#insp: Layers of Fear

[aromaparody]

Our shop is back open now (after almost a year of being on hiatus)! There's a whole explanation over there about what's been going on with us (spoiler alert: it's nothing good :P) but we figured with a shop that's staying in one heckin' place, we'd reintroduce you to all of the scents in our lineup! :D

 This was our first official candle way back in 2017: Running Out of Apples and it is inspired by the indie horror game Layers of Fear! Despite the name, the scent is a mixture of apple and rose.

 This candle is an 8oz. glass jelly jar with a pewter daisy cut lid and has a cotton/paper wick. All of our candles are made with 100% natural soy wax, are handmade and are poured in very small batches. You can find Running Out of Apples and others over at Waxing Sky Studios!

Also, in the near future we'll have wax melts of all of our scents as well as aroma beads in case you are in a place where you can't burn candles but still want a scent. We'll make an announcement here when they're online!

[cheerful-sixears]

TF: Fearless Frontlines

I was inspired by this prompt, here, and I wrote something for it. It's angsty, and yet I feel fucking great after this exercise. Delicate, but great. Fanfic mainly showcases a lot of @starscrumpt 's MoonHowl and how his influence has kept B-Convoy's direct narrative headstrong. [ngl I cried too much writing this.]

Title: Fearless Frontlines

Alt. TItle: Courage Takes Flight From that First Fearful Step

Fandom: Transformers [vague universe setting]

Rating: PG-13[?] [minor mentions of trauma/cursing/sensitive materials]

Songs Insp. [and why] : 

-Pillar - Frontline [this song inspired my overall thoughts regarding B-Convoy’s unwavering ‘fight till the end’ mindset that I share with equal duality]

-Smash Into Pieces - Counting on Me [this song inspired my thoughts on MoonHowl’s unwavering trust and support of B-Convoy and his endeavors]

-Sleep Token - Take Me Back To Eden [B-Convoy’s longing for what was, and how he’d fight to achieve any and all to be in that state of normalcy, for him. That smallish glimmer of a peaceful, remedial healing that he only ever tasted on the surface level before the war began. I played this one back, toward the middle and end with MoonHowl, because it really encased the pain and emotions here. Spoiler: I cried…a lot.]

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Standing with a processor riddled with ponderous thoughts, amidst the plans that many-a-restless evenings meticulously produced, B-Convoy’s optics gleamed in a dazed, almost static-glazed vacancy that most were unfamiliar with. A few of the cautious mechs stood in silent regard as B-Convoy continued to gaze into what appeared an unrelenting void-like trance. The tension was thicker than the copious amounts of old and new energon-shed, caked and layered upon the battlefield outside of their trembling, yet sturdy keep. 

One of those mechs that stood around the other few sauntered forward, his wingspan hung heavy as his shoulders carried little enthusiasm with each gentle step. He placed a servo-paw upon B-Convoy’s shoulder, Convoy’s tensed reaction triggering a pooling of tears upon the muzzle of his fellow empath, MoonHowl. He pressed his digits as his servo-paw remained and served as a grounding weight, even in the slightest, to support B-Convoy’s heaviest aches. The weight of war was pressing far heavier than some would ever fathom a normal mech could manage. 

A random voice echoed through the silence, slicing through it with a venomous inquiry and serpentine strike, “You’ve forgotten what it even means to lead. You’ve been so enveloped in your own direction-your own path, and in that, you’ve forgotten yourself.” 

The blatant, seering statement brought an unfamiliar expression of rage and a familiar pain that MoonHowl once felt in his own self. He bit back in protective ferocity, even before B-Convoy was able to express his imminent distress, “NO-He’s changed. I will NEVER find weakness in that,” His chords trembled as he pointed to the map on the holoscreen projected before them all. His servo-paw was clenched in a trembling rage.

“None of you took a moment to count the amount of victories we’ve surpassed and how far we’ve survived. We’ve thrived without his predecessor, even. Your fear leads your spark astray, rethink your words before you cause more damage and create rifts, than create peace and healing. Rethink your actions, please.” An almost somber, sullen expression crossed MoonHowl’s softened, heavy gaze as he turned his glance from the distraught mech and unto B-Convoy, who’s optics were hazed with more pain and layered sorrow than one should ever experience in a fraction of a lifetime. 

If his visor were not apparent to hide his jaw or muzzle, the pain would be doubly obvious. MoonHowl continued to grip onto B-Convoy’s shoulder plate. After a moment of pained and agonizing silence, B-Convoy raised his opposing servo-paw to meekly grasp and cup MoonHowl’s. His grasp trembled, and it was clear within his optics, that he fought to regain stability to speak once more. If MoonHowl knew one thing above others, it was B-Convoy’s hurt. He’d been there from the start. Almost every pain, every loss, and through every hardship, their kinship remained.

A familiar and promising flicker glimmered momentarily within B-Convoy’s optics before he nodded in a silent agreement to MoonHowl before standing amidst a small, yet significantly larger audience than before. He lowered his visor to reveal a prominent, newly empowered snarl with shimmering fangs that bore confidence and newfound strength, “My esteemed and hardened comrades, as your Pack Leader, I implore each one of you to embrace the strength that resides within your sparks. Draw from the depths of your being, channeling the power of unity, honor, and unwavering resolve," He gestured with a combination of newfound courage, strength, yet carried humbled humility within his choreographic show, as well.

"Remember, it is our loyalty to one another that fortifies our ranks and sets us apart from our adversaries. These …treacherous beasts, driven by their insatiable hunger for power and shed-energon threaten the very fabric of peace and harmony that we hold dear,” He paused, glancing over to MoonHowl, as though to garner a second wave of a new gilded, breath, and then continued with more confidence than before, “In the face of their relentless aggression, let our bravery shine brightly through the darkest of times. We shall not waver, nor shall we falter, for our cause is just, and our sparks beat endlessly as one. Together, we possess a power greater than any individual con or beast could ever hope to wield. Let them bear witness to the force that resides within our ranks, our Pack, as we unleash our true potential. My comrades-my family, as we charge forward with unwavering determination, let us remember that our strength lies not only in our bodies but also within our minds. Strategize, adapt, and outmaneuver our foes at every turn. We are a force to be reckoned with—a symphony of metal and courage, bound together by an unbreakable bond. Let our sparks ignite the path to triumph, as we march forward to face our foes with our heads held high! For the love of unity, unending courage, and our family!”

With a gallant wave and a triumphant fist to his chassis, a seemingly newfound energy resonated within the room’s interior. A new wave of glimmering radiance-of newfound aspirations and hope. B-Convoy exhaled and glanced back to his comrade, a humbled expression of sparkfelt pride and harmonious glee. He simply muttered amongst the crowd’s cheers, “I’m proud of you.”

End.

