away the item. It was the stuffed bunny your boyfriend had given you the night of your first anniversary, the last night you had seen your boyfriend before he had pushed you to keep running; this was the very item you had dropped in your run out of the forest. You had left it there.

Why, why was it here?

Your head was hurting, and you dropped the plush animal back onto the ground. You hadn’t noticed the faint blood stains. Its faux fur was too dark for you to make out the splashes of dried brown red.

No, no, what do you mean you left it there? You never went in a forest. Your boyfriend overdosed. They found his body. You weren’t there; you were at home working— You sagged against your bed as your head pounded in throbbing agony.

No, you were here. You were here, waiting for him. It was your first anniversary. He was late. He never came home. You had gotten angry and had called him several times. And then…And then, you got the phone call the next morning that they found his dead body. He killed himself. You forcibly repeated that until it was ingrained in your head, and your breathing slowed down.

The next time you woke up, the sun was blindingly warm against your face, but the nightmare had already left your body cold long before.

You were seated across from Dr. Kim again. The dark circles were even worse today, and you fought back a yawn as he clicked his pen and pressed the tip against the pristine white of his notepad. You watched through watery eyes as your name elegantly swirled out in ink on the notepad.

“I’ve been sleeping the most I’ve ever had in a while, so, uh…Hah, would that even qualify as a perk?’’ you smiled weakly,” And I can remember my nightmares now, though that in itself is exhausting me more than the nights before the remembering ever could.”

His pen stopped right at the second curve of your name. He raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still as composed as ever. He was listening. He was the only one who would listen to you now. Well, you suppose he was the only one who listened because you were paying him for each second of his time.

“That’s good to hear. Remembering your nightmares can help us continue to identify and potentially reduce the impact of your psychological stressor. Continue to talk about them. What do you see?’’

“Uh,’’ you yawned this time, your yawn so big that it cracked your jaw and filled your eyes with tears,’’ They’re a little vague.’’

“It’s okay. You’ve made progress.”

“Mmm…if you say so.’’ You scratched your wrist, your gaze on the skin,” Well…I’m in a forest. Super scary. I think it’s the one they found my boyfriend in. And I’m running. And, uh, a hand comes out and grabs my ankle, and I try to break free…but…but I can’t, the trees are coming and they’re wrapping so tight…I can’t breathe.”

Your words sped up, and you didn’t know you were choking on your own breath until you let out a strangled cough at the last word.

“Keep on going.”

“And I—,’’ you’re tearing up now, sobbing slightly as you force the next words out through ragged breaths,” I look over, and it’s him! It’s him! He’s there! He’s climbing out…and he’s asking me why. Why! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!’’

Your voice heightened in its pitch, and you were just a whisper below a full-on yell. Your shoulders shook, trembling as the tears spilled out and splashed against your cheeks and dripped down your chin, and you were curling further into yourself as you fought to inhale a deep breath. Dr. Kim was out of his chair, his hands stroking your shoulder gently, and he was soothing you. He was holding you now. You buried your head into the collar of his shirt, staining the cloth with tears and snot.

This wasn’t professional, but Dr. Kim made no move to get away, and you didn’t care that you were probably violating some doctor-patient code of conduct rule. It had been so long since someone held you and stroked your back so kindly.

When you finally broke away from the hug to look at Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim brushed the drying tears off of your cheek, his finger glistening with your tears. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. This was wrong. Not only professionally, but your boyfriend…You couldn’t move on from him. But you couldn’t push away the only hand that was willing to dry your tears.

You somehow managed to look at him, your cheeks feeling hot, and you shakily whispered,” I’m…I’m sorry.”

Who were you apologizing to? Dr. Kim for having a mental breakdown, though his job in the very first place was to help you with mental breakdowns? Your dead boyfriend, who was rotting away 6 feet under for finding solace in another man? Or you, poor innocent you who had suffered so much?

He tenderly smiled at you, the warm look strange compared to his usual stony expression but oh so comforting.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal.” He cleared his throat, his expression turning cold again, and he was back in his leather chair.

Somehow, although the two of you had resumed as if was normal, you knew something had changed. Maybe it was when his arms were wrapped around your trembling form, his touch warming up your freezing body, or maybe it was the very moment you had sat down on the sofa across from him just a few minutes ago.

Or maybe, maybe something was different between the two of you all along.

You had the same nightmare again that very night. Well, it was not like it ever really changed, not when your psychological state of mind seemed to seek its purpose in rattling every single nerve in your poor body. But something seemed even more worse than usual in your dream.

The scent of mildew was the same, damply settling on the back of your tongue and in your throat, and you could smell something rotting underneath the sickly-sweet scent. However, that wasn’t what was off in your dream.

You weren’t running for the first time. No rapid breath escaped you; your chest rose and fell in even beats. That was your first indication that something was terribly wrong.

What a horrible irony bestowed upon you.

Your fears were confirmed when you heard something small and thin and sharp snap underfoot, and you turned slowly. Your mouth fell open in horror at the sight.

There was a skeleton, one with ivory bones that gleamed underneath the waxy moonlight, and something told you that that skeleton was your boyfriend. Your gaze darted to what made that terrible crackling sound: a foot clad in a leather shoe against the delicate bone wrist of your boyfriend’s postmortem state. Your eyes trailed up and up and up until they settled onto the face of the perpetrator.

“Dr. Kim?’’ the dream you, despite the roaring screams of your thoughts, smiled a coquettish one that stretched almost painfully on your face. You took steps forward, the mud staining your bare feet, and you felt bone snap and crackle and crumble underneath your weight as you got closer and closer, and Dr. Kim laughed as he swept you up in his arms and left a loving kiss on your lips.

“My beloved,’’ his hands trailed to your waist. You felt the bone underneath your feet turn into a mass of bloody flesh and bone. There was a streak of red carnage on Dr. Kim’s face that you hadn’t noticed before,” Oh, how I adore you.”

“Dr. Kim,’’ you whispered playfully into the side of his neck,” Dr. Kim, touch me.”

His fingertips brushed underneath your skirt, toying with the fabric of your panties, and you let out a breathy sigh of laughter as you opened your legs further. A squelch of flesh and blood underneath the soles of your feet accompanied your movement. As you looked up, your eyes tenderly swept his face and took in his features.