Art drawn by @starscrumpt 💕

[intensitystoner]

Quick scribble for @sifkiweek​

Day 1 - Thunder

~850 words (kind of angsty, I guess)

They bit each other’s lips raw. With the strength of cast-aside fears, the flood of a broken dam, the senseless hurry to stock away as much as possible for the upcoming drought. He’d have ran his teeth along her jawline even if she had been pushing him away; but she dragged him in instead, with her grasp in his hair, with her gaping mouth over his ear, with her weight pulling them backwards, until she hit a table and they almost stumbled. If they had, papers would have crumpled and books might have fallen off, while some would have remained to be covered by her back, pressing uncomfortably and unheeded through the thin leather of her daytime clothes. The lantern would have been cast aside risking a fire, and her legs would have wound around his bent form, craving for any layers between them to disappear. He might have indulged in the curve of her neck, while she’d have bitten his earlobe. In that case, she’d have figured out from the melody of his exhale how close she was to his weakest spot. And he’d have rewarded her, as she smirked through her teeth and didn’t let go, with his long fingers deliciously dipping into her bare hips, although she wouldn’t have remembered when he had finagled his way under her clothes.

The possibility flew them by as they breathed from each other’s mouths in a motionless hold of hair and clothes, digesting the occurrence in their respective, private stun. What this meant, mostly in retrospect, welled up in their intertwining looks.

"One day," he breathed as he beheld the dark behind her pupils. "What an impressive length to go."

"You never said a word," she whispered.

"I never knew I could."

"You never even tried-"

There it was, the moment when it hit for real, and she was now pushing at his chest with a mix of start and resentment.

And he obeyed, without an answer on his tongue, though plenty in the teal of his eyes. Like the sunlit oceans, she had always thought – now tinted with an emerald depth. Unlike at any other times of his mischiefs, he backed up at the first prompt.

She didn't expect him to be this lenient. Or rather, she didn't expect to panic over the loss of the accidentally gained moment. She had no time to prepare for any of this, really, their meeting in the library wing was merely for some papers she intended to get for Thor.

Thor, who was now her husband, their bond sealed a mere day ago. Her choice meant the end of a lengthy wait (a pretended dilemma), a closure to the implausible daydreams that the subject of her basest desires would someday start caring for her charms.

Unbeknownst to her, he already did, only their attraction had been shyly hid behind spars, verbal and physical. Loki had always been a mystery to the world – one of the traits that thrilled her. He was always on a tad calmer behaviour around her than in public, which she had grown to indulge in without her initial vain tries to understand. But he was also guarded in a subtle way, she had always known that, and yet she wouldn't have dared believe the possibility–

Thus, she had settled with growing out of the wait – wrongly so, as it occurred on this rueful day, while the distance grew between them once again.

"I can't honestly say I'm sorry for losing my composure, in spite of the misfortunate delay," he uttered huskily; "but I will respect your choice further on, because your honour is your clearest merit, and a part of you for me to marvel at."

She nodded faintly through the dismay in her gullet, watching his hand reach for the collected pile of parchments, shuffle through them with an impeccable spine, nothing but a soundless exhale and his telltale eyes (even cast down like this) remembering the stray moment.

She took the selected paper wordlessly, both of their looks on the exchanged item, bent on sticking to the present, pretending not to flush, keeping dry as grown-ups did. Forgetting politely, mutually.

She got halfway across the chamber when the flooding regret spun her around, and she all but crashed into the prince already headed for her. Their mouths collided, her arms with the paper around his neck: she wouldn't let him slip away this time. But neither would he, with his hold around her waist, their forms fitting fluently as sin. Because that's what they were: agents of theft. Secret, unwanted, forbidden. Possibly dead if ever discovered, or injured heavily, through the rashness of the discoverer they both loved and had just turned their backs on.

"It'll be a painful tryst," he muttered into her hair, though there wasn't a question in it anymore.

"I know," her lips worded faintly while wandering over his smooth jawline.

It hurt many, the two of them included. But Fate had turned: had there been any other path, she'd only have walked it if he'd have come along.

-

Insp.~ 🎵

[rosesisupposes]

Another Goddamn Hero Story

The Story Playlist

[This is mostly for @hawthornshadow but I hope y’all appreciate it too]

Prologue: Setting a Feel 

Did you know all the boys will be broken and ‘freaks’? Nice cool come join the circus (also I love this song): The Greatest Show - Panic! at the Disco

Chapter 1: Midnight Marauders

Chapter Title, also inspiration for Roman’s name, i still can’t think of anything else listening to this song: Dancing’s Not A Crime - Panic! at the Disco

Roman and Patton trying to outlive their pasts, and their staggering lack of self-preservation: Immortals - Fall Out Boy

Roman’s view - he believes/insists he’s past forgiveness by choice: Outlaws - Green Day

Patton to Roman, but in much more of a Might Kill Your Dad Type kinda way: bad guy - Billie Eilish

Bonus: how i decided where Roman & Pat’s home was located, and ref to their mutual codependence: Overpass - Panic! at the Disco

Chapter 2: Best of Us

Chapter Title, I picked ‘the best of us’ for this one meeting the Drs Lancaster for the first time on purpose, too :)))): This is Gospel - Panic! at the Disco

Boyos intro: Heroes - Måns Zelmerlöw [from Eurovision 2015]

...if there was a song that perfectly encapsulated Captain America’s Ass it would be here, for Virgil, i don’t have one though, RIP me

Chapter 3: Only Gold Is Hot Enough

Roman losing his mom: Pray for Me - The Weeknd with Kendrick Lamar

Roman alone: Holiday/Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day

Repeating phrase through the chapter, if you didn’t notice: Hey Look Ma, I Made It - Panic! at the Disco

Inspiration of his costume, as Prince into Marauder, actually this inspired most of his character visuals and worldview: (Fuck a) Silver Lining - Panic! at the Disco

Roman moving on into the world as a villain, embracing his own ‘dark’: Scared of the Dark - Lil Wayne, Ty Dolla $ign, XXXTENACION [from Into the Spider-Verse]

Chapter 4: Every Tainted Soul

Chapter Title, ref to the beginnings of feelings the boys have across the hero/villain divide: Girl That You Love - Panic! at the Disco

Idk man i just get the best villain vibes from this one, something about the ‘celebration’ but also they’re “like washed-up celebrities”: Victorious - Panic! at the Disco

Fight Themes: Save the World - Swedish House Mafia

Chapter 5: Watch Them Run

Arrest of the villains: You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison - My Chemical Romance

Remy vibes: Bubblegum Bitch - MARINA

Remy vibes and direct quote: you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish

Remy inspiration as a villain (see what’s mine & take it) Also, inspiration of Thomas’ origin: “heroes always get remembered but you know legends never die”: Emperor’s New Clothes - Panic! at the Disco

Chapter 6: Fear of Falling Apart

Theme for both Roman and Pat, particularly Collateral Damage: United States of Eurasia (+ Collateral Damage) - Muse

Title, particularly from the ending where the 3 layers oversect: This is Gospel (Triple Layered) - Panic! at the Disco

Patton’s heartbreak: Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day

The most Patton song there is (”there’s no sunshine...Only black days and sky grey, And clouds full of fear, And storms full of sorrow): Impossible Year - Panic! at the Disco

Patton’s attack: Fury - Muse

Chapter 7: A Whisper in the Dark

Title, inspiration for Agent Whisper’s name: Whispers in the Dark - Skillet

How AW’s powers work, but all types of love apply (and ref to how his powers came to be): House of Memories - Panic! at the Disco