His handsome features, his strong jaw and his softly curved lips and the indents in his cheeks dappled underneath the romantic pale moonlight peeking through the trees, looked absolutely maniacal. His voice was amused, and it swathed the crisp air of the forest in a breathy husk that left you shivering in both pleasure and thrill.

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for all along, my beloved.”

You woke up with a start. Your pajamas were sticking to your body in a feverish sweat, and you pushed yourself up and off the bed. Your body was unused to the sudden movement, and your legs froze, sending you to a tumble to the floor.

“What the,” you stayed there on the floor, unable to move. Your breath was heightened and came out in shallow pants through your dry lips. “What the absolute fuck?’’

When you finally managed to get off the floor and onto shaky legs that trembled to hold your weight, your first action was to call the office and cancel your upcoming appointment with Dr. Kim. You didn’t mind the large fee that came from this cancellation; even the thought of seeing him after what had transpired between the two of you in both reality and the imaginary world left you disgusted with yourself. You could feel the aching throb in between your legs, a neediness still settled in your veins, and the wet spot you left on your pantie. Bile rose up in your throat as your mind engulfed in self-loathing.

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your bed. It bounced off and landed by your feet on the carpet. You swallowed a shriek of ragged frustration before getting up in quick desperate movements. The uncomfortable drag of the fabric of your panties seemed to remind you only more of your shame. You felt dirty.

You needed to be clean.

You stepped into the tub, turned on the faucet, and silently stood there as the shower sprayed cold water onto your still-clothed body. Inhaling a sharp breath, you closed your eyes again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Looking back, you wondered to yourself, what were you even sorry for? Wouldn’t it have been better to be sorry for yourself?

Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended the way it did if you had done that instead. But you’ll never know now. It was too late.

The echo of the clock ticking seemed to sound over the rush of cold water. Each click and swing brushed against the other, softly like the wind that brushed through the leaves and the branches and the trees and by the roots that bounded your feet to the dirt.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

You couldn’t keep cancelling your appointments.

Some part of you didn’t want to. You hated that part of you. But it was ingrained in you. Some part of you was addicted to Dr. Kim, addicted to the way he had tenderly held you, to the way his fingers had felt against the soft skin of your cheek as he wiped away acrid tears.

You were sitting across from him again. The soft, almost inaudible but painfully audible to you ticking of his wristwatch echoed in the silent room. There was no notepad in his hands again, nor rustling of paper forms between slender fingers to fill up the tension in the room; there was only his gaze rested on you. You couldn’t breathe.

You were yanking on the threads of your sweater again. The threads, loosened, snagged on your nails, and you dropped the soft material with a mental huff of displeasure. The setting of the sun outside of the window drowned the both of you in a peaceful warm orange hue…but you knew: there’s nothing peaceful going on. Not in your heart, not in the crevices of the office, not in the way Dr. Kim coolly smiled at you as if nothing was wrong…Nothing was peaceful.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen you.” If you thought too hard into it, you might have perceived his words as accusatory. But he was just your psychiatrist. There was no way he was going to cross the professional boundary between the two of you. The first time was already a mistake.

Or was it?

“How are you?’’ his words sent a thrill down your spine.

You looked at him through your lashes. You couldn’t seem to think properly when he was so near you. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich, settled in your throat.

“I’m,’’ you swallowed thickly before ducking your head back down,” I’m fine.’’

“Are you really?’’

Those words seemed to break you down.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,’’ the heaviness of your voice gave the truth right away, and you were sobbing. The you of before, the you back in the past when you were better, had hated crying, but something about being in this office, with the air conditioning blasting heavily at the nape of your neck and the thought of Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim, Dr. Kim left you glued to the seat in tears.

You sucked in a shaky breath, fiercely wiping away tears with your sleeves until your skin stung; you didn’t even notice the tissue box that Dr. Kim picked up and placed by you. He was closer to you now, sitting next to you on the couch in his office, and you leaned in closer to him. You felt him stroke your hair, comforting. You melted into his warmth.

“I’m s-…sorry,’’ you stammered out,’’ It’s just…It’s just I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty?’’ his voice, deeper than usual, brushed hotly against your ear, and you shivered. Was it the air-conditioning that chilled you to the bone, or was it something else?

Ironically, despite the icy feeling in your gut, you could feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you swore there must’ve been some hint of a flush that gave away the rapid pit-pattering of your heart. The guilt swelled and crashed in your chest with every thump.

“I’m guilty because…because!’’ the words dried up in your throat, and you clenched your eyes shut as you forced them out through trembling lips,” I shouldn’t be viewing someone else like this.”

“Like what?’’

“In the way I viewed my boyfriend…I’m—,’’ you swallowed thickly.

“Who do you view this way?’’ The gentle stroking of your hair halted, and you peeked open your eyes. You couldn’t meet his gaze, though, and your eyes fell back down to your lap.

“Y-,’’ you sucked in a breath,’’ You, Dr. Kim.”

Tick, tick, tick.

The ticking of his stopwatch drew your attention, and you stared at it breathlessly as you waited for his reply.

He didn’t reply right away, and your heartbeat spiked painfully in your chest. You made a move to stand up, a torrid heat swelling up in your face as tears of embarrassment and guilt and shame pricked your eyes, and you pushed away from him.

“I-I should leave. I’ll cancel my appoint—,’’ your remaining words squeezed out in a surprised gasp as Dr. Kim’s hand encircled your wrist and pulled you to him.

His lips were against yours, the kiss bitingly rough, and you let out a surprised moan as you felt his hand cradle the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He sucked your breath right out of your lungs, and you meekly realized that you were drooling slightly out of the corner of your mouth as he probed his tongue through your lips and against the warm crevices of your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and you made a soft startled mmph against his lips.

“Dr.—Dr. Kim!’’ you managed to place a trembling hand between the small gap between his chest and yours—you briefly admired the feeling of the muscles of his clothed chest against the palm of your hand—and pried your lips from his. Your eyes had watered in a wanton surprise; you looked like sin itself with the way you trembled and quaked and breathed shakily through swollen lips, a trail of saliva glinting on the corner of your mouth. “Dr. Kim, what—what are you doing?’’

“What do you think I’m doing?’’ his lips curved in an attractive teasing smile that caused shivers to roll down your spine,” Is it a sin to view you the same way you view me?’’

You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth. No further words of protest managed to come out.

Laughter, rough and hoarse, rumbled in his throat as he took off his jacket and loosened the tie around his white collared shirt. The setting sun cast shadows and made him look almost sinister. His voice was like a purr as he spoke.

“Then we’ll sin together. On your hands and knees.”

Some part of you trembled as you heard his voice. His voice was alluring, the way it wrapped around you and dragged you, limp and terrified, into a daze. You were flat on the palms of your hands and your knees before you knew it.

You felt his hands, cool and slightly rough, against the heated flesh of your exposed thighs, and they dragged up to your skirt and pushed it higher up around your waist, leaving only the exposed fabric of your soaked panties behind.

“Dr—Mmph!’’ you were about to question him, but the drag of his finger as it peeled away the flimsy string of your panties left you shivering in bliss. You made another move to question it; you tried your best. Your arms trembled, struggling to hold yourself up, as you felt his tongue drag against the outer folds of your pussy, and then he was devouring you.

His tongue brushed and stroked against your swollen clitoris, and you made a muffled moan through clenched teeth at the spine-tingling touch. And he was shoving his tongue deep into your walls; your walls shivered and quaked and trembled and tightened around his tongue, and you heard him grunt a muffled curse before you were coming.

Your toes curled, your eyes rolled back, and your arms collapsed, sending you careening into the plush arm of the sofa.

You tried to recover, but Dr. Kim didn’t let you recover. He pushed the fabric of your panties further down, and you made a muffled sound of protest as you felt something hot and hard against your sensitive pussy.

You were panting, breathless little whimpers leaving your lips. You were so sensitive; you couldn’t handle anymore. But he was already pushing his cock in.

“Dr. Kim, I’m so…,’’ you sobbed out, your hair a mess. You made a move to twist around, but he grabbed your wrists and, using the tie he had pulled out from around his neck, tied them together. You could only press your face, breathing out high-pitched gasps and moans, against the soft arm of the sofa as he pushed deeper and deeper into you.

The sensation was almost burning the way your walls stretched around his big cock. Oh god, he was bigger than your boyfriend, and you hadn’t fucked anyone since his death. You were tearing up, ready to open your mouth and tell him to stop it, when his cock finally was fully in. It felt like it was pressing against your womb with how deep it was. You made a choked cry.

“Dr. Kim…Dr.—Oh!’’ you keened in pleasure as he pulled out, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, and then pushed back in fully. He set an unforgivable pace, his hands firmly placed on your hips, and you swore you were getting fabric burns from the rough way the pace of his thrusts sent you crashing again and against into the sofa. Your tits bounced, and he grabbed one of them with a hand, stroking the clothed hard nipple with his finger. “Please…Please slow…Mmm! S-slow…slow down!’’

He didn’t slow down. If anything, it seemed like he sped up instead. You could feel your wrists getting red from the tie, but you didn’t care. You were getting so close to your next orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm, and Dr. Kim’s cock was dragging against your walls just right. You were so, so, so close.

“Dr. Kim!” you squealed out as your walls squeezed around his thrusting cock, and your eyes squeezed shut as you clenched hard down on him. He didn’t even pause, continuing to fuck you even through your orgasm. “Dr…Nngh! Dr. Kim…!’’

You were drooling again as he continued to pound into you, your sensitive pussy trembling fervently around him. You couldn’t think, not when his cock was rearranging your insides, and you could only shiver as he chased his own orgasm with your wet pussy.

He was pounding against your cervix, the sensation leaving little pricks in the nerves underneath your skin, and then you felt him twitch. You realized, with heightened panic, that he wasn’t wearing a condom and made a panicked move to stop him, but he was filling you with hot cum and your eyes were rolling back as you reached another orgasm. He pulled out, his cum staining the bare skin of your ass, and you felt his cum ooze out slightly from your walls.

You twitched, your ass still up and your arms sore from being pinned to your back. You couldn’t move. Not when your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts, and you were left spent.

“With the way you haven’t moved,’’ his voice lowered to a predatory tone,’’ Fuck, you make me so hard.”

He was hard again; you could feel it against your sensitive walls before he slammed back into you. You couldn’t even make a sound of protest, not when he had already fucked you thoroughly, before he was fucking you again. You heard the sound of his hips colliding into your ass, the sinful clap of skin together and the squelch of your juices around his invading cock and the rough drag of the fabric of his pants against your flushed skin. You were making panting noises, too tired to even moan. Your cheek rubbed against the sofa as he knocked against your quivering womb with each thrust.

His thrusts were as animalistic as the first time. He fucked you like he was stealing a part of his soul. He fucked you like he craved your existence. He fucked you as if you were his. And you took it, falling into the next orgasm and whimpering as he came again, quicker this time. He was filling you up, marking you from the inside out, and you… you could only moan as he did so.  

He pulled out this time, and you couldn’t even hold yourself up. Your thighs trembled, the inner skin of them coated in an obscene mixture of his cum and your juices, and you clumsily fell to the sofa. You were drifting off, your eyelids closing, and you were, for the first time in a long, dissolving in bliss.

He draped his coat over your sticky body, and you felt him stroke your hair again. His touch was gentle, so gentle. Your eyes drooped further shut.

“Did he fuck you like I did? Make you more like the whore you are?’’ his voice was low, but you could hear it. When it came to him, you could always hear him. But you were too tired. You wanted to sleep. Maybe if you slept by him, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

He chuckled at your lack of response, smoothing the strands of your hair down, and you heard the faint sound of his ticking watch. If you looked closely, through half-lidded eyes, you could make out small scratches and a single crack on the watch’s glass.

“Good night, my beloved.” His voice was like a hum. You…you remembered that. You knew that voice long before you ever sat in front of Dr. Kim. Some part of you screamed, but that part was weaker, blurred by the calming strokes of his hand over your hair and the sweet daze of sleep that kissed your eyelids shut.

You were dreaming again. It was a nightmare. You were in the woods again, the wind in your hair, and you were laughing at a joke your boyfriend said. He gave you the stuffed animal, pretty and soft and comforting, and you were giggling in delight as you hugged it to your chest.

“Babe, I love—,’’ the words died in your throat as a gunshot cracked through the crisp forest night. You were screaming now, the previous words of your love confession dying in your chest as ragged yells dragged out of your throat. He fell down, fearful-stained eyes growing glassy, and you felt a splatter of blood against your hands that stained the stuffed animal you were cradling. You were sobbing, your hands trembling as you reached out to try to touch his paling face. His lips shivered as they made one final desperate yell.