I just really liked the energy of this for the fights: Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

Meeting the Big Bad, decision for the villains to work with ‘the enemy’: Know Your Enemy - Green Day

Chapter 8: To Dust or to Gold

Best energy of how the heroes feel trying to fight AW: Elevate - DJ Khalid, Denzel Curry, YBN Cordae, SwaVay, Trevor Rich  [from Into the Spider-Verse]

Title, and the fact that AW works through bringing back repressed memories (‘you will remember me’): Centuries - Fall Out Boy

Villains’ feeling that none of this is for some glorious cause, it’s just violence, pure and simple: Animals - Muse

First chapter of hanging out with Villains for the Weekend: Vegas Lights - Panic! at the Disco

AW’s theme with ref to his true identity (bet you didn’t know he was dangerous): Dangerous - Big Data feat. Joywave

Inspiration for what Roman’s bad days are called, and ref to attack on Roamn: Blackout Days - Phantogram

Villain Vibes for AW: Radioactive - Pentatonix and Lindsey Sterling

Chapter 9: Dark Side of Hope

A nice dump of songs used here & throughout the story for combat vibes:  Peacemaker - Green Day,  Get Up and Fight - Muse,  Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin,  Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back - My Chemical Romance

How the heroes & villains feel as they realize they like each other (you’re gonna be the death of me): Collar Full - Panic! at the Disco

Title (“it’s the dark side of hope/where believers concede”), also insp for Logan’s transition across the story, from black-and-white thinking (yes, like his costume & goggles) to understanding the grey areas: Old Fashioned - Panic! at the Disco

Hospital scenes, both in present and Virgil’s flashback: Soon You’ll Get Better - Taylor Swift, Dixie Chicks

Patton’s constant mood, but also Virgil’s and his moms’: Familia - Nicki Minaj, Anuel AA, Bantu [from Into the Spider-Verse]

Chapter 10: Pray for the Wicked

Hehehe mood ref and slight mislead here to Thomas’ origins/true nature of his powers: The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

Patton’s reluctance, still, to being a ‘true’ hero, esp if Roman doesn’t survive: Superhero - Falling in Reverse

Fight Vibes, and yet another reference to memory: Remember the Name - Fort Minor feat. Styles of Beyond

The team going to fight AW one last time: What’s Up Danger - Blackway, Black Caviar [from Into the Spider-Verse]

Title, also the fight from the music video was a huge inspiration for all the combat in this story: Say Amen - Panic! at the Disco

Ref to AW’s power and how it pulls out memories/trauma: My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark - Fall Out Boy

Chapter 11: Fall to Rise

Thomas’ recovery: I Wanna Get Better - Bleachers

Title, ref to the reform(s): King of the Clouds - Panic! at the Disco

Ending the fight, Roman and Patton realizing they can stop fighting, finally; in contrast to the Lancasters recognizing the wrong people as the enemy, with pipe dreams of ending the fight, rather than giving it up: 21 Guns - Green Day [from the American Idiot musical]

The Lancasters’ plan: Unnatural Selection - Muse

Fighting the idea that powers can or should be controlled, aka Virgil All But Punches Logan’s Mom: Resistance - Muse

Chapter 12: Lay Us Down

They still can’t and won’t forget, and that hurts as much as it’s a power or an honor: Centuries [Cello/Piano Cover] - Brooklyn Duo

Title, and the love that they’re finding ‘in these coming years’ with the boys, with their family, with the foster home: End of All Things - Panic! at the Disco

The team together, accepting their traumas and working on them together, and Thomas believing that he still has some good to offer despite his scars and bruises: This Is Me - Kesha

[soufaked]

　His shadowed eyes were fixated on the man's chest, caught in the bright red of his tie, tracing the way his pale slender hands folded on each other and lay right on top of his stomach, resting in a rather unnaturally serene position.

　　　I'm sorry~

　A familiarly playful mutter breathed by his ear, only partially honest with the sentiment. His entire body froze and his breath hitched, even as his heart stopped for almost a millisecond in his now skyrocketing anxiety. His white knuckled hands clenched against the edge of the urn in an attempt to gather some courage for turning around--

  　　I'm truly sorry for the loss…

　He felt his shoulders relax when the voice turned unfamiliar. From the corner of his eye he could spy two strangers speaking, possibly the guy's coworkers or some distant family. He released his hold onto the wooden surface, dropping his fists by his sides and turning around to leave, but not without stealing one last glance to the deceased lime-haired man.

　He felt out of place. He probably shouldn't be here anyways. It's not like he'd really wanted anything to do with the mourned individual anymore, not even when he was alive and kicking.

　It was the last time he'd see him in person; for some reason, he still felt his throat strain at the thought crossing over his already overwhelmed head. He refused to accept it was any sort of grief.

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

　He slammed closed the door to his apartment, throwing the keys over the kitchen table and struggling with irritation to undo the necktie holding his white undershirt together. He felt strangled, blaming the constricting clothes put together in a black tuxedo, all for an occasion he hadn't really wanted to be part of.

　He was tired.

　Shouldn't he feel rather devastated? He wasn't keen to cry for the other man, not when he'd been escaping his presence through the while they'd been making their separate lives (it hadn't lasted too long of course, his murder had been way too unexpected, even for him). The old T.V. flashed sudden news of the event, a study on the crime case starring the face and name of the culprit, who had been caught little time ago with no real effort―he didn’t care to pay attention or even scorn the man. He’d done him a favor. He’d done him a favor.

　T.V. off, he scurred over to his bedroom and landed himself back onto the cushioned mattress, while casting the small tie over to the side and beginning to unbutton his shirt with no real rush (other than his need to breathe freely).

　He was… far too calm and collected than he probably should be about this—no, that was wrong. He didn’t feel especially strong anything about the situation; no sadness, but also no joy. His neutrality scared him to an extent (it was a storm brewing for later, that was for sure), but there was nothing else that could be done if his emotions had decided to stay stuck in the back of his throat.

　His throat really, really hurt though. And his chest felt rather hollow, but nothing has come out of him yet; not all day, and it would likely not happen anytime for the following week.

　Unbuttoned now, he shed the formal pants off and kicked them aside, wiggling his body out of the jacket and shirt but not even making an effort to place them away fully, conformed with lying on them bare. His arm bent over his face, covering the lights off his features. Too bright, even if filtered by the thin curtains on his window.

　A cold current of air caused his thin body to shiver, making him now acutely aware of his bareness and disturbing newfound privacy. 

　Within the sourness of his thoughts, it occurred to him that he was in the right to go ahead and do as many outrageous things as he would please; out of spite, or as a coping mechanism. He could slide over to his laptop and search the grossest porn footage and challenge himself to jack off to it, take over an entire government website and spit on the police publicly, steal billions of yen or dollars from some international bank and leave them wipe clean, perhaps even navigate the entirety of the deep web without any security measures at all—he was not being constantly observed anymore, uncontrolled like a wild animal, free of the stalking eyes of the “perverse” man. He wanted to believe…

　...The corner of his vision caught a pair of eyes, watching him predatorily.