“Run!’’

You turned on your heels and made a run for it. You broke through trees and branches whipped at your fast as you ran and ran and…A hand grabbed your hair and slammed you against the tree so hard you were left winded, and you were screaming madly in grief and fear and outright hysteria as you lashed out.

“Why are you after us? Why us? Why did you kill him? Why did you kill him? WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?’’

Your fingers snagged a watch, leaving scratches on the wrist of the perpetrator, and you yanked it off the wrist in the midst of your struggle. You kicked out, frantic and desperate, and the moonlight of the night hit the perpetrator.

Dr. Kim’s face glowed underneath the waning light, his handsome features twisted in a mad glee as you thrashed and thrashed, and he was laughing through a choked breath even when your foot crashed into his rib and sent him sprawling to the forest floor.

You didn’t even wait to turn on your heel, and you were running again.

“Good night, my beloved.’’

You heard him laughing in the distance after he spoke, the sound rough and coarse and haunting, and there was that ticking again resonating from his watch still drowning in the forest floor’s mixture of mud and branches and rotting leaves.

Tick, tick, tick.

You saw the edge of the forest, the blinding light of the lamppost flickering in the distance, and your foot caught on a root protruding from the dark ground. You crashed into the ground.

You fought to get up, but the mud was soft underneath your thrashing body, and you were sinking into it. It swallowed your feet and your hands first, and you were sobbing in hysteria as it began to swallow up until your neck, and you were choking on mud as you drowned in it.

Flashes of Dr. Kim’s face flickered through your mind. His cold face, the warmth in his eyes as he wiped off your tears, the hunger in his expression as he devoured your lips, and…and his face twisted like a maniac as he dragged you against the forest tree and mockingly laughed at your struggle. He was going to finish you next, he was going to love you, he was going to break you, he was going to hold you, and he was…he was obsessed with you.

The mud filled your lungs, and you stopped coughing, stopped trying, stopped fighting. Your lips twisted in a content smile as you closed your eyes and went limp.

A/N: Leave a comment/review if you enjoyed the fic (or tell me if I made a mistake anywhere. Always a bit nerve-wracking copy and pasting from the word document I use to write). Sending my love to all of you for your support, as always!

[zutarasecrettunnel]

For Zutara Week 2021 Day 6: Spirits

Your Face, I See

Synopsis: The war is over for everyone but Katara, who keeps seeing the scarred face of the boy who sacrificed himself for her and for the world, everywhere she looks. When she finds out why she is experiencing these so-called hallucinations, she may be led right into a trap centuries in the making.

Read Chapter 1 here or on AO3:

After the war, scars were everywhere.

The earth lay scorched, trees stood singed, soldiers returned mangled to their homelands. The blemishes of war seemed to stain every surface, no mark more personal than the other, all a collective memory of survival for a world too long drenched in strife. None except for the mark that constantly haunted the waterbender. That mark was familiar. Each surface seemed to contain the same ragged skin, the same aged trauma, the same golden eyes.

It had been three months since she had escaped war into peacetime physically unscathed but obliterated nonetheless. Three months of seeing the scar that marked him, the banished prince of the Fire Nation, in nearly every object and landscape that entered her vision. It started in the Fire Nation palace only a week after the cacophony of flame and lightning that had ended the 100 Years War for good. Flickering flames cast the shadow of ruined layers of flesh, folded in on themselves like the staggering billows of crimson curtains they would appear behind. For months she stifled gasps as cat-like eyes seemed to watch her from around the imposing columns of the nation's grandest hall. Flashes, like the one that had taken him during the blaze of Sozin' comet, nothing but small jolts appearing out of nowhere like the snapping of a campfire during a ghost story.

The first time she saw him she almost believed he was real. His face had appeared in the blackness of the doorway of her borrowed chambers one night as she sat rocking at the edge of her bed, having only just awoken from another nightmare. In the soft candleglow, she had almost believed he had miraculously returned. This face was the one she remembered - taciturn, loyal, fragmented, handsome. It was not the ashen face of suffering he had held before finally succumbing to his family's dynasty of cruelty while his sister shrieked in her chains. This face, the one she had so long ago described as the face of the enemy, was the one she had begged the spirits to let her see ever since the Fire Sages had whisked his lifeless form away from her in the smoky aftermath of the Agni Kai.

But that's all it was. His face, unaccompanied by a body, and fading almost as soon as she had been able to adjust her eyes to the sight - a one-time hallucination brought on by sleeplessness. Just another aspect to the nightmare she was experiencing while awake and asleep, a side effect of watching a boy who had quickly become one of her closest friends die in her arms. As the plain blackness returned, so did Katara's heartbeat, sputtering back to work as if it had forgotten its role in her body and only just now remembered it had to keep her alive. She blinked again and again, feeling wetness on her cheeks. She would not sleep for the rest of the night.

It wasn't until the next time she saw him that she started to become concerned. His face appeared again ten days later, this time emanating from the bark of the willow tree near the royal turtleduck pond, illuminated plainly by the midday rays of the Fire Nation sun.This time it could not be blamed on candlelight and tired eyes. The waterbender gasped, dropping the rice ball she held. It rolled ungracefully into the pond, immediately being devoured by a small family of turtleducks.Her companions stopped their own consumption at the sound of her sharp intake. Sokka stared at his sister with concern. Suki followed her stare to the willow tree, looking back at the younger girl puzzled. Toph was the only one who continued nibbling absentmindedly on her own rice ball as if she hadn't noticed Katara's outburst at all.

"What is it?" Aang's voice broke through Katara's shock. She blinked, and already the second hallucination of the prince was gone.

"N-nothing," she stuttered, trying to recover, "it's nothing. I thought I saw a cave hopper and I-I-I thought they only lived in the caves!" She felt a reassuring touch on her elbow, looking to see Sokka offering a half-smile. He had noticed the deep circles forming under her eyes, the way any upturn of her mouth never reached them. Unsure of what else to do, he offered his presence as some semblance of reassurance to his sister, trying to impart that he was there for her no matter what.