　His hand twitched, the sudden pounding of rushing blood deafening him and making his breath falter in the excess of adrenaline—he tried his best to contain yet another panic attack on the rise, but even he could already feel the numbness of fear blinding his thought process entirely, vision dizzying and body shaking in sudden terror with the prospect of being unable to even defend himself. 

　　　Come with me... 

　“He’s dead...” He tried to repeat himself under his shaky breath, feeling his eyes prick painfully in contained tears. “It can’t be real…”

　　　Ring ring!

　He jumped out of his skin at the ringing of his phone, sucking a breath of air and glancing from under his arm over to the lighted up device. Mom. He didn’t move a muscle to even pick it up though, no matter how much guilt would burden him afterwards when hearing her burst a worried mess over the line. He wasn’t in the mood for his adoptive mother’s overwhelming clinginess, not right about now. He felt already on the edge, and he sure didn’t want to hurt her with an undeserved lash out.

　He let the hand resting on his burning chest slide down his stomach, realizing on the layer of sweat covering his skin. Following up, his other hand rose to run through his messy and now soaked teal mane, lips pursing as he felt the beads of sweat running down his forehead. He hadn’t realized how much perspiration it had caused him, for how short-lived his panic attack had been this time—had he lost track of time? 

　He left a shaky breath, still quite affected and on the edge of a pounding headache, with how painfully lightheaded he felt. Perhaps he ought to take a shower, to lower steam and recover his composure.

　Weakened still, he made an effort to stand from his bed and pace over to the small bathroom, his hands peeling the remaining piece of underwear off and flinging it to the mess of dirty clothes forgotten in the corner of the room.

　He thought he’d seen a shadowed figure behind him, reflected in the mirror.

[ insp. by this // to be continued? ]

[cleocazo]

click here to check out the original post w fifty six wcs

hellO ! td i wanna highlight one of my wcs for my zoe kravitz fc , makena thurman, bc .... i have a ton of muse for it all of a sudden AND a ton of ideas!! there’s a muse tag for it HERE & an insp playlist HERE, and u can find all the important info below the cut !!

it WASN'T love. it wasn't. it isn't. it's necessity. it's a fear of being alone. it's a need to know that someone, somewhere, will be waiting for you to come back. it's CRUEL, is what it is - expecting them to always be there, even if you aren't. it's FOOLISH, to leave the door unlocked every time you leave, living in ( hope ) that no one will come through in your absence. it's knowing they deserve better, but never being able to let them go - never wanting to close that door, even if the draft is becoming UNBEARABLE. it WASN'T love. but maybe, maybe it could have been.

MAKENA THURMAN, our ZOE KRAVITZ fc is looking for her TUGGED-ALONG-ON-A-STRING-EX connection who looks like MANNY MONTANA, LAKEITH STANFIELD, HAYLEY LAW, SHILOH FERNANDEZ, KEHLANI, CANDICE PATTON, DREW RAY TANNER, DIANE GUERRERO, JOHN BOYEGA, AJA NAOMI KING, SANTIAGO SEGURA, ANTHONY RAMOS, MANNY JACINTO, KARLA SOUZA, MICHAEL B JORDAN, KEKE PALMER, JANEL PARRISH / UTP who is 25+. you DON’T have to contact prior to applying. ( from age nineteen to when they officially broke up a couple years ago, makena was in a kinda... constant on again, off again relationship with cooper kent. there was a lot of love, don’t get me wrong, but it was also pretty volatile at the best of times - they were two strong personalities with a tendency to explode, and sometimes small arguments turned into them taking extended breaks. both dated other people during this time, and this connection is someone who... honestly? could have been the next greatest love of kena’s life, if she’d ever allowed it to go there. she sort of led them on for an extended period of time, for want of a better term. they dated more than once, and they were her go to whenever she and cooper split - she’d turn up at their door and they’d fall into an old habit, and then, eventually, it would always come to an end. she didn’t like herself for it, but she wasn’t ever good at being alone, and it just... kept happening. mostly it would end because of her deciding to give cooper another chance. maybe sometimes it ended because the dreaded “l” word was used, and kena yeeted. there’s a whole myriad of options for the connection - i have a TON of ideas, but one of them is that maybe they dated FIRST as teens, and fell apart? who’s to say! i think it’s... a really layered connection with a lot of pretty heavy emotion, and i’d be interested in exploring ... whether they’re together now, even, or whether they fell apart in due time. gimme ! )

[bloomingednae]

*inhales* *covers eye’s with hands * okakuri #11

You got it! Took more of a ‘slice of life’ moment/take on this, I hope you enjoy!

OTP Prompt Requests: OkaKuri Edition, “Hurt”

“And of all the things that I wanted to say fade to black,Are replaced by my memories come flooding back.” ~ “Together Alone” - Miles Away & Marcus James (song insp: x )

“She’s as sturdy and independent as she can make herself, but, you of all people, know that isn’t the case. She needs you.“

04:00.

His bedside clock blared the obnoxious numbers in front of his face as he turned to look. It was early, he knew; he didn’t have class until much later, and sleeping would be wise, but…

Turning over onto his back side to face the ceiling, he brought his arm across his forehead and sighed.

She was mad at him. Or more precisely, they had gotten into an argument.

Typical small arguments like the occasional teasing and jabs were the usual norm; however, he knew the moment he stepped over the line the moment he spoke harmful words to her. The minute it left his mouth as he was on a video chat call with her, he saw her expression change; first darkened, and then angry.

He’s seen her fair share of angry moments; for the most part, he was on 40% of that, but never were they any serious than the typical annoyances she threw at him.

This time, however, her expression was different; sullen, fiery, and much more sharp. The anger that swept her expression quickly took hold of her and the conversation, and before he knew it, she had hung up and never bothered to call back.

That was over a week ago, and still no contact from her since then.

As he stared at the ceiling, he reached over for his cell phone that was off to the side, without so much as to look. Instinctively, he tapped the phone screen and it came to life, blaring the time again, this time at 04:03.

He scrolled through his contacts and as he came upon the recipient, he tapped on the number without giving a second thought and placed the phone against his ear.

Within a matter of three rings, the phone picked up, slight surprise in her voice.

“Okabe-san? Why are you calling me-”

“Hiyajo-san. I just have one question to ask you; is Kurisu near you?”

Hesitation at first, and then he heard her slightly shift the phone on her ear as she sighed.

“She was. We’re on lunch break right now. I walked away when I saw your name on the caller ID,” she responded, sounding already exasperated. “Okabe-san, you called the wrong person.”

“I know.”

More shifting. He could practically see Maho shaking her head at his logic.

“You’re both idiots, you know that?”

Okabe braced himself, but not for that comment. He spoke, unsure of the turn in circumstances.

“What?”

A sigh, and then a frustrated voice. “Look, I don’t have much time because she’s probably wondering why I’m away for so long. But all I have to say is, just call her already.”

This time, it was Okabe’s turn to sigh. “I have-”

“Not enough,” Maho replied coolly. “You know Kurisu; she doesn’t express herself true feelings very much and when she does, it’s all in jumble speech.”

Okabe almost snorted. That was an understatement of the century. He, of all people, would know.

He could hear Maho sigh again. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but all I know is that it’s enough to affect her at work. She’s spacing out half the time, presented the wrong material to me and the professor yesterday, and she didn’t even finish the report that was due today. Granted, me and the professor are usually lenient with deadlines unless it’s for a conference or publication date, but this is Kurisu we’re talking about…”

Okabe was taken aback at this thought. Kurisu, struggling at work? With research and papers? That’s not the experiment-loving girl he always knew.

“In any case,” Maho’s voice broke through his train of thought, “I’m not here to tell you guys what you should and shouldn’t do because…w-well, this isn’t my relationship!”

He face palmed to himself. She had a point. Asking Maho was like Kurisu asking Daru on how he is.

Okabe paused and thought for a moment, then shook his head with an expression of indifference. No, not quite. But that’s the best metaphor he could go through at the moment.

“Okabe-san.”

The seriousness in Maho’s voice caught him off guard as he began to listen again.

“Just talk to her. Keep trying. Kurisu is stubborn, prideful, and extremely hard to pin down when it comes to more…deep emotions. She won’t open to anyone unless she really knows you. There are two layers to her; Makise Kurisu, and Kurisu. She herself knows that she hides herself from the world, and she’ll continue to do just that because rationally, she doesn’t need to open to anyone, she thinks.”

“But,” Maho continued, in quicker voice he noticed, “she opened up to you. She found something worth opening up for, something worth sharing her love of everything, from her research to her own opinions of you. And once she’s found it, she’s stubborn enough to never let go.”

“You’re different, Okabe-san,” Maho said. “She may be mad at you, but it’s not like she doesn’t want to hear from you. I’m sure it can get annoying to deal with her confusing emotions…hell, even I would know…”

Maho mumbled underneath her breath before clearing her throat. She paused for a bit and as she spoke again, Okabe could almost hear her slightly smiling.

“She’s as sturdy and independent as she can make herself, but, you of all people, know that isn’t the case. She needs you. She really does.”

“So,” she said as she wrapped up, “talk to her. She’s hurt over what you said, that much she told me, but I can’t get anything else out of her.”

He suddenly heard her phone become static for a split moment, before he heard hurried footsteps. Maho returned to the phone a few minutes later, breathing.

“Crap, she found me. I’m leaving now because I swear if I get in trouble-”

Okabe shook his head. Kurisu was still instilling fear in people even overseas.

“Y-yeah…wait, Hiyajo-san.”

“Hm? Make it quick.”

“…thank you.”

There was a slight pause on her end before she gradually spoke, honesty in her voice.

“Any time, Okabe-san.”

The faint sound of a ‘click’ was heard as she hung up the phone, and Okabe vaguely wondered if Kurisu caught on to her conversation.

As he lay facing up towards the ceiling, he began to recall aspects of their conversation. True that he is with Kurisu, but everything else that Maho said…they were facts he always knew, but never actually realized.

She was stubborn, frustrating, and sometimes downright insufferable with her remarks and prideful comments, but in all, he could never stay mad at her for so long.

And yet, in a flurry of emotions, he said something that caused her pain.

He clenched his fist. He didn’t jump through multiple worldlines just to hurt her again.

The image of her came to his mind, her tsundere and loving sides; everything that made her completely confusing and intriguing all at once. She was unpredictable and never constant; like an ever-lasting experiment, she was a wonder in his eyes and a love that he could never explain, only feel.

It was at that moment that he couldn’t stand it anymore. As he grabbed his phone again, he pulled up their Rine chat; hesitation at first, but he quickly typed in a message before he could stop himself again.

“Kurisu…can we talk when you’re free?”

[gamerwoo]

Jungkook: Sleepwalker (Part 1)

Characters: Jungkook x reader

Genre/warnings: non idol au, angst, abuse, and mention of kidnapping

Word count: 1,356

Summary: Every night when Jungkook goes to sleep, he has the same nightmare. The nightmare isn’t his, though; it’s yours, and it’s not a nightmare. It’s all real. He knows he has to help you, but he doesn’t remember anything when he wakes up. (Insp by this.)

Next >>

He couldn’t even tell if he was in a room. Everything was just...black. Whatever he was walking on felt wet like there was a thin layer of water covering it. He aimlessly wandered, walking forward and turning his head for any sign of anything. What was this? He’d never dreamed of anything like this before.

“Hello?” Jungkook called out, his voice echoing around him.

There was silence, until he heard a choked, “H-hello...?”

Jungkook’s head whipped around, and he suddenly saw someone; you. Your body was slumped down on the ground, kneeling in the water as your body was illuminated by a dim light coming from...somewhere--it was like a spotlight that followed the two of you. He walked over to you quickly, afraid you’d disappear.

“Hello...” his voice was softer now as he bent down a few feet away from you. “Who are you?”

You lifted your head for him to see your face, and he took in a breath sharply. Your face was dirty and bruised, with dried blood above your upper lip that seemed to come from your nose. He could see your arms were behind your back, and he could only assume you were tied up.

Instead of replying to his question, you asked one of your own. “W-where did you come from?”

You’d never seen anyone when you passed out like this before. Sure, you’d had this dark, empty dream a million times--that’s what it felt like, anyway--but you’d never actually had anybody else appear like this. It all felt so real. It was like he was right there.

He looked so warm, too...

“I...” his voice trailed off as he looked around again, not knowing where he started walking from to begin with. “I don’t know...”

“Who are you?”

“Jungkook.” he replied, looking back at you again. His warm, brown eyes stared at you with something like pity. “What happened to you?”

You gave a short, dry laugh that came out more like a cough considering how scratchy your throat was. Too much had happened to you, and you deserved none of it. Things were normal for you only a few days ago but then you were taken away from your home. You didn’t even know who did it or why. You had no answers as to why it was happening to specifically you.

Meanwhile, Jungkook could already feel his consciousness realizing this was a weird dream. He’d never had any dreams like this before, especially not ones that felt this real. He knew he’d wake up from it soon, but for some reason, that made him nervous.

Much like you’d been doing, you ignored his question again. “I need to get out of here.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” he tried again.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” you told him, shaking your head as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m supposed to be with my family and going to school.”

“Where are you now?”

Your voice turned cold as your eyes showed your fear. “A bad place.”

The way you spoke and the way you looked at him made his stomach turn in a way he’d never felt, especially from a nightmare. He tried not to focus so much on the realistic aspects of the dream, though, as he was afraid he would wake himself up. He wanted as much time here as he could get because he wanted to know what exactly was happening.

“What’s your name?” he asked again.

“___.” you told him softly, your eyes glancing down at the black water you were kneeling in.

For some reason, the name rung a bell, but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it. He didn’t have any friends with that name, and he was pretty sure none of his neighbors were named that, either. Was it from a movie or a book he read?

He just sighed, shaking the thought away. “___, do you know what this is? Why everything is...weird?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know. You knew why you were here since this was the setting of all your dreams lately, but you didn’t know why he suddenly appeared. All of this made about as much sense to you as it did to him. What made your subconscious suddenly dream up another person--at least, you thought you were dreaming him.

Was he supposed to be your ticket to freedom? Could he help you? Sure, this was in a weird drug-induced dream, but it was worth a shot.