"Oh," was the only response from the Avatar, hesitation clear in the single syllable. He hated seeing Katara like this, jumpy and anxious. None of them had been the same since Zuko had entered the spirit world, despite how they had all tried to move on. They had gotten everything they had worked for, an end to the century-long suffering of the four nations, but the cost seemed as if it was too great to bear. He worried he would never see the carefree Katara he had spent so much time trying to cultivate in the overburdened young girl again. The world was finally better, finally the way she deserved it to be, and yet he still couldn't make her happy.

The already somber mood of the group's lunch only soured more. It was then Katara decided she would work harder at keeping the ghostly image of the fire prince at bay, or at least keeping her hallucinations to herself. Despite her silent commitment, the visions only got worse. As time went on they became more frequent. First it became every day, then what seemed like every hour. Everywhere she went in the palace, in the streets of the capitol marketplaces, and even on the shores where she sought the healing nature of her element. Every inch of this vibrant and troubled nation was haunted for her, from the planned peace festivals to the pop-up protests of the now displaced ruling class. She stayed to help Aang restore order, working to ensure the stability of the nation her friend had so dearly loved, the nation whose honor he had sacrificed everything for.

With the increase in frequency of the hauntings, so increased the abject panic rising in Katara. It was becoming more difficult to hide her affliction from the others. After months of torment, while floating secluded in the star-speckled waves of a small, hidden inlet not far from the crater's edge, she finally asked for help.

The rising tide sent salt water lapping at her skin, while her eyes caused it to flood her face. She would often seek healing in these waters, but had so far been unsuccessful in drowning her grief. Tonight she basked in Yue's light, and finally got the courage to beg her celestial friend for relief.

She wasn't sure it would work, ignorant to the communication abilities of the spirits, but desperation consumed her. She had heard Sokka try talking to the moon shortly after they had left the Northern Water Tribe, sadness laden in his usually upbeat voice. She suddenly wondered if he had also seen visions of the princess after she had left them.

"Please, spirits. Please, Yue," she began her sorrowful overture to the large lunar surface overhead, floating parallel to the enormous heavenly body. "Why do I keep seeing him? Why do I keep seeing Zuko?"

She swallowed hard in the ensuing silence, trying to wait patiently for an answer. She was met only with a quiet, steady glow. Eyes closed tightly in despair, she listlessly started swimming back to the shore. As she neared the empty beach she heard the velvety cadence of the moon spirit speak softly between her ears.

"I know you miss him."

Katara froze in the water, settling upright, her toes sinking into silky sand. The ocean still covered her up to her shoulders. The voice arose in her again.

"Tui and La must circle each other in an eternal dance. One is not complete without the other. This is not what was meant to be," she explained. "Your anguish has pierced even the spirit world, and many have taken note."

Katara let her body sway loosely in the waves as she listened intently, her sand-covered feet her only anchor to this world.

"There are some that might use-" The sweet tones emanating from the pale night sky were sharply interrupted by a graveled voice. The new voice called out loudly, direct and authoritative.

"Katara!"

At the sound of that voice calling her name, she snapped her body toward the beach, searching the dimly lit shore for it's source. She hesitated for only a split second, taking one last glance at the moon, before summoning a grand swell of ocean to deliver her directly to the dry sands. Once ashore, she continued seeking the source of the voice. Her eyes darting from dark cliffs to jagged palm fronds, her heart beating wildly.

Finally she saw it, and immediately crumpled into the sand.

It was his face again, staring back at her from a rocky, moonlit crag. Just as it had been the hundred times before, his expression was serene, tranquil. Except this time it changed. This time the face curled into a twisted smile, an expression more suited for the deposed Phoenix King than his son. She stared, horrified, watching the distorted lips form the syllables of her name over and over. When it turned, revealing a hulking, segmented body like that of an enormous centipede, she finally screamed.

She could hear Zuko's voice continuing to call her name, begging her to help him, as she quickly picked herself off the ground and darted past the monster back toward the palace, heading recklessly into the heavy night.

[sykosomatic]

freddy krueger/male reader

actor!reader is being haunted by freddy krueger; reader uses he/him pronouns

trigger warning for paranoia

you weren’t new to the concept of sleeplessness. in fact, it had grabbed hold of you early on in your childhood and just sort of never let go. you’d be lying if you told yourself you’d ever really gotten a full night’s sleep. night was for cramming your hobbies into because your days were so bloated with everything else.

and so it wasn’t surprising that it was nighttime when you started seeing glimpses of him.

well, not of him. not at first. in reality -- if you could call it that -- you’d started seeing startling images long before those silver claws krept into them, before those stripes were a burnt image on the insides of your eyelids.

of course, while driving at night, you’d see the normal warped images of trees into fingers and arms, of signs and mailboxes into shadowy figures creeping along the road beside your car.

and as time went on, the images got significantly more alarming.

you started to see monsters made of shadow, wolves with knives for fur and shocking yellow eyes, baring their teeth in your rearview mirror. you’d grown used to the jolt of fear up your spine, but nothing had prepared you for the creatures to overstay their welcome. usually they were gone after the second or third glance, but they’d begun to cross over into the threshold of the daylight that used to be your safe haven. sure daytime was for work, but you rarely saw these creatures when the sun was out.

your mind needed rest, but that was the last thing you’d allow yourself to do. if you slept a wink, it was on-set of the movie you were filming. a small-budget horror film, no less; you’d loved watching movies like that since you were young, and being in one fulfilled all your wildest dreams. but you were finding it harder and harder in your sleep-deprived state to appreciate the full gravity and excitement of the situation. you felt ungrateful sometimes.

“hey, wake up, you’re on in five,” you heard a voice whisper to you, a hand jostling your shoulder gently as the scene painted in front of you vanished, to be replaced with something quite identical. you’d drifted off for a moment, in one of the chairs in the hair and makeup area.

you took a moment to figure out what had just happened, before shaking it off and standing to join the rest of the cast for your scene. the movie was just about finished filming, they just needed a few re-shots and to finish the ending scene. you were sad to see it come to an end, but excitedly anticipating how it would actually all turn out.

as you took your spot on the marker, you looked to the director, seeing a flash of silver as he raised his hand up to signal ‘action’. startled that your visions had followed you this far away from home, you took a step back, raising your arms in a defensive stance, gasping as that familiar electricity danced along your spine. stripes danced themselves into a pattern on the director’s sweater, seeming to flash angrily at you as the fear washed over you.