These new thoughts had you brightening a bit, lifting your head to look at him again. “Jungkook, you have to help me.”

“Huh?” his eyebrows knitted together, looking at you like you had three heads.

“I’m not safe.” your voice was shaking a bit, and you cleared your throat to steady it. “You need to-”

Jungkook was confused when you suddenly went quiet, looking around like you had heard a noise. He was sure the only thing he could hear was you, so could you hear things he couldn’t? Did that mean you could also see things he couldn’t? All of this was so strange to him.

You did, in fact, hear something that he didn’t, though. You could hear the man who took you calling for you again in that singsong voice that made your blood run cold. You knew what would be coming next--how he would wake you up. It was hard pulling you from your sleep when he used drugs to get you to pass out for a while, so he opted for shocking, cutting, or hitting you.

Your time was running out now. You weren’t even sure if you’d ever see him again.

“Jungkook, you need to- Ah!” you cried out as you felt a sharp pain in your forearm by your wrist. Your clenched your teeth as you fought to stay in the dream state with the mysterious stranger. “You need to...call the police. Tell- Agh! Tell them...I’m alive...barely.”

“Barely?” his voice was concerned and he reached out to you, but you were already slipping away.

“Find me!” you begged before you had disappeared from in front of him completely.

Your eyes flew open as you felt another cut down your skin, causing you to whimper groggily. Your captor realized you were awake and finally stopped, tossing a paper plate with very little food on it. He was giving you just enough to stay alive for him but not enough to actually make you comfortable.

The boy in your dreams was burned into your mind. Jungkook.

Nobody knew where you were, and you were sure your parents probably thought you were dead since there was no sign of you anywhere. You’d briefly heard the news when the man keeping you hostage wanted to tease you and tell you that your family didn’t care. The police said they couldn’t find any leads, and your parents just cried and begged for a miracle.

You didn’t know if Jungkook was someone you had just created in your mind to help you cope, but you hoped by some miracle that he was real. You had to get out of here because you didn’t know if you had any much more time left.

Jungkook jolted awake. His eyes flew open, but instead of finding the walls of his bedroom, he was staring straight out the window as he stood in his living room. His cellphone was in his hand, already unlocked, and the dial screen was staring back at him.

“What the...?” he looked around, wondering how he got here. He’d never been known for sleepwalking--in fact, he’d never sleepwalked before.

The sun had seemed to just come up, and the clock on his phone confirmed that it was almost 7am. Sighing, he went to his room to get ready for the day, knowing there was no point in going back to sleep. He had work, and he had to meet his friends for dinner afterwards. 

However, the words that you had told him were now no longer in his head. In fact, the whole situation was lost to him. He remembered none of it, and was already over the shock of the nightmare.

[yoongihime]

Yours Truly

RoyaltyAU: OC x Prince!Yoongi  Length: 1.7K (lol barely a drabble but I’ll take it)  Genre: Fluff. Just. Fluff Type: Disney Insp Drabbles ☞ REQUEST HERE ☜ Recommended OST: (x)  Request By: @workofteaguk : how about “I’m right out here for you, just let me in” + your love aka min yoongi :“) 

(a/n): warm up before I really get going with my other longer pieces! Ahh but this was so so fluffy I melted into a puddle 100x before I could coherently type all of it out TT please tell me what you think!! also this gif makes me cry many tears.. my prince TTTTTTT I LOVE YO(U)ONGI

“Would you please just open the door?”

Yoongi’s rasp drifts through the cool wood that is pressed into your back, the sheer tulle of your ball gown useless in its beauty to protect you against the nip of cold lingering in the early autumn air.

“No!” Your stubborn response travels through the barrier without fail, your childish pout and no doubt tear stained cheeks registering in Yoongi’s mind along with the clipped one word answer, despite his inability to see you.

A sigh.

“Princess…” He begins his magic spell, casting those minuscule syllables to make your heart to splutter with indignation in your ribcage to squeeze essences of rose onto your cheeks.

“Don’t call me that,” you counter, “everyone calls me that.”

“Am I not ‘everyone’ to you?” He questions, smile tugging their way across his cheeks, eyelashes kissing the taunt skin when he looks down to see you fidgeting on the other side of the door. His words are colored with underlying meanings.

How daring, questioning when he knows the answer, your mind chastises the boy, even if he can’t hear those thoughts.

“N-No, you’re Yoongi.”

You cannot give much of an explanation to that statement because surely the boy knows what it means. Yes, he’s Yoongi, Min Yoongi, the most ridiculously sarcastic and incredibly tepid boy you’ve ever met. But, he’s also Yoongi because he’s the boy your eight-year-old self fell for, the only prince that treated you as an equal, not a rare, delicate flower that must be protected at all costs. Sometimes he’s a royal pain in the ass (pun intended), with his endless teasing and blunt criticisms, but his words are worth their weight in gold because he would not dare usher a syllable unless he truly believe in them. So that’s why, when you overheard his conversation with Prince Taehyung about marriage last week, you felt your heart freeze to absolute zero, the chill overwhelming enough to unravel your uncaring facade-

Ah, you love him.

It’s a frightening thing, this thing they call love.

The following days after your discovery were a personal hell for you, implemented solely by you and your actions alone. Considering that you are situated a whole kingdom away from Yoongi, avoiding him should not have been a problem, but oh boy, how wrong you were. What naivety, assuming that he would stay in his rightful place and stop sticking his nose into your everyday life, assuming that distance would be the universal answer to such a universal emotion.

He graced every corridor your fickle feet wandered down, between the shelves of the aging shelves full of knowledge, down to every nook and cranny of the enormous castle. They were all occupied by Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi— so much so that you wondered if it was actually your heart making up his appearances. Lingering glances and longing looks were the only specs of sanity you graciously bestowed upon your withering self, starved of his attention. On the verge of meltdown, your resolutions held tight until the days drifted by without the presence of your favorite prince, the castle grounds barren of his enchantment.

“Prince Yoongi is away due to wedding errands isn’t he?”

Your ears perked with the mention of his name, but your breath caught in your throat when the word wedding was processed in your brain. Worry consumed you alive, its claws digging into your lungs —making your breaths short and uneven— and attached itself into your heart, the heaviness in your chest a clear symptom of the malicious monster that made its home there: Jealousy.

“And you’re (y/n). My (y/n).”

You swear your heart hasn’t beat this hard since he begrudgingly kissed you on the cheek for you eighteenth birthday; his statement single-handedly snapping you back from your bitter memories to reality.

“What did you just—“ you begin, but he interrupts with the same request.

“Would you please open the door? I’m right out here for you, just let me in.”

And when he says it like that, like its the simplest thing in the world, you allow yourself to hope— hands turning the golden knob and eyes peeking slightly through the crack, you’re met with your beautiful nightmare.

His eyes hold a tempest, the midnight orbs wild and storming over with emotions, his lips quirking with victory.

Oh no, you’ve done it now you dummy, your thoughts shout with alarm, arms hastening to shut the door, but it’s too late, Yoongi shoves his pristine boot between the gap, prying it open and forcing his way into the room, much like how he landed himself into your heart. Without your protective barrier (read:door), all your pretenses of childlike stubbornness vanishes, leaving you a blushing, stuttering mess— much to Yoongi’s amusement.