“leave me alone, get away!” you shouted out as he advanced, hunched like the shadowy wolvish figures that followed you home at night, grinning a crazed snarl as he waved those razor-sharp claws at you. the air around you felt like it was getting thicker, seemed to get foggier, smoky tendrils curling down into your lungs as you smelled a fire.

it had to be fake, didn’t it?

you fell backwards, landing awkwardly on one of your wrists, a sharp crack of pain streaking up to your shoulder. you hissed out in pain, bringing that arm to your chest as you started to scoot backwards, finding something on the ground beside you and launching it at the man. it was a simple prop, a hardback book, that hit him square in the chest and fell to the ground with a dull thud. you felt sort of pathetic, but there really wasn’t much else you could do but try and scramble to your feet -- and the pain in your wrist was starting to fog up your brain.

“hardly show-stopping,” he taunted, advancing close enough to you that you were able to kick him square in the sternum, right where the book had hit, but this time there was some force behind it and it knocked him backwards.

“fuck you!” you shouted, nursing your hand against your chest as you stood up, reminding yourself to start working out because of how heavy you’d begun to breathe. it in fact became so hard to breathe that you found it hard to see or think; the world around you became a blur of colors and started to look more like an abstract painting. you soon found yourself unable to see anything at all.

“he’s not waking up, do you think he hit his head?”

you opened your eyes to see that the man in the sweater was gone. confusion cloaked over your face, you cocked an eyebrow at the girl standing above you. your wrist was still throbbing; what had happened that your brain had muddled up so bad? surely your castmates would be a little more scared if your director had actually morphed into some sort of demon?

“what... happened?” you ventured, trying not to sound too stupid.

“you were doing really well with your scene, and then you just sort of… started freaking out? you fell and then i think you maybe passed out?” good thing she also seemed a bit unsure, so you seemed less like you weren’t even there to witness it, let alone experience it.

there was a crowd of people around you, and out of the crowd came a medic, reaching for your uninjured hand and taking you off to his little station to get you checked out.

that would not be the last time you saw freddy.

[comfort-questing]

For the collapse prompt: exhausted beyond belief or emotional overload?

"don't do this to yourself."

it was late, the smoky lanterns flaring as the breeze threw their flames back and forth, dashing shadows across the courtyard. there would be rain before dawn, from the heavy scent of water in the air. Cabry knew they should have been asleep.

(someone else should have been asleep, too.)

"what's the alternative?" the hooded figure paused by the arched gateway, one hand on the hilt of their sword. "staying here and waiting for the end?"

"getting some rest so you have a chance to do something about it all. you can't save everyone if you're falling to bits yourself." Cabry paused, amended: "or even if you're not. please."

"I can't stay. there's word from down the valley, another raiding band on the outskirts of a village." they passed a hand over their forehead, scrubbing back the ragged brush of their hair, exposing sunken eyes dark in the lanternlight. "I'm taking a dozen riders that way. we can't stop the army's advance, but we - "

"hold on." Cabry put a hand out, expecting their leader to flinch back; finding rough cloth and the sturdiness of flesh under their hand was a surprise, and almost a worrisome one. the reaction came a moment later, a shivering startle.

"don't try to stop me." the leader glared at Cabry, tried to pull away from their grasp.

"you were riding all day back from Signal Hill. you spent last night - was it last night? - in battle. what are you doing?"

their leader laughed, or something like a laugh, hoarse from shouting and sleeplessness.

"trying everything I can to save lives, what else?"

- and twitched Cabry's hand off, to step through the gate and shut it behind them. the jingle of tack and creak of leather came a moment later, and voices, as the riders vanished into the dark.

*

they returned in the dark, too: the cold damp dark before dawn, with a spitting rain flying sideways on the fitful gusts of wind. Cabry had slept, though with the window cracked open, so that the clatter of hooves on stone had woken them.

the returning group was the usual, painfully well known in these last days. a handful of survivors, huddled and weeping, nursing wounds that the healers would be tending to inside the fortress. riders dismounting, talking in curt voices, a few helping their fellows towards the fortress themselves. Cabry spotted their leader a moment later, after a frightened uncertain space - guiding a villager inside, of course, and their hood fallen back, rain matting their hair and skeining down their drawn cheeks.

"I'll take them. you - you go get some rest." Cabry put out a hand, intercepting their leader's progress. "you've done enough for now, all right?"

the villager halted, then hurried forward into the shelter of the fortress, anxious to leave the rain behind. the leader paused and seemed to forget how to begin moving again, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. there was blood on their coat, the rain thinning and fading out the stain. not theirs, then, Cabry hoped.

"enough?" they said, and their mouth twisted. but this time they were the one that reached out, awkwardly and abruptly; one hand closed on Cabry's coat-front, but not quickly enough to save them as their knees buckled.

the two of them reached the courtyard stones together, a mess of rain-sodden cloth and fumbling hands. the leader's breaths came ragged, half laughter and half sobbing, and as they slipped forward into Cabry's arms, their heavy-lidded eyes finally fell closed at last.

rain or no rain, Cabry didn't have the heart to move them, at least not for a while. they carefully eased themselves back against the fortress wall, settling their leader's head into the hollow of their shoulder, listening as their breathing evened into calm sleep despite their best attempts of the last hours.

enough. enough for now.

[trippic]

“come on, i’m gonna be fine, papi!” coco begged in a whine as her tiny figure entered the crib. her whining transformed into a soft giggle as she looked around her surroundings; as soon as they entered the one story house coco was greeted by the living room united with the kitchen. “so you just live by yourself?” coco turned back to look at trippie who got inside the house right after her and now was locking the door. “yea. just me, satan and smokie.” the red dreaded explained while a curtain of confusion fell on petite female’s face. “who’s satan-... oh shit!” coco produced a few words before exclaiming as she turned around and met face to face with a sphynx cat who was sitting on top of the armchair back and glaring at her. “that’s who the fuck satan is.” rogue chuckled and went further to the kitchen area to get them some drinks. coco slightly scrunched her face up giving the cat a final look, then followed after the male. she brought back her whiny tone, going straight forward for what she wanted. “but come on trippie, trust me, i’m going to be good!” her arms chained around his torso and her chinky eyes did the cat from shrek stunt. tripp kissed on his teeth and shook his head. “nah. i ain’t tested those shits out myself yet, i’on wan’ ya to die or sum’ shit.” he explained while opening the bottle of coke. the girl huffed and rolled her eyes. “well, at least let me see them.” coco asked as she stole his look for some moment. rogue sighed and shook his head. “i shouldn’t have told you about that shit.” he smirked and gently rubbed on the side of her waist. “take a seat, imma be right back.” and the female released him from the hold and hopped onto one of the high stools that was located in the kitchen, right by the counter. yeah, it wasn’t a lot of space here, but since trippie was living here all by himself, then it was enough. well, he also had this damn cat who’s just mean mugging shit out of you. in overall, coco found it a pretty nice place, although she was more curious about the bedroom which, she had a hope, she’ll soon be able to see. knowing trippie and his high sexual drive, who can go non-stop day and night, coco felt they were going to end up in the bedroom regardless. 

smokie ran down the small corridor towards his human, his fat little paws were doing their best to be as fast as possible. “aye, who dat big boi here?” tripp smiled and squatted down to pick up his french bulldog. giving him a tight hug as it was his stuffed toy, trippie walked to his bedroom to get the pills. as he walked down the hallway he made a quick note that he better get into coloring the walls and throwing away the old furniture; this house used to belong to his grandmother who he never really talked to, and having all her decorations and other stuff wasn’t something he liked. with his dog on his hands, rogue entered the bedroom where he already made some changes. the walls were just white and the floor jet black, his bed with black and red elements, and tons of shoes standing right along the wall since rogue haven’t had a chance to upgrade his wardrobe space. he didn’t really care to rush with that, and meanwhile, he just picked up a bag he needed and went back to where he left coco.

“i call them love scars.” trippie said as he poured broken heart shaped red pills onto his open palm. they were both sitting on the floor, and coco leaned in closer as her curios eyes sparked up. “while i was locked up, i kept thinking of the formula. i didn’t want it to be a regular mdma type of shit, ya kno? i wanted it to be like... a designer drug.” rogue kept explaining while picking up one of those beauties and looking closer at it. “i don’t know if i made it or not, but that’s a fucking accomplishment for me. ya kno?” he smirked while relocating his hazel eyes at the girl. “let’s try it out together.” coco bit on her lip while batting her eyelashes. “please, trippie, i promise you, i don’t really care if i die. take me high, up up and away, pretty please?” she asked in a whispery tone while rubbing her hand over his thigh, getting closer to his sensitive area. “shit, i see what ya trynna do there.” trippie exhaled a low, raspy chuckle and tossed one pill into his mouth. “what about me?” coco gasped in uncovered concern but he locked his hand around her throat and pulled her closer to himself. while his digits gently squeezed on the sides of her neck, their tongues tangled together just like the snakes during their sexual act. 

when he woke up next morning, rogue smiled. after swallowing the pill, he traveled to paradise, he has seen the most beautiful colors he never witnessed before. sex was crazy. and he felt alive. he felt like happiness itself just hugged him and gave a promise to never let go. but there was something else he wasn’t able to describe just yet, although he never experienced it before with any other drug. trippie rolled onto his back; coco wasn’t around. good. he didn’t want to see her besides him in the morning. she was bad, hot as hell, fun to hang around with, but he had zero feels towards her. waking up next to someone you don’t love was a trigger for rogue. but he was happy. while being in prison, he spent days and sleepless nights working on the pill ingredients, and he did it. soon, if he won’t grow a tail or horns after swallowing it down, he’s going to sell his little broken hearts and get some good pesos for that, but for right now, he just needed some more sleep.

[narrans]

A Tall and Small Collection | Soren | Found

Ashlynn backed into her spot, fist slamming into the button and her emotions a tumultuous swirling twister. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or cry, drive through the wall or curl up in the back seat.

It was done – finished, for sure this time – and Ashlynn wasn’t sure how she felt about it yet.

A night of self-care was no longer a suggestion – it was mandatory.

She fumbled with the keys and shoved them into the lock. Wrong key. She cursed under her breath while twisting the silver ring of keys in her fingers to the identical key on the opposite side. She had to get a cover for the apartment key.

As she turned the lock, she heard – or thought she heard – something on the other side of the door. It was muffled and distorted and sounded like a voice. Ashlynn shook her head. It was a long day at the courthouse and it was most likely the neighbor kids playing in the front yard. She only hoped they didn’t scuff up her windows again.

She stepped through the door into the kitchen. A wave of warmth washed over her body. She crossed the threshold and tossed her keys onto the counter. Despite the warmth in the air, a cold shiver ran down her spine and prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

Something felt off about the air of the kitchen. Something charged and uneasy. Ashlynn glanced around the small, joining rooms from the kitchen, dining area, and living room. Nothing.

Ashlynn was about to write it off as her feeling paranoid when she heard something that sounded eerily similar to a cough. She walked around the corner of the counter toward the trashcan.

She glanced around the can and onto the ground. There. Immediately, she leapt backwards up onto the counter and drew her legs to her chest. [That’s just great. That looser set all of those mouse traps and now I’m the one who has to clean it up.] A quick, unnerved shudder overtook her shoulders as she carefully slipped back onto the ground.

The broom was in the closet, but the bags were nearby. [Oh gosh. What if it’s not dead?!] Ashlynn peered around the corner again and prayed the mouse was dead already. It wasn’t moving, which seemed like a good sign until she noticed something off about the creature.

She had dealt with mousetraps before, but she hadn’t seen a mouse look like this before. The way its leg was under the bar wasn’t quite right. The mouse seemed flattened, yet it wasn’t close to the bar. More importantly – and most unnerving of all – it had arms.

Not only did it have arms, but it had hands and a mess of dark brown hair which contrasted greatly with the smoky grey pelt of the mouse. The leg was splayed on its side, and there was a something that looked like a shoe.

Ashlynn’s instincts were electrified, curiosity peaked. She began to wonder if this was even a mouse. She knelt and leaned forward. Her heart began to beat faster, her breath held unintentionally, as she reached out and pulled the mouse head, which she could now see had no eyes, up slightly.

She retracted her hand immediately after spotting the small, pale features of what looked like a human face. Her hands trembled and suddenly felt tremendously cold. She wrung her hands together as the mind ran off to the races.