You want nothing more than to melt into the lavish cloth of your gown and hide under the layers of silks and tulle forever.

“I heard a certain Someone is avoiding me, I wonder who?” He muses with a cheeky grin, his gummy smile unfairly disarming when his eyes still glint with mischief. You remain silent, eyes downcast to admire the way the tailored suit fit his lithe form or how his shoes were scrubbed from running after you, anything to distract from the quickly diminishing distance between Yoongi and you.

“Awe, my princess is adorable when she sulks.” Yoongi coos, his hands coming up to pat your damp, rose-stained cheeks.

You immediately pull away before he can feel your cheeks heat up by the degree; you’re not charitable enough to give him that kind of satisfaction.

“Who’s sulking?” you feign ignorance, even if the hoarseness of your voice is more than telling of your tears.

“And I’m not avoiding you either.” You put on a frown for a good measure, eyes drifting to meet his, but losing stamina when he attacks once again, this time with a rich chuckle.

“You gave poor Nana quite a scare you know? Your maids thought you were sick,” he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “…lovesick.”

A squeak escapes from your closed lips, hands coming up to slap over his mouth to pause those all-too-revealing words and so you can step away from the encroaching prince. Muffled laughter filters through the seams of your fingers and he grasps them in his larger ones, cool silver of his rings brushing against the warmth of your hands to pry them away from his face. He holds you still and once he realizes that you’re not going to struggle, uses his hold to pull you ever closer. His expression still one of mirth, but the way his lips are pursed in concentration means he’s contemplating something.

“Did it upset you greatly to even conceive the idea of me marrying someone else?”

Maybe it’s the way your irises are quivering with doubt, or the way your breath hitches and lips protrude into a pout that melts Yoongi completely, causing his body to lean over and brush his forehead against yours with a sigh.

“Can you not stand the idea of me loving someone else?”

Soft.

The whispers are caresses of soft, comforting touches, despite their undesired content. Your head is swimming with Yoongi, just him and his scent, his breath against your lips and those searching eyes.

“Then, you would not mind being mine would you?”

The world halted, the universe overlaid with the two thick bars of the pause symbol and your eyes widen with wonder, surprise and dread.  

“A-are you not betrothed to some foreign princess you and Tae were discussing?”

Yoongi pauses at that, just what in the world could that head of yours— oh.

“Is this what all this is about you silly, crazy beautiful girl?”

Stunned to silence, you’re still processing whether he just complimented you or insulted you (possibly both) when he doubles over with laughter, so violently entertained that tears are springing from his eyes.

“Only you would assume such conclusions from a conversation you eavesdropped on, no less,” when there is only confused silences Yoongi continues, “perhaps you should ask your brother and your soon-to-be in-law that question.”

Yoongi manages to calm his laughter to slight giggles, his eyes watching your reaction and his tenacity is rewarded when you turn an astonishing shade of red, the realization and accompanying embarrassment that flood your system so great, all the strength flows away from your legs, the limbs falling to gravity and her irresistible pull.

Words fail you as you gracelessly plop on the marbled floor, mouth agape until your gaze meets with Yoongi’s. Automatically your hands press firmly to your face, a last minute facade you attempt to build before he can see how much he truly means to you and your little heart.

“Come now, don’t hide, you never gave me an answer.” Yoongi coaxes you hands away, but your cheeks are still burning much too bright for him to resist the need to adore you in your vulnerable state, so he finds his lips caressing the molten surface, your gasp of surprise music to his ears.

“So, what do you say (y/n)?”

He’s much too smug for your liking. That smile twisting your insides to a million knots, ensuring his victory, yet there’s doubt in his eyes. Min Yoongi, the pompous bastard who stole your heart, is actually… scared?

It’s a frightening thing, this thing they call love.

So you find courage in your mutual feelings: the fear in his eyes and in your heart to answer his question.

Nothing can be sweeter than the whispered yes you gave him, but the first taste of your lips on his may come a close second. He tastes like your daydreams, like your first and your last, silk and sweetness at the tip of your tongue. As with all good things, it ends too fast, but he’s quick to scatter kisses on each of your knuckles, sealing them with whispered promises.

“My princess,” soft pressure against your cheek, “my (y/n).”

“My bratty prince,” a whine of protest, “my Yoongi.”

.

.

.

“You think we should tell her we planned this?” Taehyung peeks from the ajar door.

“Shh!” The queen hushes her son with a raised finger, her eyes glued to the scene and her mind wandering off to the best possible wedding date for her two children.

[aromaparody]

 Guess what! We had to change shops again! -_- (Ugh, so much stuff going on here with life and other junk, ffffff anyways) -- you can find us at two different places, which we will link at the end of this post! We wanted to start this over again since we were going to do it when we changed shops last time! We still have some big projects in the works but we thought we might reintroduce our old scents w/ the new shop address as we build up to these announcements! (Also, there will be new candle announcements in between as well~!)

 This was our first official candle and we looked back and realized it was never officially introduced! So here’s Running Out of Apples and it is inspired by the indie horror game Layers of Fear! Despite the name, the scent is a mixture of apple and rose.

 This candle is an 8oz. glass jelly jar with a pewter daisy cut lid and has a cotton/paper wick. All of our candles are made with 100% natural soy wax, are handmade and are poured in very small batches. You can find Running Out of Apples and others over at Waxing Sky Studios -- both on Etsy and waxingsky.com (the site has a coupon code you’ll find at the top though ;D)!

   ( And as usual, we’re sorry that last shop link isn’t a direct link but apparently when you have certain links in your posts then none of the tags work. Etsy works but not our site. :\ )

[iridiumring92]

the stars are not so brave

full version on Ao3 here.

Rating: T

Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia

Words: 5260

title insp.

For @ignoctweek: “Role Reversal AU”

Noctis tries to come to terms with the fact that he cannot protect his prince from everything, while they both struggle with the feelings they’ve been trying desperately not to acknowledge.

The sounds of battle faded, the last Magitek Trooper collapsed to the ground, and out of the corner of his eye, Noctis saw his charge fall to his knees.

Ignis, Crown Prince of Lucis, had his arms wrapped around his waist, his fingers digging into the dark fabric of his shirt. His face was pale, his lips parted. Noctis was on his feet again in a heartbeat, rushing to Ignis before the two others could even think about reacting.

“Your Highness. Are you okay?” Noctis asked, hoping, expecting a Yes, I’m fine, just shaken as usual. But instead, Ignis exhaled a slow breath, unclenched his hands, and revealed the hilt of a knife protruding from his abdomen, the blood spreading from the wound and staining his shirt. Noctis bit back a gasp and then an oath. He’d been stabbed. He’d been stabbed.

“Six, Ignis,” he breathed, forgetting for a moment to use the prince’s title. He slid an arm around Ignis’s shoulders, supporting him, and he focused anxiously on Ignis’s warmth. He’s still here. He’s still breathing. But his eyes started to flutter shut, and Noctis placed a hand on his cheek in an attempt to keep him conscious. “Hey. Look at me. Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?”