What was this? Some kind of practical joke? This looked like a human – a person. Was it a figurine? The notion was ridiculous. A doll wearing mouse skin? Was it even still alive? She didn’t want to check, but some part of her compelled her to do so.

Ashlynn reached forward again and pulled the mouse pelt away further to reveal the small face again. From what she could tell, this new person was a he. His body was shivering, but he didn’t seem to be conscious.

Panicking, she reached over to the edge of the mousetrap, hesitated, then stood again. She couldn’t call emergency services. What would she say? That there was a human looking person the size of her hand laying on her kitchen floor caught in a mousetrap with what looked like a broken leg? No. As usual, she had to do everything herself.

She didn’t understand much about emergency first-aid, but she knew his leg was most likely fractured or broken by the way it was turned in the trap. She had helped her cousins set a few noses and fingers. How hard could this be? The leg needed to be braced, and there weren’t a lot of things to use. [Great. This is exactly what I wanted. I wanted to come home to an obligation – a very, tiny obligation. It’s not like I was going to drown my sorrows in a bathtub and binge watch a season or two of something.]

Thankfully, her crafting from her youth was finally coming in handy. She quickly cut some cheep chopsticks and gathered up some tape before going back to the mousetrap. He, whatever he was, was still there laying relatively motionless and shivering from time to time.

As carefully as she could, Ashlynn secured the trap and lifted the bar. Instantly, there was a pain filled gasp as the small figure lurched and turned, falling off of the trap and onto the tile. Ashlynn could now see his entire front exposed. His limbs wrapped across his form, yet he still seemed unconscious.

His clothes were a patchwork of dirty cloth made of a dull, muddy green and brown. There were things around his waist which rested on his hip and across his body. Ashlynn marveled at the figure before he convulsed into another bout of shudders. She needed to work fast.

With a mixture of fascination and annoyance, Ashlynn worked on the small humanoid. She secured his leg within the brace, noting the small amount of blood by his shin from where his leg was pinched beneath the bar and how he winced and gasped as she carefully set the leg. Google had served her well, but it took a while to find a website that helped walk her through the process.

It took nearly an hour, but she managed to brace and, for the most part, set the leg. She had to remove most of the pant leg to successfully brace the leg and immobilize it in a wrap. Something about his skin felt warm, yet clammy. [He’s not sick is he?] Ashlynn, with the utmost care, laid the tip of her index finger against his forehead. He was burning up.

[Great. Just great. Sick. Broken. This is fine. It’s not like I was going to do something for myself. Curses! Why do I always get stuck with the ones I have to fix!]

Ashlynn finished up gathering other supplies for her new sick and injured house guest, knowing a sleepless night was before her.

Continue 

Previous 

Beginning 

[oc-growth-and-development]

Day 1: Sunrise

OCtober 2020 has begun! Kicking things off with a bit of prose featuring a couple of my own OCs: a lesbian insomniac princess and her bisexual personal guard sharing a soft moment together (while of course mutually pining for each other) be gentle I wrote this at 2 am with 0 proofreading

(Find the prompt list here) 

Rosea lay awake in the smoky grayness just before dawn, restlessly tracing the embroidered vines of her heavy blanket. Her fingertip ran back and forth, against and with the grain, catching slightly on the raised thread and then gliding over the smooth satin stitch. She blinked hard, trying to wipe away the sandy feeling of sleeplessness. 

With a sigh, Rosea sat up and stretched. No use pretending to sleep anymore. She rolled out of bed, slipping into her slippers and draping an old shawl around her shoulders. Rosea eyed the silver bell on her nightstand for a few moments before turning away. It’s too early to call for breakfast, even for her. So she made her way to the plush seat by the window, trusting her spatial awareness more than her sight, and sat with her feet tucked neatly under her. 

Peeking through the velvet curtains, Rosea stood watch over her world. Clothed in delicate gauzy mist, the castle grounds were just starting to come to life. A gardener emerged from the hedges, pruning errant leaves and inspecting fragrant petals for pests. A castle cat padded leisurely along the path, stopping briefly to allow a passing serving girl to rub its ears. A young night guard paced, rubbing his hands together to stave off the morning chill.

Rosea enjoyed the alone-ness of the morning, before the ladies-in-waiting came bustling in. While she loved each of them dearly, she almost felt a sense of envy around them. As the daughters of highly ranking lords and ladies of the court, their only requirement in life was to marry well. Sure, Lilia was well known for her hunting prowess and Midali was a musical prodigy, but these were not talents they were born into. Try as she might, Rosea never felt like she truly belonged with her ladies. So she relished the alone-ness in the morning when she didn’t have to feel lonely.

A soft rapping at the door to her antechamber made Rosea look up. After a moment’s hesitation, Rosea crossed her chamber to answer the door. Mel stood before her, cleanly dressed in her uniform as per usual, a tray with two cups of steaming tea and a small basket of scones balanced in one hand.

“Good morning, milady,” the guard offered, dipping her head in a bow. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Something in her tone suggested she knew otherwise.

Instead of answering, Rosea stretched and pretended to give an enormous yawn. “Mel! I wasn’t expecting you for a while. Please, come in.”

The two migrated to the sitting room. Mel set the tray down on a table by one of the massive windows and opened the curtains. The room filled with lacy gray light, slightly brighter than just moments before. Rosea sank into the cushions of her favorite armchair and wrapped her hands around her cup, inhaling the fragrant steam wafting from the tea.

“Mel,” Rosea said, noticing Mel still hovering behind her. “Please sit with me.”

Mel sat. To the untrained eye, Mel was just as poised and disciplined as always, intentional in her movements. But because of Mel’s usual perfection, Rosea could detect the slightest bit of sloppiness in Mel like a speck on a skein of fresh cotton. How the tray wobbled ever so slightly in her hand. How her words bled almost imperceptibly into each other. How she raised the cup to her lips to hide her barely stifled yawn. As she swallowed, Rosea’s own chest warmed.

They watched the sunrise in silence. They watched silently as the first glimmer of sunlight gilded the crowns of distant mountains. They watched silently as the gardener lifted her face and the night guard offered his cold hands to the sun. They watched silently as the sunlight filtered into the sitting room, bringing color back into the curtains, the tea, and each other. And as Rosea watched a gentle smile warm over Mel’s face, she knew she didn’t mind sharing her alone-ness with her.