Ignis drew in a breath—but the effort seemed to pain him, and he shuddered. “One of the magitek assassins,” he breathed. “It threw the knife at me from a substantial distance—I couldn’t deflect it—”

“All right, shh. Don’t hurt yourself,” Noctis said.

Beside him, Prompto dropped down with an armful of potions and elixirs and whatever else he’d managed to find in their stash of provisions. “Healing supplies, Noct,” he said, spreading out the array of bottles in the grass.

“Thanks.”

Noctis eased Ignis down onto his back, enduring his prince’s quiet protests and moans of pain. Sometimes it was “No, wait,” as he paused to suck in a breath through his gritted teeth, and sometimes it was just “Noct,” slipping out like a secret. Noctis grimaced each time, wishing he could just wave his hand and alleviate the pain, but he knew it didn’t work like that, especially not with something this serious.

Gladio materialized on Ignis’s other side, sinking to one knee and examining the wound. “We’re gonna have to take out the blade,” he said, looking at the knife hilt, the blade still deeply embedded. “But we need to minimize blood loss. So Noct, have the medicine ready, and use it as soon as I get the weapon free. Iggy”—he put a hand on the prince’s shoulder, softly so as not to hurt him—“this might not feel too good. Brace yourself.”

“Be careful,” Noctis told Gladio.

“I’ll be right back,” Prompto said. Before he stood up, though, Noctis caught a glimpse of his face and saw that he was pale as death. He didn’t want to witness this. Noctis didn’t blame him.

Gladio bent half over Ignis to look at the blade and make sure he moved it at the right angle. Ignis reached out and took hold of Noctis’s hand, weaving their fingers together and squeezing hard.

Noctis’s eyes met his. There was so much pain in them, and so much fear. If he was honest with himself, Noctis was afraid for him, too. There was too much chance that this could go wrong, that they could lose Ignis forever, or that the healing could go badly and the wound could affect him for the rest of his life. Noctis didn’t want that weight on his shoulders. Nor did he want anyone to have inflicted permanent harm on Ignis. If the Empire did manage to get away with such a thing, well, Noctis would make sure they felt it.

He remembered when they’d first left the Citadel and the Crown City behind—weeks ago now. He’d felt queasy at the thought of Ignis fighting with the rest of them. The flawless Prince Ignis, with his smooth skin unmarred by scars and his impeccable wardrobe, shouldn’t have to find himself in such risky places as battlefields. Noctis had said as much.

“I’ve trained for this,” Ignis had said to him, in his low, sweet, accented voice. “I’ll be all right. The Crown City is as dangerous, in any case.”

Now, Noctis recalled those words and swallowed hard. Please be all right, he prays silently.

Gladio paused at the sight of Ignis holding Noctis’s hand, but he didn’t comment. “Noct, on my mark. Ready . . .”

He pulled the blade free, causing Ignis to gasp in pain. Noctis broke open an elixir, splashing the medicinal liquid into the wound and on Ignis’s skin. Ignis’s grip tightened on Noctis’s hand until Noctis thought he might break a bone. After a moment, steadily, he relaxed, his breaths evening out, the tension leaving his muscles.

“Better?” Gladio asked.

“Much,” Ignis said, the word barely more than a sigh.

“You’re still probably gonna need a healer,” Gladio told him. “You mind if I take a look?”

Ignis inhaled deeply through his nose. “Go ahead,” he said finally. The words came out in a rush.

Noctis tried to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Gladio peeled back the bloody hem of Ignis’s shirt unceremoniously, exposing the flat pane of his stomach. Noctis tried not to let his eyes wander, but they did anyway: to the layer of muscle there, the curve of his hip disappearing past his belt, and—and the blood. The area around the stab wound was still wet with blood, and the wound wasn’t completely closed.

Gladio noticed this, too, and his brows knitted at the sight. He swore under his breath, and then added, “Stitches.”

“What was that?” Ignis asked, though his voice wavered a little.

“You need stitches, or it’s not going to heal right no matter how many elixirs we have. We should find a medic.” Gladio rose to his feet. “I’ll go bring Prompto back. Noct, if you’d help him get to the car . . .”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gladio turned his back on them both. Noctis looked behind him, but Prompto had already disappeared from sight. He knew it might be a while before either of them returned.

He turned back to Ignis, whose fingers were still threaded between his. His eyes were closed, but Noctis could see from where he sat that he was breathing, thank the gods. He extracted his hand from Ignis’s and rested it on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb in circles over the fabric of his shirt.

“Noct,” Ignis whispered, voice barely louder than the sounds of the wind and the road. “Please.”

Noctis pressed his lips together and took his hand back. He didn’t have to ask to know what Ignis meant. They’d had this conversation numerous times since those nights back in Insomnia: nights of slipping away from the crowds in the Citadel, of shadows and whispered secrets. One night in particular, on which Noctis had tasted Ignis’s lips, sweet with wine, and Ignis had taken Noctis into his arms without reservation. He remembered it all in fragments now—the heat of their bare skin, the way his heart had raced, the silk sheets. He still blushed when he thought about it.

But the conversation that they’d had in the morning—and many days after—kept coming back to haunt him, somehow. Noct, this isn’t right. We can’t keep doing this. You are part of my Crownsguard, not my paramour. It’s improper. And of course, It’s not your fault, it’s nothing you did. You’re beautiful, Noct, and I admire you. Maybe it was those words that hurt the most.

“We should go to the car,” Noctis said, trying to divert his thoughts. “Can—can you sit up? It might still hurt.”

“I’ll be all right.”

But Noctis offered him a hand anyway, and he took it, rising first into a sitting position and then to his feet with only a small grunt of pain. He tucked in his shirt and began to walk to the car, while Noctis hung back a moment to collect their remaining healing supplies before following.

[aromaparody]

  Hey everyone! We’re coming up on the two year anniversary of when we started making candles and we have some big projects in the works! We thought we might reintroduce our old scents w/ the new shop address as we build up to these announcements! (Also, there will be new candle announcements in between as well~!)

  This was our first official candle and we looked back and realized it was never officially introduced! So here’s Running Out of Apples and it is inspired by the indie horror game Layers of Fear! Despite the name, the scent is a mixture of apple and rose.

  This candle is an 8oz. glass jelly jar with a pewter daisy cut lid and has a cotton/paper wick. All of our candles are made with 100% natural soy wax, are handmade and are poured in very small batches. You can find Running Out of Apples and others over at NEONSHORES.STORENVY.COM!

 ( We’re sorry that isn’t a direct link but apparently when you have links in your posts then none of the tags work. :\ )

[aromaparody]

  Here’s a new shot of what our main products/labels will look like as well as a look at our new logo! We will have all of our scents available in these 8oz. glass jars w/ pewter daisy cut lids and some candles will have wood wicks and some will have regular (and some will be your choice!)~   No worries, smaller tins will also be available for certain scents as well and our upcoming OTP Three Packs (or OTPacks, hehehe) will be a set of three small tins. Keep an eye our for news on those in the near future!   The candle featured in this image is the wood-wicked Layers of Fear inspired scent Running Out of Apples which is a mix of apples and roses.

  We hope you’ll join us this year for the official start of Aromaparody! :D